Page 52

Brand thanked the Sisters when her power slipped away, the relief instant.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Magnus asked, closer now.

Tears sprang to Brand’s eyes but he blinked them away and fixed his brother with a glare. “No.”

“Alright.” Mag scrubbed a hand down his face. “How about getting cleaned up before sleeping?”

“Cleaned up?” He shook his head, too tired to pick apart why Mag would suggest it when he already bathed an hour ago. “No.”

“I can fetch the witchling back, you know. Have her heal your scrapes at least, and⁠—”

“No.” Bringing her back was the last thing he wanted.

“Aye, alright. Alright. To bed, then, and we’ll find you a tincture in the morning.”

Brand only had enough energy to do as he was told, wincing as he stood. He waved away Mag’s steadying hand and pulled the bloodied sheet off the⁠—

Ah.

He spared a fleeting glance down at himself as he climbed into bed, noting the cuts and bruises there, the blood that may or may not be his, before flopping down with a groan. A bath could happen tomorrow. Or never. Who cared? Either way, it didn’t matter to him.

As his brother rustled around on the periphery of the room, he stared up into the night sky, the glass dome above distorting the stars and moons. A waft of the warm breeze fluttered the bed curtains, and…

He tilted his head, boring holes into the panes. Something was…just there, tickling the edges of his mind. Whatever it was, it forced his heart into a sprint, fear and dread fighting for space. Sadly, it was the most clarity he’d had since waking. Crisp, somehow, even though he still couldn’t see it.

If he could just inch himself in its direction. Tease it out. Allow that shift and click…

This would all end, and he might be able to fucking breathe again. Might be able to⁠—

A gigantic, golden wolf bounded onto the mattress, jostling the memory out of his tenuous hold. Pet curled up with a huff and pressed against his side, almost instantly falling asleep, and it was all Brand could do not to scream.

Instead, he sank his fingers into the comforting warmth of his brother’s fur and wept.

Under a prismatic glow, an orb of his little moon’s light hanging in the distance, Brand the Greater watched himself dream.

Of opals and heat. Of Solyrian dawning on his skin and laughter spilling from the very heart of himself. Of happiness, as he’d never known before.

Through fields and flowers, over mountains and under sunsets, into rock and shadow. That wondrous joy beckoned with elegant fingers and husking whispers, and he followed the Lesser with a grin on his face. He reached out to grab that incandescence with fervent hands and⁠—

A whip of black shadow outside the barrier lashed out, devouring part of the vision. Then another, and another. Snapping, writhing, eating. Bit by bit, the gloom overtook the light. The magic infusing his limbs—the beauty of it—disappeared, nothing left to combat the burgeoning darkness.

The only thing left was cold and pain. So much pain.

Crimson dropped with pitter patters that cracked through his chest. Bones broke and skin tore, but he couldn’t figure out whose it was. Screams split his skull and warped into familiar sobs.

His fault. All of it was his fault.

He was supposed to soothe them. Ensure they never existed. Been more, more, more.

Instead, they echoed relentlessly, taunting and torturing him. A weeping accompaniment to the horror of his imprisonment. A constant reminder of his shame. His uselessness. His failure.

More shadows came to feast, but they were slower, laughing as they did so. Reveling in his agony, thriving on it. They grew and grew until they blotted everything out. Until he was blind, even to himself.

By the next morning, they’d consumed every detail and more, and Brand the Lesser didn’t remember that—for those excruciating hours—he remembered.

Magnus swiped the back of one hand across his brow, sweat mixing with the dust and grit scraping across his skin as he straightened and stared at the ground.

Ever since they found Aldiat and Frida’s damned weapons laying there like a sick prize, they’d been digging. Examining every brick and shard and pebble, just in case. And now, over a week later, the flagstones glared back, perfectly arranged to form a gigantic mosaic in what was once the entrance of a lovely home.