Hedda gifted her with a savage smile. “Another lesson for my pupil—motivation and inspiration are important in warfare. Trust me, my friend. A little bravado goes a long way. Try to play along.” She stood, her voice booming over the chaos. “Demons of the Montrealm! The Wolflords of the Westrealm need you. OurSonneeds you. Who will follow Lunara the Moonweaver in his stead? Who will bleed for Brandir’s mate in glorious battle?”
Lyriat’s markings appeared, his chest heaving as he grew and grew, stepping down from the dais and into the crowd as he began to chant.
The room erupted alongside their king. Weapons beat against shields. Against the flagstones. Against horn and fist.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo!”
Over and over, building in volume until the windows shook. Until it joined Illamiata’s song in her bones and that same feeling from before—when she’d felt the ground for the first time after accepting the stone, felt its latent energy—whispered again to her now. Begged for her to reach out.
There was no need to fake it. No need toplay along,as Hedda had put it.Not when Lunara followed Illamiata’s silent nudging—its request to answer the call and burn free—and instinct, deep and ancient, took hold.
With a cry, prismatic power poured from her—a shockwave of dancing threads. They touched down on each and every Demon gathered, sipping from their essence and giving a piece of herself in return.
Red seeped into her vision, a fire that spread to her veins. Bloodlust and fury boiled in equal measure and, for just a moment, she was changed.
She was Straelon’s sparkling sea and its crashing waves. She was the wood these creatures worked and the stone they shaped. She was their whorling power. Their colossal might. The righteous devastation of their rage made manifest.
For just a moment, Lunara was Demon.
Lyriat’s grin put Hedda’s to shame, his brutal bass rumbling beneath the roaring cacophony. “We will tear them limb from limb.”
“Limb from fucking limb,” she growled. “For Brand!”
“For Brand!”
Vann finally returnedas preparations were being made.
His first and only words had been a hurried,“A word. Bring the Fae,”in her ear, before he marched his way out of the great hall.
He stood before her now, staring down at Fern’s likeness on the slab, more serious than she’d ever seen him. “Is she here?”
“Maybe.” Lunara resisted the urge to glance at the actual Fern where she hovered nearby, examining Vann with a furrowed brow. “Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been hiding?”
“Yes, and no.” He straightened, unperturbed. “How much damage would forced remembrance do?”
Interesting.
“Hard to say. Depends on the person, and what they’re ready for. Under the circumstances, I would suggest that less is more. I don’t have the time to fix anything you muck up.” Withoutlooking away from him, she said, “Do you mind being revealed, Fern?”
The Fae arched a sardonic brow. “What do you think? I didn’t want go through with all this pissing foolery in the first place.”
Right.
Breaking the spell barely required thought. The well within had ceased being such a paltry thing the moment she’d taken Illamiata. She wasn’t even sureseawas an appropriate description. It was far more vast than that. Than any physical thing she’d ever beheld.
Vann sagged with Fern’s appearance at his side, her image disappearing from its faux repose. “Thank the Sisters.”
His relief irked Lunara. “We’re needed elsewhere, so make it quick.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” He tossed the pillow on Fern’s sickbed aside, plucking up a small, bumpy thing from beneath it.
“What is that?”
Vann held it up between pinched fingers. “A storm seed. I’d hoped it would help her before, to have one close and feel its familiarity. It didn’t.” He tossed it at Fern. “Swallow that.”
Fern caught it, eyes narrowing. “Why do I trust you?”
“We’re friends.”
