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Doors.
The absolutely massive, curved, double panels were clad in burnished silver. About eight feet from the floor, a carved recess the exact shape of Illamiata rested in the seam, starburst rays exploding around and away from it. Above, there was one twin moon on each door, the crescents mirroring one another among swirling clouds and nebulas.
“Behold, and welcome, Blessed Keeper,” Araxis intoned, “to the most venerated hall in all Nachthelliae—the home and quarters of Lunara the Moonweaver, Illamiata’s divine and chosen vessel.”
“Blessed Keeper,” the others murmured in unison, hands pressed together as they bowed.
Sisters save her.
Araxis gestured for her to move forward. “Please place your hand on the surface so it might recognize its master.”
If he didn’t stop talking like that, she was going to scream.
Wanting to get it over with, Lunara chose instead to do as she was told. The Tear Stone flared in her chest on contact, prismatic light flowing down her arm and bleeding into the details. It spread like water, defying gravity to line the images. Pulsing, pulsing, pulsing…
A low whir sounded and a lock clicked, the doors slowly swinging wide on their own.
As Fern would say, that’s not ominous at all.
Shitting stars, she didn’t want to be here.
Lunara tried again to mist. She felt the ether’s caress for the barest millisecond, but it was no use.
Screaming is looking better and better.
Beyond the doors, the room was decked in fur and velvet, the midnight colors warmed by the twinkling, golden pinpricks in the walls. Plush lounges with too many pillows stood atop thick rugs, enough space to host everyone she loved and more.
Off to one side and near the enormous windows, a table was set for bleeding twenty. Candelabras as tall as she was sat beneath floating flames and between the onyx dishes, cutlery gleaming. Cloches were scattered throughout, steam rising from vents and releasing more of that spicy aroma she adored, already waiting for mysterious guests.
Opposite and up a set of three steps, a canopied bed large enough to fit Brand in his rage took up an entire recessed wall, as if they’d considered her mating when furnishing the space. Jewels hung on gold chains along with the curtains, more deep velvet and gossamer, everything bleeding twinkling, twinkling, twinkling in the low, moody lighting. Perfect on her eyes, a balm on the part of her that still adored the dark.
She wanted to set it all on fire.
“Through here, you will find our destination.” Araxis led her through the sitting area and past the bed to another obnoxious set of doors.
The washroom beyond put the one in Brand’s tower to shame. Lunara gaped at the circular, pond-sized tub in the center of the tiled floor, steam rising from the water. Tiny jasmine flowers floated on the rippling surface, their sweet scent filling the room like an embrace from her mother.
Almaura the Bonewhisperer had loved those cursed things more than anything else. Even her last act of simple bliss in this world was to stop and smell a vine of them.
Damn this place and its reminders.
The whole chamber, its temptations, were rendered perfectly to seduce and coax. To convince her there was nothing better because how the fuck could there be? It was immaculate. Exactly suited to her taste, like the one who designed it spent years inside Lunara’s own mind to bring the daydreams to life.
And yet, it was nothing more than a stunning prison.
“You are to be cleansed, Blessed Keeper, and garbed with care by your attendants.”
Araxis snapped his fingers and the nameless Elders dispersed to their various tasks. All of them removed their robes and decorations, using magic to hang the garments and preserve their integrity. A plain ivory slip beneath was worn by all, so sheer they left nothing at all to the imagination.
Oh no. No, no, no. No way.
That was it.
“There is only one creature in this world who is allowed to bathe me, Araxis, and you’ve spent the last quarter hour torturing me by ignoring his existence right outside these hallowed halls.” She glared at the rest of them. “They are not touching me.”
Lunara stomped from the washroom, every step another failed attempt to mist away. She rounded the gorgeous living area and made for the windows—so many damned windows in this stars-forsaken place—pressing her palms to them.
She cracked one already, she could do it again. Better, this time.
