It was the warmest night they’d had all summer, the breeze too quiet to offer much relief. Still, Brand could hear the festival going on in the distant city center, fiddles and drums accompanying the sound of laughter far below.
“We already had our bloody fair share of issues,” Lyriat groaned, sliding down in his chair to rest his head back and stretch his long legs out further.
Discovering dreadbeasts were real had been bad enough. Learning from his brother that a slew of Fae had witnessed their battle across the chasm before flitting off to tell everyone they knew? Worse. By this time next month, most of Bordoroth would find themselves with some wild version of the story.
Someone, somewhere, would swear they’d seen ten dreadbeasts with their own eyes. Another would describe injuries and failures that had never taken place. A third would find a way to turn it on the Imperials and Realm Rulers in some sort of conspiratorial diatribe. On and on and…
The result would be a widespread panic that would take all their combined efforts to mitigate—and the idea of having to downplay a colossal fucking problem in order to keep the peace didn’t sit very well.
“Yes,” Vann said. “Hence Brand’s letter. Care to share?”
“Ach, careful,” Mag grumbled from his perch on the balustrade, taking a swig of the Fae wine before passing it to Lyriat with a grin. “He’s as likely to strangle you as answer you.”
“One measly loss of control and it’s all anyone can focus on.” Lyriat snatched the bottle away. Staring at Vann, he rolled the neck of it between his hands. “Considering you just told us there were countless Fae standing by gawping instead of helping, tell me… How do I know you can be trusted? What proof do you have the Tempusrealm and its people had nothing to do with any of it?”
Vann considered that. “At the moment? None, other than my assurances as your friend. The creatures who saw the battle were not warriors, and you know it’s more complicated than that to go from realm to realm. Flying across a chasm isn’t done, eh?” Another drag, another twining whirl of smoke. “I’ll admit the Eternal Ones have been rather tetchy of late, but the reason is personal in nature. Sadly, I’m forbidden from saying more.”
“Aye, definitely getting throttled.”
“For fucks’ sake, Magnus.” Lyriat took his own deep pull of the wine and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Vann reached over and gripped Lyriat’s shoulder. “I promise you my queens are focused inward right now, not outward. They had no motive for what was done to Baldrir, and all of us were just as shocked as the next to hear of the dreadbeast. You have my vow to the Sisters.”
Brand found himself staring intently at his Fae brother, searching, a small part of him ashamed he would even consider Vann’s guilt or feel the need to look for it.
“Fuck it.” Lyriat plopped the bottle into Brand’s lap and sat forward. “Since you already know all that, there can’t be any harm in the rest of it. Brand?”
His turn for a drink. The amber liquid went down like honeyed sunshine, the slightest fizz crackling on his tongue. Normally, he might’ve savored the sweet, floral taste or the way his limbs went weightless. This time, he was only grateful it wouldn’t run out or give them a hangover, no matter how much they imbibed.
Blind fucking drunk with none of the ramifications had a certain appeal this evening.
Brand dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Baldrir came back from his torture with a message…”
He, Mag, and Lyriat took the story in turns, right up to their return. Vann remained silent throughout, only his eyes and breath betraying his disturbance.
“You’re being targeted,” he said when they were finished. “Both the Demonsandthe Wolflords.”
“So it would seem.” Lyriat’s gaze moved inward. “But for what?”
“The same thing any and all of the past offenders have wanted,” Vann replied. “Power. Control. The money that comes with it. How many times have we done this dance? There’s always someone who’s unsatisfied, convinced they’d do it ‘better,’ and they rarely care who they hurt to get there. This business with Faldir being in two places, though… That’s the most confounding part.”
“Aye, no shite.” Mag plucked the smoldering dart from Vann’s fingers and put it to his own lips, breathing deep. “If it’s a shapeshifter, anyone could be anyone.”
“If it’s a shapeshifter, we are on an entirely different level ofissuesthan we thought.”
Lyriat eyed Vann for a moment. “You’re going to need to elaborate. Convincingly, since having a creature such as that in my realm is another clue pointing towards the Fae.”
Vann chuckled, unbothered by the accusation. “True shapeshifters are so rare as to almost be fiction in Kohamaia. No one’s seen or heard of one being born in a couple hundred years, and the documented instances before are almost as few and far between. The land has… forgotten that old magic, except for within the Imperial Line. Even then, we can only do it the one, uncontrollable time.” He reached for the wine and his herbs in turn, partaking of both before he said, “Tell me, did youseeFaldir in the chasm at any point?”
“No,” Brand answered. “Only heard his voice, clear as day, and found signs of a struggle. At the time, it all made sense. Now…”
Vann shrugged, settling back. “Seems to me you have no evidence of an actual shapeshifter and are possibly letting your imaginations run away with you.”
“We aren’t bloody children.” Lyriat loosed a long-suffering sigh. “How else would you explain Hedda and Faldir’s accounts? He swears up and down she came to him during his watch and commanded him home for reinforcements, whilesheinsists—vehemently—that such a thing never happened.”
“Are you certain she was drugged? For all you know, she took too much of her own tonic, told Faldir to go, and simply cannot remember. Or one of them is lying.”
“Neither of my cousins is lying,” Lyriat growled. “I would know.”
