“Not to worry, love.” He wrapped an arm around her, laying a kiss on the top of her head. “I won’t go the way of my father. Not when so much is at stake, and I have you to pull me from the edge.”
His father. Emperor Stennyx, driven mad by the very words that held her destiny.
Words that might hold the answer to locating Brand.
“I don’t know how, but I’ll bring him back.” She pressed a fist to her chest, to the spot where she should be feeling him. “I swear it.”
“We will help.” Araxis stepped from his pocket of shadow, surprising her with his presence and promise.
She would’ve laughed if anyone had compared him to Brand. Would’ve argued any claim they were alike. Now, she clearly saw the way their lips bowed the same, the way the top one was slightly larger than the bottom. Noted the shallow cleft in his chin, a twin to the one she knew hid beneath Brand’s short, fiery beard. But it was his look—one of righteous indignation, promising suffering to any who’d harm one of his own—that set her heart to pounding.
The same look Brand had worn on his bruised and bleeding face before he was taken.
Lunara ignored the gnawing emptiness building, the ache in her throat trying to suffocate her as she realized that—regardless of the features their realms had Blessed them with, or the striking differences on the surface—her mate wasright there, staring back at her from six different creatures in lines and shapes, features and tendencies.
Right there, and yet?—
Gone. Gone. Gone.
“Aye, that’s enough then, I think.” Magnus moved to settle her into the bed. “We’d best let the witchling rest.”
She didn’t want to rest. She didn’t want to sleep anymore. She’d already been lost for?—
“How long, Magnus?” Her voice was like rusted knives, both needing and fearing the answer. “How long did he hold me under?”
He swallowed, the sound cracking through a room that had become unbearably silent. “Lunara…”
“How long?”Sisters, was that her snarling?
“A month.” Fionerys’s voice was thick, and Lunara snapped her eyes to the empress. “It’s been a month.”
It took her far too long to sift through the wreckage of her heart and mind to register the words. “Amonth?” It was a wonder she didn’t scream.
Magnus’s sigh was like a weighted breeze, pressing down on her even as it fluttered the wispy hairs clinging to her clammy skin. “Aye.”
Brand had been taken four weeks ago. Four weeks. Four…
Fuck. No. No, no, no.
Lunara scrambled to throw the blanket from herself. She couldn’t lay here for another second. Had to get up and?—
“Where do you think you’re blimmin’ going?”
She’d heard that rasping tone exactly once in her life, in the most unlikely of places.
Fern.
A verdant streak, just like she’d seen before tumbling into her unnatural sleep, and the Fae was perched at the end of her bed.
Awake. She was awake.
“Shite.” Magnus cleared his throat. “About that…”
“So,you see, we have to keep her hidden. Only those closest have been allowed into your chamber, and only after she’s had a good look at them to tell me how they make her… feel.”
Magnus had sent everyone away, refusing to tell her anything until they were alone. Fern had looked on throughout, correcting him when he’d made some perceived error, her pride shining through the feigned boredom.
“She’s not left your room, and only the family and Lyriat know she’s awake. We have yet to discover who the culprit is, but at least those who matter most have been cleared of guilt.”
