Not for all the riches in Bordoroth could Brand have contained his laughter then, wheezing as he collapsed and hit the floorboards.
The mirth left him on a sigh when Magnus rolled to his own back, their shoulders brushing.
“Well, I probably deserved that,” Mag finally said.
Brand huffed, sitting up. “You definitely deserved that.”
“Aye, well”—Magnus grunted as he stood—“it was worth it.” He crossed to a satchel by the door, bending to rifle through it. “Anyway, you can thank Hedda for the rude awakening. She’s the one who let it slip you were napping. Otherwise, I’d have headed straight for the food.”
“Weeping Sisters, Aldiat and Frida’s feast.” Brand sprang from the floor, trying to sort his thoughts. “How late am I?”
So much for spending any time in his workshop.
Mag pulled his ceremonial robe from the pack, shoving his arms through the short, embroidered sleeves and belting the intricate garment with a practiced skill only the Wolflords could manage. “You’re not. Yet.” He plopped down onto the settee in front of the fireplace and leaned back to set his feet on the low table there. “The sunstar has barely set, and I passed Lyriat in the corridor on my way here—headingawayfrom the great hall. You’ve got some time.”
Some of the panic bled out of Brand. “Please tell me you’ve brought Baldrir back with you.”
The Demon was not only Aldiat’s best friend, but had a knack for drawing attention, and Brand had counted on his presence more than once to get out of sticky situations he had no desire to be in.
“Ah. Right.” Mag’s eyes darted away, his face twisting into something between a grimace and a grin. “You see, what happened was… Well, I… Alright, there was this scullery maid. Vausta, Fausta, something like that,” he muttered, waving his hand. “They stumbled off last night and have been together ever since. Trust me, I heard far more than I wanted to when I went to knock on his door and fetch him this evening. In the end, it didn’t feel right to drag him away to attend a party and fall asleep here, when he could stay another night with her instead.”
Brand blinked, sure he hadn’t just heard what he thought he did. “I sincerely hope you are fucking with me right now.”
“What was I meant to do?” Magnus argued. “I’m nothing if not a romantic, Brand. I swear to the Sisters, I think she might be his mate with the way she was carrying on. That, or he’s the best lover in all of Bordoroth.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Who was I to separate such bliss?”
“A bloody fuckingSon, maybe?” Brand pinched the bridge of his nose. “For Bal’s sake, I hope sheishis mate. It’s the only thing that’ll keep him out of trouble.”
“We’ll know tomorrow, one way or another. Caius and both of the Chieftains were already abed, but I left a note for them to send Baldrir on his way come morning.” Magnus laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. “Now, get dressed. You’ve a mating ritual to get to.”
“We’ll both be lucky if Frida doesn’t brain us with her warhammer,” Brand grumbled, already digging through the wardrobe.
“Ach, don’t worry about that sweet lass. I had Hedda point her out and already spoke to her. She was practically beside herself with glee at the thought of another mating so soon. Left her with hearts in her eyes, lad. We’ll be fine.”
If only Brand could have a fraction of his brother’s smug self-assurance.
“Oh, and there’s something else you should know.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, the tone of Mag’s voice making him wary. “What?”
“I brought Thad.”
Brand swore, eyeing the bed, more exhausted than he’d ever been. “You two are here to kill me, aren’t you?”
Mag’s laugh clapped like thunder as he stood. “No, we’re here to make sure you have fun! Hurry up,” he said, crossing to the door. “We’ve got mischief to make and I’m fucking starving.”
A salty breezeteased Brand’s hair as they strolled down the winding High Road, lifting the long waves of it and tickling his cheek. Pounding drums and vibrant fiddle joined the sound of crashing waves, their combined music luring revelers in from the farthest reaches of the Horned City and beyond.
Lantern pillars lined the tight, cobbled street at intervals, cloth garlands strung between them that hadn’t been there when he’d walked by earlier. The carved, wooden columns twisted up to the glowing, stone orb perched on top, bathing everything in amber light.
It was beautiful, peaceful, and all Brand could think was that he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Think there’ll be anyone wanting to try a Wolflord on for size?” Magnus said, stopping before a dark shop window and adjusting the fall of his collar—making it wider, naturally—and smoothing a hand over his hair.
Brand rolled his eyes, tilting his head up with a long-suffering sigh. The wooden shingles lining the rooftops seemed to almost disappear as they reached upwards and blended with the night sky.
He wished he was one of them.
“You already know there’ll be dozens who are more than happy to entertain an Imperial Son, regardless of his species,” Brand answered. “Try to not be a complete arse about it.”
