“Indeed.” Lyriat gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re certain you wish for her to stay?”
It was almost worshipful the way Baldrir looked at Lunara. “She drew me back from the edge of the Veil, and was safety where there was none otherwise.” He swallowed. “Yes. Please, Lyriat.”
There was no heat in Baldrir’s gaze. No hint of possessiveness. His words were pure, if a bit shaky.
Otherwise, he looked amazing. His black hair shone, his skin was tight and clean. There were no scars left behind that Brand could see, or crooked bones. And he was speaking clearly—despite the fact that he’d been missing his tongue four days ago.
Lunara’s work was incredible.
Brand said as much, unable to hold the words back. “Truly,” he said. “Thad was right to trust you.”
And he owed his cousin an apology.
“Yes, well…” She cast her eyes down and away, cheeks flushing. “Thank you.”
Stars above, she was nothing like any of the other Sorcerit he knew.
Lyriat pulled a cushioned chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. “What happened, Baldrir?”
No one moved. No one breathed.
“I don’t know. One minute I was following the loveliest maid I’d ever seen up to bed, and the next…” His head fell back onto the pillows propping him up. “He…”
“He? A male?”
Baldrir looked so small when he said, “I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t.”
“Anything, Bal,” Lyriat whispered. “Anything you tell us will help.”
“Platinum hair, or silver, or white. Maybe.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Long… long enough to brush against my wounds when he was hardly bent over me. Moved like a blur, and his mood changed just as quickly, but I can’t picturehim. It’s like he wasn’t really there and I’ve made him up.”
Brand knew one male who fit Bal’s limited description, but there was no way he’d done this.
Lyriat threw him a fleeting glance, obviously thinking the same thing. “What else?”
“He wanted to know about the Battle of Breamwyrm. I think.”
Brand shook his head, confused. “That was forever ago. What use is the knowledge now?”
“I don’t know!” Baldrir snarled, going wan. “I wish I did, but I don’t… fucking know. Shite, I’m going to?—”
He wrenched to the side, and Lunara produced a basin from the ether just in time to catch his sick. She rubbed his back all the while, soft prismatic light glowing beneath her palm, until Bal finally slumped.
“There you go,” she murmured, swiping a cloth over his chin. “You’re doing so well, but you don’t have to continue.” She lifted her eyes to Lyriat. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Stars above, that was bold.
“No, I—” Bal loosed a weak sob. “I can do it.”
“Just take your time.” Lunara helped him settle back. “Deep breaths.”
Bal was quieter when he spoke again. “I was telling the story of our great grandparents for the hundredth time. How they fought the sea serpents on the shore, piling them up one by one until none were left. I can’t— I don’t know exactly how I told it, or what I said that would be of note.”
Lyriat patted Baldrir’s shin. “It changes every time, cousin. We know that well enough.”
“He kept going on about the secrets, but I didn’t understand.” Baldrir’s lids slid closed. “Secrets, secrets, secrets. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t know how to give him what he was asking for. And he was so fucking angry.”
In some ways, the more Bal spoke, the better Brand felt. Vann might have long, silver hair and move in the way all Fae did, but his brother was almost level-headed to a fault. In all his life, Brand had never seen him angry.
