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The twins immediately started in on Mag, but Brand ignored it, staring after Fern. She’d never once spoken about him in such a way. Had never looked at him with anything even close to affection before.

Something she said early on resurfaced and struck home. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost? The only one hurting?”

“What happened to her?” Brand asked.

“We found her in Glynmor,” Lunara answered with a sigh. “The same arsehole who took Nyri and Baldrir had beaten her almost to death. You and I spent six straight, grueling days fixing her body.”

“Six days?”

Lunara’s smile was sad. “Yes. Her mind is another matter.” She looked up at him, eyes skimming over his face. “She’s like you. Fern is the name Magnus gave her because we didn’t know who she was. It stuck because she still can’t tell us. I know how difficult it is that you’re missing a chunk of time, Brand, but she’s missing her entire life. No family. No home. This is all she really knows.”

Sweet, weeping…

She didn’t know her own name.

“There’s a beast in her mind as well?”

“No. A wall of rock and shadow. It’s similar, but not quite the same.”

Brand scrubbed a hand over his mouth, resisting the urge to jerk it away when he met smooth skin instead of his beard. He was an idiot. “Shite.”

“Hmm. Something like that.”

“Lunara, wait.”

Lunara froze at the rumble of Lyriat’s voice behind her, stopping just shy of her chamber door and choking back a curse as she turned. His long strides ate the distance, the intensity in each step worrying her. The pinch in his brow only made it worse.

“Do you have a moment?” Lyriat asked as he reached her. “I must speak with you.”

Of course she didn’t have a moment, but what was she supposed to say? Lunara had a feeling that ‘Sorry, but no, actually—I’m on my way to a Dread Chasm for a bit of late night experimentation!’ wouldn’t go over very well.

Another thought hit her. “Please tell me no one’s changed their mind about punishing me for what I did in Thodelebor. I don’t think I can take it right now.”

“No, nothing like that.” He glanced up and down the hall. “Can you mist us to the cove, please?”

“I’d really rather—” Lunara clawed the rest of her sentence back. She didn’t want to endure any line of questioning that forced her to recount the dream—the vision—of Brand being dragged away from her on that same secluded beach. “Fine.”

She grabbed him without another word, cool sea spray and the splash of waves greeting them a second later. He inhaled deeply, his lids sliding closed for that single breath, as if the salt air and wild roar were their own sort of medicine.

If only they worked as well for her.

“Well?” Even Lunara heard the snip of impatience in her tone, a flare of regret in its wake that gentled her next words. “What’s this about?”

“I don’t know how to soften it, so I’m just going to come out and say it.” Lyriat sighed. “He seems better, but I think Brand is actually getting worse. No, I don’t think—I know.”

She blinked at him, utterly confused. “That’s absurd. I just had the loveliest night with him since he woke.”

So lovely, in fact, that Lunara considered not leaving tonight, hoping he might want to spend more time together. That was, until she noticed the smudges beneath his eyes, exhaustion sitting heavy on his tense shoulders, and decided to let him be.

“I’m not claiming any of it is sensical,” Lyriat said.

“What proof do you have?”

“His own words. We…spoke, after our meeting.” Lyriat rubbed at his temples, staring into some middle distance.

“And?” The impatience was back, but she couldn’t help it.

“And, as of a few hours ago, his last memory before waking was of a visit to Kohamaia, which happened roughly six months before we met you.”