“Before we go in,” Amunkar murmured close, as if sharing a secret, “you should know I’ve been looking deeper into the contents of your missive.”
Brand went tense again. “And?”
“And there are many things that may not be as they seem. You’ll know as soon as I do, once I’ve found the answers.”
“That isn’t at all helpful, Amun.”
“It is what it is.” Amunkar straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he walked away. “Come. We have much to discuss and they are waiting.”
Brand’s nostrils flared at the command. “Apparently that’s that, then. Luna, meet Amun and hisajma,Amal,” he grumbled.
“Ach, well…” Magnus bounced on by, following after their oldest brother with a grin. “Never dull in Argoph, that’s for damned sure.”
Argoph’s Seatwas as dazzling as the rest of the Weeping City.
The circular room was packed with creatures from every realm, Solyrian blazing through the open spaces of the vaulted dome above. Glittering over wings and scales. Shimmering on skin. Gleaming on horns.
The variations in dress—or lack thereof—were enough to make her dizzy. Otherworldly Fae mingled with Wolflords in elaborate robes. Riders flashed sharp teeth as they laughed with boisterous Demons.
Only the Nachthellians held themselves apart, silent and judging—and blessedly paying her no mind.
Yet.
In the center of the space, a humongous throne stood proud on a central dais—Emperor Alwyn aht Bordoroth entrenched on the wide seat beside Empress Fionerys o Koha.
Imperial Sovereigns of the world. Brand’s fuckingparents.
Stars and arses. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, coming in here.
The Emperor’s heavy brow was pinched, mouth turned down in a frown—until he spotted his sons within the crowd and lit up. He spared only a moment to nudge his mate, whispering in her ear before he stood and helped her up with an impish grin.
He was huge, like his sons, with golden, shimmering skin and gossamer wings that brought sweet pollen and summer leaves to mind—rather like Fern. Indeed, if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of evergreen in otherwise black hair, she might’ve thought they were related.
His garments were similar to Vann’s—cut in long, billowing swaths—but the sage fabric was lighter, airier, and shot through with pale silk.
Empress Fionerys was tiny in comparison, nearly a head shorter than his shoulder. Her petite frame was wrapped in an wispy lapis gown that perfectly complemented her midnight hair. The shining blue curls glittered with frost against her light brown skin, too thick for anyone to see the pointed ears Lunara knew hid beneath.
Magnus dropped back as they approached and leaned in, murmuring, “Don’t be fooled by her small stature, witchling. Forget dreadbeasts—it’s our mam who’s the scariest creature in all of Bordoroth.”
Brand grunted. “Mag…”
“What?” Lunara’s heart turned over. “Why?”
“Because she’s captivating and kind—and fucking excellent at hiding the fact she’d gladly skin anyone who harmed her family alive. Probably with a spoon and that exact, lovely smile on her face. Not so much as a blink.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Ach,because”—He bumped his shoulder against hers—“she’s your mam now, too.”
Lunara blinked. “Oh.”
He was still chuckling when they approached the base of the dais steps—and she was still trying to wrap her mind around what he’d said when her gaze landed on an eight-pointed, star-shaped hole beneath the throne, an eddying flow rolling and rushing beneath the diamond floor.
Even she heard the awe in her tone. “Is that…”
“Mmm.” Brand nodded, half a smile on his lips. “The Fountain of All Life.”
The Sister’s weeping regret—the perpetual source of sustenance for the world—wasright there.Swirling. So close she could almost reach out and touch it.
