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The Council was using blood magic. Dark, ancient practices that were banned centuries ago for their barbarity. Her mother had been well versed in it, but Almaura adapted the magic for kinder purpose, using creatures’ own blood to help them heal. This was not that. Especially considering the pivotal night her father mentioned the Council’s secrets, just a few days before he and her mother were murdered…
More lies. More manipulations. The Elder Council was a blight on this realm.
The Elder Council defers to one creature, and one creature alone.
The Keeper of Illamiata—who was pissed.
Lunara commanded the particles of the parchment to disintegrate, limbs shaking with fury. They would be dealt with eventually. First, she needed to get to Brand. She pictured their chamber in the Montrealm, ready for the freedom of the ether, and—
Nothing happened.
Confused, she tried to mist again. And again. Still nothing.
Fine. She’d find another way out.
The well—or whatever it was now—was overflowing, its excess begging for freedom, and Lunara was happy to give it exactly what it wanted.
She eyed the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and closed the distance between them, curious to know where in the bleeding realms she actually was and whether anyone would suffer if she blasted the whole damned place to pieces.
Stars and fucking arses.
Lunara wasn’t just in the Upper Block—she was in the Elder Halls.
No matter what she thought of the Council and their ways, how much she loathed being in this city, or how desperate she was to see Brand, Lunara would never level such a hallowed place. The Occurrence depended on the spire at its peak, and thus the Evesong and its people depended on her not reducing it to nothing.
A tiny hole couldn’t hurt, right? Just large enough for you to fit through.
Maybe…a little bigger than that, to make a fucking point. Sure, she could try the door, but that way lay people she needed to avoid for the time being. And this was more satisfying.
Lunara pressed her hands against one of the iridescent panes and flooded the spaces between its particles with power. A ripple flashed over its surface as she pulled, the glass vibrating.
“Come on,” she mumbled, fighting the urge to loose the Tear Stone. “Why won’t you—”
A crack splintered across the wide expanse like a lightning bolt, another popping into existence behind it.
“Yes! Keep going.”
It was like the glass heard her and decided to test the waters of obedience. A single chip the size of her hand dropped from the cross-section of fault lines and shattered on the floor. The din from outside multiplied in an instant, music bursting to life. Crowds cheering. The scent of slow cooked meats and fresh bread and night blooming jasmine. The cool, spiced air was a balm on her flushed cheeks, soothing her.
All of it tugged at her heart. That the parts of her realm she loved would greet her so kindly melted some of her ire. Until the sounds changed. Revelry distorted, laughter bending into a swelling wave of shouts and outrage. Screams here and there, shrill above—
“LUNA!”
Weeping. Fucking. Moons.
Brand.
Lunara went weak, an involuntary cry ripping from her lungs. Her Demon was here, calling the name that only he used. He was healed. He was here.
“Sisters save me,” she rasped, beating her palms against the glass. “Please. Please.”
Another shard fell, but it was like fighting a wall of rock and iron ten feet thick.
Something Araxis said flitted through her mind. “Even if I healed you completely, you can’t leave this place.”
Apparently, “can’t” was literal.
Damn it. Probably an enchantment of some kind to keep her imprisoned. A strong one, too. She couldn’t even sense the magic, let alone any one creature’s signature, so there was no way to know who cast it or exactly what it was.
