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The other Sorcerit Elders gasped. Brand was instantly at Lunara’s back, growling, and Araxis threw his body between her and the Arcsmith like a shield.

Completely unnecessary. Especially because Lunara already had a feeling such was the case. Once Araxis absolved Auren of the deed, there was really only one other it could be.

Lunara laid a hand on Araxis’s arm and urged him to the side with an unimpressed brow, then turned her attention to Sunestra again. “Threat or confession, Arcsmith?”

“I don’t expect I shall live through this war.” Sunestra’s voice was hollow as her gaze traveled up, up, up behind Lunara, roaming over Brand. And if there was anything other than breathtaking longing in the look, than pure agony, Lunara would have ended her then and there. “Mainly because I do not wish to.”

Confession, then.

Her electrified stare landed on Lunara, the gold snapping with power. “I never wanted to find you. I never wanted to find another Keeper ever again. Damn the Evesong. Damn Illamiata. I hoped we would rot. Because if my sweet and silly mate, my gentle Mal, was rendered mad? If he, of all creatures, could be made cruel?” She took a step forward and dropped her eyes to Lunara’s chest, her hand stopping just shy of touching the stone. “There was no hope for any other.”

Every creature around them was silent as the Veil. Even Lunara wasn’t sure what Sunestra would do.

“I’m sorry for what he did, and I’m sorry that—even now—I would say Nay,” Sunestra whispered. “Somehow, I think you understand. I pray I never see you again, and that you’re somehow better than he was.”

There was an undeniable finality in her tone that sent a bolt of panic down Lunara’s spine.

“I do,” she blurted, words bubbling up that she once thought impossible. “Down to my shared soul.”

Sunestra’s gaze leapt to hers, obviously confused. Lunara grabbed her hand and closed the last few inches between them, resting Sunestra’s palm over Illamiata. She set the stone free, its prismatic power dancing around their laced fingers.

She set herself free, too.

“I’m not better or worse than Malachyr was, but I am different,” Lunara said, her voice warbling with the song of the Sisters. “The Tear Stone and its burden was never meant for him or the others, and I’m sorry he was forced to carry a weight that wasn’t his. It is mine to bear, made for me alone, and I shall be the last who wields it.”

She had no idea how or why she knew that, but the truth of it was lifted from her very marrow.

Lunara the Moonweaver would be the final Keeper of Illamiata.

Ignoring the wave of shocked murmurs, she tightened her hold and grazed her thumb over Sunestra’s knuckles, hoping her next words somehow soothed fifty-two years’ worth of shared agony. “I don’t know about the rest of the Council, but you I can understand. You, I forgive. For Brand, I would say Nay until my dying breath. My parents would have done the same.”

Sunestra blinked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Oh.”

Lunara released her, Illamiata’s power instantly retreating as she stepped back. “And if your wish is granted and this is goodbye, I hope Malachyr is there to greet you at the Veil. I hope you find peace.”

Brand’s touch landed on her back and she leaned into it, his strength shoring her inside and out.

“So do I,” Sunestra rasped, turning away. “Goodbye…Blessed Keeper.”

The weight of the past lifted, a quiet stillness sweeping in to take its place. It filled the deepest parts of her, where decades of grief and hatred once festered. Wrapped around her like armor. Filled her lungs. Her head. Her heart.

Lunara was done looking back. She had dreams to realize and a future to secure.

There you are.

“Fuck me,” Fern breathed, breaking the tension.

Lunara threw her shoulders back. “Shall we?”

Araxis nodded, and Driana raised her hand to the sky.

“Ready?” he asked, dark fog gathering in one hand, his jeweled dagger clenched in the other.

Magnus and Thaddeus stripped off their robes, Pet and Sorcha taking their places a second later. Hedda and Faldir brandished their axes at the same time Amun and Amal produced their spears. When Vann called up his life-power, going verdant and warm, Fern’s went wild as well, stormy clouds gathering around mace and iris, her lavender hair rising.

“Do it,” Brand rumbled, greatsword in hand. “Let’s get this fucking over with.”

Driana shot a molten orb upwards, the blazing ore exploding at its zenith and raining down as harmless carbon ash. To the north and south, similar signals echoed, flashing up and down the line their forces formed across the realm, until the rest of them couldn’t be seen.