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“This place literally never disappoints.” Fern loosed a contented sigh, pointing at Sokar’s retreating back. “I knew there was something off about him.”
Kala flitted over and landed on Fern’s head, settling in her hair, as if the Fae never trapped her in a cage of broken banisters and furniture. “Less ‘off’ and more…grieving a lifetime of mishaps and sacrifice, youngling,” she rasped, a clawed wing absentmindedly picking at Fern’s curls. “Be kind.”
Brand and Magnus both stared at the spot their uncle had been standing, the color draining from their faces until they were the same shade of ill.
“Excuse me,” Hedda said from the floor, kicking Faldir off of her, “but could someone please explain where the fuck we are?”
“…and everyone was hollering about time and that’s when I remembered that it doesn’t exist here in the same way. We can mist right back out, to the exact same spot knowing precisely where she’s going to be.”
Brand broke his stare from the woven carpet and blinked up at Luna. He was doing his damned best to fold each fucking problem into its own compartment so he had any chance of coping, but…
Burning, fucking Solyrian. His dead uncle was just standing right there.
He and Magnus shared a look, his brother ashen as he’d ever seen him and clearly thinking the same thing.
“We can make a plan now,” Fern said from her perch on an overturned chair, fiddling with her mace. “Figure something out to stop her.”
Utterly relaxed, as if they hadn’t just been in the midst of the world literally falling apart.
Brand’s patience was nonexistent, the rage boiling beneath the surface of his skin and screaming to be free. “Forgive me, little moon, but I’m struggling to understand how this place will be of any use to us other than a respite.”
“Respite? My insides are about to claw their way out,” Faldir groaned.
“Same,” Hedda agreed between long, slow breaths. “Whatever we do, it needs to be quick. My greater half is…” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Just make it quick.”
Luna laid a hand on his arm. “Follow me.”
They did, Hedda and Faldir careful not to touch anything as they followed her deeper into the library through soaring corridors to a rounded, open doorway. The room beyond yawned wide, its levels and balconies connected by haphazard staircases that didn’t quite match, ladders filling in where space was tight. A neat pile of debris lay in one corner, the railing beside it half missing.
Fern’s handiwork, no doubt.
The power in the library confused him most. Ancient, like the one they’d tumbled through to get here. Tendrils of it leached from every surface. So bloody familiar, even as it was wholly foreign, and…alive. It crooked a finger wherever he turned, tempting him to follow. Since the last thing he wanted was another staggering revelation, Brand did his best to ignore it.
Luna waved her hand and a small tome flew from the shelf. “This is the one I told you about.” She flipped it open to a page three-quarters of the way through, tugged out a slip of parchment, and tossed it on a nearby table. “This is where I got the idea for your cage. Unfortunately, I never had a proper chance to test it on Okthana.”
“Do you really think she’s immortal?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the thought repugnant.
“Well, I drilled my mace straight through her spine and it exploded out the other side of her breastbone. See?” Fern lifted her weapon and peeled something from the spiked tip, holding it up to the light. “Could be from something else, but I’m fairly certain that’s a bit of lung. Either way, she sighed about it. Like she was bored. I half expected her to yawn when she slid off the end.”
Sisters save them.
Luna cleared her throat. “I think it’s more that she’s…not alive? But not dead either. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but she feels like her dreadbeasts in a way. Some Night in there, too.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you just heal it out of her?” Magnus asked, plucking the paper from the table.
Luna’s brows shot up. “That’s…hmm.”
“Kind of a good fucking idea,” Fern said. “So how do we get our hands on her when she scatters about?”
“Hands…” Luna thumbed through the pages, right to the very end. “‘Their Essence was bound—one willing, one not. Sacrifice made, the Hand rose up, his mighty fingers clawing to encase the scourge, and sleep was theirs thereafter and a day as immortal.’”
“Oh, I know you did not just quote that fucking passage at me.” Fern rolled her eyes. “I knew it would come to this. Said it that very day.”
Luna went back to the beginning, her fingers running over the words. “Well, if I can figure out exactly what it means, it’s probably our answer. We haven’t read the beginning, so…”
“Fuck’s sake. No. Shit. Damn it!” Fern scrubbed both hands over her face and pierced Brand with a stark look. “It feels fucking right.”
Brand refused to let any of the darkest imaginings take root. A sacrifice could be anything—didn’t have to equate to Luna losing her life. He wouldn’t let it.
