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Mag huffed. “He doesn’t need a fucking purpose right now. He needs rest. Care.”

“I disagree,” Lyriat said. “The two of you know Brand as well as I do. You know how much he hates feeling useless. He needs to get out and see. It might jog his memory. Shake something loose.”

“Aye, his mind perhaps.” Magnus’s laugh was not the least amused. “Brand hasn’t even looked at the city, for fuck’s sake. But sure, why not? Let’s chuck him into the worst of it. We can dig his grave and everyone else’s at the same time!”

“Mag,” Lyriat chided.

Magnus shook his head. “You saw what happened after he found out about Nyri and Bal, you heard what he said to the witchling. And we saw⁠—”

“Nothing. It changes nothing.”

“It changes damn near everything,” Magnus snapped.

There was an energy in the room, a tension between Magnus and Lyriat, that sat ill around her, but Lunara was struggling to get past the idea of Brand going on a mission in his state. Then again…

It might not be the worst idea.

Debatable. She also didn’t have a better one.

“How do we know this isn’t another trap, like Glynmor?” Lunara asked.

“It’s not a trap,” Mag and Lyriat answered in unison.

She narrowed her gaze on the two of them, about to ask why they seemed so sure when Magnus sat down again with a sigh.

“Look, if this was just him having amnesia and being pissed about it, that would be one thing,” he said. “Changing fucking colors and having another creature’s voice is something else entirely. It isn’t safe to throw him out into the world and hope for the best.”

Lunara shuddered. She’d never get that image out of her mind—the inky spread of darkness as it ate the whites of Brand’s eyes, the veins seeping outward to devour the top half of his face. The curling grin. He’d gone empty and evil at once, and that voice…

There were hints of it during his other fits. A low and ancient quality over his own rumbling bass. She’d written it off as something he was doing himself in the midst of his attacks. That morning, though, there was nothing of Brand left when he changed and it spoke such vile words.

You’ve heard it before, though you’re loath to admit it. You have to tell them.

The memory of her second descent into the chasm—of that voice pummeling her from the inside just before the steps crumbled and their group plunged into the depths—rose up, freezing her blood and leaving her speechless.

“My children will thank you when they feed on your marrow,” it had said. “I will thank your barren bones when I am free.”

Old. Evil.

“Do not think me some kind of fool.” Lyriat crossed his arms, the firelight emphasizing his long, copper hair. “I know this complicates everything, but he’s going, and that’s final.”

Mag growled, pounding a fist against the tabletop. “And if he lapses again in Thodelebor? If something happens to Lunara? There won’t be any way to control him. I can’t call up the bleeding earth to hold him down like you can. And Sisters save all of us if we do find something and it’s the worst-case scenario.”

“And if it happens here, while all of you are gone?”

“You’ll handle it like you did this morning.”

They stared at each other, a wealth of silent communication taking place. The two of them were behaving so oddly. She didn’t like it one bit. Especially not after their secrets and theatrics the day before.

Lyriat finally looked away, sniffing. “I bided my time, nothing more. Lunara is the only one who’s been able to bring him back, but Bal and Nyri are going to need her when they’re found. You—his only other comfort—and Thaddeus must go for obvious reasons, as well as the twins because I don’t trust anyone else to protect you. Don’t you see? All of the people who can help him will be there.”

“Help him with fucking what?!” Magnus roared, making Lunara jump. His tone was far quieter, far more hopeless when he spoke again. “What’s wrong with my brother?”

Lunara turned and fixed her gaze on the flames, begging them to soothe her. “It’s like Fern. Not the same, and yet…it is. A festering I can feel when I’m near them, deep inside where no one else can see. Hers is a whisper I couldn’t hear before, his is a constant scream. Meliora might’ve had it too, but I was even more ignorant then than I am now, so it’s hard to say.” She looked up. “But, just like Fern has not miraculously recovered, I no longer believe time and circumstance will heal Brand.”

“What will?” Lyriat asked.

She let her head fall back. “The barrier in his mind is another beast to Fern’s entirely. Meliora’s illness, too. Different variations of the same dark magic at work, each worse than the last. Of that much, I am certain. Unfortunately, I still have no idea what the fuck to do about it.”