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The reasoning was sound. Trust no one, and they were safer for it. Araxis’s lack of response to any of Lyriat’s summoning tolls only solidified the choice.
—And we still haven’t found our shapeshifting imposter—
Aye. It could be anyone at this point, and I wouldn’t be surprised, Pet.
Even Araxis.
“You have to do something, da.”
His blessed father, Emperor Alwyn, freed a long-suffering sigh that would’ve been more at home coming from one of Mag’s fed up childhood Masters. “You know I cannot.”
“It can’t stand. What the Nachthellians did—what Araxis did—is wrong,” he growled.
“Is it?” Alwyn rubbed his forehead with one hand, scooping an errant lock of blackened emerald hair away. “Or do you not understand their reasoning because you were not made privy to it? Because you do not want to?”
“Da, be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life, Magnus.”
Alwyn unlaced his fingers from Brand’s and stood, gesturing for Mag to follow him to the balcony. Once outside, his father rested his arms on the balustrade and looked out over the Serpent Sea, nodding to himself on sharp inhale.
“There were too many times in my life as a youngling and new emperor that I interfered with things I didn’t fully comprehend,” Alwyn said. “As a result, the ramifications were greater than if I’d left well enough alone. I should’ve deferred to wiser beings than I, but I didn’t. I chose to be headstrong and foolish, for what I thought were just causes, and it always bit me in the blimmin’ arse.”
Magnus wanted to howl his frustration into the sky. “This is different. Araxis violated—”
“Nothing. Your brother violated nothing, Magnus. That’s the part you’re not understanding. If Lunara as Keeper is Nachthelliae’s bright hope, their leader, Araxis is the law and fist that enforces her position—even against her if she’s being foolhardy.”
Magnus pointed a shaking finger at his father. “There was nothing foolhardy about what Lunara was doing. What she did! She might’ve saved our entire damned world, and all she got for it was the one fucking thing she never wanted—being found and forcibly taken in by the Elder Council.”
Alwyn knocked Mag’s hand away and gripped his shoulders, squeezing. “The second I start doling out punishments because something I don’t like affects someone in my family, I am no better than the conquerors of old. No more than a tyrant, when I’m meant to be a figurehead for peace. It’s a narrow ridge I walk on, with so many different rules and customs between the realms. I have to be respectful.”
—He has an excellent point, my lad—
Not now, Pet. I don’t need life lessons from every damned side!
“What of Fern?” Weeping Sisters, just the thought of what was done to her made him sick. “She’s Fae, like you, and was violated. Surely there’s a way through her that doesn’t compromise your Imperial standing.”
“An even weaker argument than all your others.” Alwyn shook his head. “Did you not watch the Demon King and his commanders threaten to behead a member of the Evesong’s Elder Council for appearing unannounced and unofficially? They had every right, and there’s no difference with what Fern did, except that she was not so fortunate in her punishment for doing so.”
“Seeing as Fern is not one of the Tempusrealm’s damned queens, and that she had no ill intent, I’d say there is something of a difference. Should all creatures now fear to tread in foreign realms, for risk of being fucking mangled?”
“Sisters save me,” Alwyn muttered, tilting his head to the clouds. “My son, you’ve been spending too much of your time with the Demons. Any who didn’t know better would think you were one of them, and seconds from a berserker rage. Calm. Use your head and realize this is one of those times where you’d benefit from a deep breath.”
“I know, Da, but—”
“Is it true that Cordelia the Firebane, Head Elder of the Evesong, invited all of you to celebrate Nachthelliae’s looming Occurrence, on top of the official invitations Lyriat initially received?”
“Aye.”
“Then it sounds to me like you have your way in, Magnus. Use it. I cannot help, but I don’t like this any more than you do.” He turned in towards the bedchamber, verdant eyes on Brand. “They shouldn’t be separated. It isn’t right or natural.”
As if to make a point, the chamber door opened and his mother entered, half a smile on her face. “The Sisters simply do not make creatures like Fern anymore, and more’s the pity.”
Mag groaned when he saw that incurable twinkle in his father’s eyes. The one he got whenever the empress was near, and a clear sign that their conversation was at its end.
—He’s right, though. We have a way through—
It’s not good enough, Pet. Not nearly.
