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Lyriat nodded at the two guards by the main doors, the warriors obeying his silent command. He didn’t miss a step as they swung the panels open, marching right into the packed Hall, supper still in full swing.

“Merda, to me,” he shouted above the din.

The same young Demon who’d called Lunara Highness for the first time jumped up from her seat, swiping her mouth with a napkin before racing to Lyriat’s side. “Your Majesty?”

“Gather your things. You make for Thodelebor at once.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Faldir! Stationery, now.”

Brand’s Third Commander barked an order and met Lyriat on his path towards the throne dais, barely looking when a Demon handed him a portable desk laden with parchment and writing supplies.

“Please, Lyriat. I’m begging.” Magnus followed him right up the stairs, gasps sounding from the many onlookers. “You’ve already threatened the Nachthellians for some perceived slight. Now this? Are you trying to alienate all of fucking Bordoroth?”

Lyriat ignored him. “Addressed properly to the Chieftains, Fal, if you will. Include Caius as well.”

Faldir nodded and scribbled whatever official titles were necessary before pausing, an expectant look on his face.

“We have long been friends and allies, our two great realms in accord for all of our recorded history,” Lyriat intoned over Magnus’s frustrated growl. “May it ever be the case, and may you bear it in mind as I no doubt disappoint you now.

“I am ordering the return of my Legions, effective immediately. It was my initial hope that the Demons might render you aid as you face the same insult, the same injury, as the Horned City did six weeks past. That we might stand by your side and deliver justice to our transgressors, and that it might bring my warriors a modicum of peace.

“What I failed to consider was the spirit of those who remained behind. My folly has left them exposed. Vulnerable. Exhausted. And, as the bodies pile up and the city remains unlivable, I must face a new reality. A new future. One that…that shines—” Lyriat pressed a fist to his lips, his nostrils flaring. By then, the entire Hall was rapt, hanging on to his every word with bated breath. “One that shines far less bright as we are forced to accept our considerable losses.”

The way he said losses, the way his voice cracked, hit her right in the heart.

Wait, he can’t mean…

Lunara shook off the mist, coming into her likeness beside Fern on one of the long benches. Whatever else Lyriat said was lost on her, the ringing pulse in her ears too loud, the haze of her panic too bright. She jumped up and spun to face Magnus, silently begging him to look at her. To give her anything that contradicted what Lyriat seemed to be saying.

He couldn’t give up on Nyri and Bal. He wouldn’t. Unless…Magnus found something.

Something too terrible to imagine.

Next Lunara knew, the Hall was bustling again, the cacophony of whispers and murmured speculation making her dizzy. She raced for the dais as Lyriat swept through one of his secret side doors with Hedda and Faldir on his heels, but no matter.

She was after Magnus.

“What’s happening? What did you find?” she hissed the second she reached him, slumped on the dais steps.

Magnus stood with a dramatic groan, rubbing circles at his temples. “Just leave it, witchling.”

He pushed past her and headed for the main doors, his long stride carrying him through the crowd faster than she could keep up. In fact, she swore he was trying to get away from her.

After that display, he could be headed anywhere—like out of the Montrealm entirely. There wasn’t enough time to leave her likeness behind, but if Brand saw her mist…

No. Bad idea.

She was about to bleeding scream just to clear everyone away when Fern landed beside her.

“What in the shitting realms⁠—”

“Where is Brand?” Lunara interrupted. “Can he see me?”

Fern took to the air without question, scanning the Hall. At last, she pointed and shook her head no.

“Stay with him. Keep him safe.”