“An arsehole with a talent for cloth.”
And Brand knew exactly what to ask for. He could feel it.
Lunara kepther breaths slow and silent, hiding in the shade of an evergreen on the edge of the practice grounds. It was early enough that Solyrian hadn’t yet cleared the mountaintops to burn away the dewdrops still clinging to the grass and needled branches above her.
There were a couple of days before they were meant to leave for Thodelebor, and she was restless. On edge.
Her time spent with Brand on the mountain had only made it worse. How was she meant to close her eyes when all she saw on the other side of her lids was him telling her she had her own light in that gravelly voice of his? It had been bone-melting. Sigh-worthy. Wondrous.
And so close to the truth that she’d nearly been sick right then and there.
She’d grown tired of lying awake in bed, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, and had thought a walk would help.
She hadn’t planned on spying.
Lunara gripped the trunk and peered around it, bark digging into her fingertips as she watched Hedda and Faldir train.
The twins were a blur, moving with such synchronization that it was impossible for her to decide which of them would win if the fight were real. They had no weapons—only their fists and flesh, their teeth and horns.
It was Hedda, though, that had all of her attention.
Lunara had been days away from beginning her training before...before.
Alone in her cottage, with no one else for miles, it was a lack that she’d lamented for the last fifty-two years.
How much safer would she have felt if she’d been able to use something other than power to defend herself? How much of her disquiet would have been relieved with knowing she could guard her space, her peace, without revealing herself?
She and Hedda were nearly of a size. Lunara was slightly wider, while the Demon was a tad taller, but there weren’t so many differences that she couldn’t picture herself in the same place, using her body in that way.
In fact, it seemed to occasionally be to Hedda’s benefit. Where her brother was brute strength with devastating results, she was fast. Wily. Clever in the placement of her limbs. She used parts of herself that he didn’t bother with. She danced around him, landing three blows for every one of his.
Watching her made Lunara wish she was someone else, even more than before. Identities aside, she wanted Hedda’s skill, her confidence, for herself.
If only you could bottle it up and take it like a tonic. Oh wait! You can.
Stars above, was it actually possible to feel an inner self rolling their eyes?
Yes, Lunara maybe could have done that. Many Sorcerit had that particular gift. But it had always felt wrong to her, somehow. Artificial, instead of genuine. She didn’t want fake fortitude and ability. She wanted the real thing.
Because the rest of your life isn’t just one, gigantic sham.
Sometimes, Lunara sincerely wished she could reach inside and smack herself.
The second the sigh left her lips, she slapped a hand over her mouth, praying that the twins hadn’t heard her. One beat, two…
They carried on as if she didn’t exist.
Thank the Sisters.
As the morning wore on, more and more Demons joined them—all shapes and sizes, every age.
Lunara gaped when Nyri practically skipped onto the field with a sword over her shoulder, dragging Baldrir along. The warrior was steady on his feet, sure, and it warmed her to see them together.
Hope the risk was worth it. At least two people know who you really are now, as a result. The Council will hear of it any day.
Damn it all, it was. Itwas. No matter what she sometimes tried to make herself believe.
She stilled when she saw Magnus and Thaddeus roughhousing their entire way to the field, grins a mile wide.
