Her mother reached down to cup her face. “Lunara?—”
“No.” She stood, pacing. “How could I while knowing that? I thought I’d be helping people, leading our realm. Not covering up crimes and catering to murderers.”
“You must understand,” her father said, his gaze pleading. “The essence of the Council is good. It would only get better with more that share your mindset. If you don’t like the way it is, change it. That’s what we’re trying to do.”
She considered her father’s words, willing to admit their validity to a point. “I’ll think about it.”
No, don’t think. Just go! Run, as fast as you?—
A flash of white glinted in Lunara’s periphery and she spun, coming face-to-face with a door. Gilded in gold and teeming with strange, intricate designs, it rose up from the middle of the floor, ever so slightly ajar.
In a daze, she moved towards it. Towards the light spilling through the crack that wasn’t quite right, and the answers it might give her. Her hand wrapped around the massive, curved handle at its center and a laugh bubbled up out of her.
No, wait. That wasn’t her?—
“Luna?”
Lunara sprang up, groaning as prickling pain danced along every nerve ending. “Stars and arses,” she hissed, her neck spasming. “Shite.”
“Forgive me.” Brand was kneeling before her, a goblet in one hand, his other clearing hair from her face. “You deserve a bed, but this is the best I can do for now.”
She’d only closed her eyes for a second…
The light in the great hall had shifted, long shadows across the marbled floor, and the tables had been cleared, leaving the scent of lemon soap in the air.
She didn’t have it in her to ask how long she’d been lost in the past and its mysteries. The only correct answer wasnot long enough,and anything else might free the scream lodged in her throat.
When she reached for the goblet and her stiff fingers refused to work, her next groan was closer to a sob.
“Shh, it’s alright. Let me help you.” Brand cradled the back of her head and brought the cup to her lips.
She nearly choked when the blood hit her tongue, the relief was so instant. It tasted of him, of rightness, and she hadn’t realized how desperately she’d been craving it. Downing every drop was easy. So, so easy.
Fool.
Lunara gasped the first unhindered breath she’d had since the cave. Then another.
Her body had learned to twist itself, convincing her it was fine when it wasn’t. She never realized just how shite she was feeling until all the pain evaporated and she was reminded that limbs were supposed to bend and move, that skin should shift and stretch, without it being a torture.
“Better?”
Blessed moons, even his voice sounded richer. “Yes,” she rasped. “Thank you. I was…”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “A little longer, and then we can sleep for three bloody days if you want to.”
Sounded like bliss.
He led her towards the dais, where the others were waiting. Faldir and Caius stood either side of Lyriat, arms crossed and faces pinched.
The king surveyed Magnus and Thaddeus first, then pinned Brand with a look. “How bad?”
“Bad enough for what you’re thinking,” Brand answered.
Lyriat nodded and rounded his throne without another word, motioning for them to follow. At the back wall, where a golden image of Solyrian was etched into the expanse, a doorway shimmered into being beneath his palm. He led them through, into the pitch black and down the beginnings of steep, spiraling steps.
Lunara flinched when the door sealed behind, burying them in darkness for an eternal breath—until intermittent stones came to life, their light disappearing down and around the tight bend, highlighting the cobwebs and dust clinging to the crevices and corners.
No one spoke as they made their descent. The air grew heavier as they sank ever further into the earth, stale and stifling, and she longed for a breeze as a bead of nervous sweat trickled down her back.
