“This is as far as the ship can take you,” Commander Sendes said as Bryce and Hunt steadied themselves on the wave-tossed top of the Depth Charger. A gray sea crashed around them, the damp, howling wind blasting right through Bryce’s feeble jacket to bite at her bones.
It wasn’t exactly how Bryce had pictured the entrance to the fabled Fae homeland.
Hunt’s wings, nearly the same hue as the water, stretched wide, as if testing the air currents. On his other side, Baxian peered out over the water, his black wings braced against the wind.
Not that they had far to fly.
The wall of mist rose from the sea itself, stretching all the way into the clouds. Perhaps it continued above them. It was impossible to see.
As she’d suspected, the mists were nearly identical to those around the Bone Quarter. Impenetrable, ominous … Were these truly thin places between worlds? And what the Hel was it about these mists that the Asteri couldn’t cross?
“You can’t cruise under the mist?” Hunt asked Sendes, nodding toward the swirling mass ahead.
Sendes shook her head, the bitter wind ripping strands of her dark hair free from its tight braid. “No. There’s no mist under the water, but there is a barrier—invisible, yet solid as stone.”
“So they’re wards?” Bryce asked, shivering again. The fire sprites, who had been perched on her shoulders when she climbed into the freezing air, had left moments ago, three flames zooming out across the waves toward the distant landmass of Pangera. She’d offered up a prayer to Solas as they quickly vanished over the horizon.
“Not wards in the way we know them,” Sendes explained, barely flinching at the frigid wave that slammed into the side of the ship, showering her. Bryce, a few steps away, hissed at the spray, leaping back a step. “They seem … naturally occurring, rather than spell-made. Even the Ocean Queen’s never given the order to attempt to breach the mists here. It’s like Midgard itself made these.”
Bryce slid her chilled, wet hands into the pockets of her jacket. It did little to warm them. “Told you the mists are worth looking at.”
Last night in bed, she’d wanted to talk to him about their quarrel. But she’d been exhausted, and so grateful to just be lying next to him, that she hadn’t said anything.
Hunt peered up at the towering barrier of mist, feathers rippling in the wind. “So how’d the Fae get access in the first place?”
“Those sleazeballs can wriggle their way into anything. The ancient ones were no different,” Bryce said.
Sendes grunted in agreement, but her phone pinged, and the commander stepped away to read whatever message had come in.
Baxian stepped up to Hunt’s other side, grimacing as another wave roared, showering them all this time. Fuck it was cold. “So what’s the plan?” the Helhound asked them. He jerked his chin to Hunt. “You and I fly recon along the wall, looking for a way in?”
Hunt nodded grimly and said, “Maybe we’ll find a doorbell somewhere.”
“Your brother’s late,” Baxian said to Bryce. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. There are probably Omega-boats nearby.”
“The ship knows how to avoid them,” Bryce countered, dodging behind Hunt to avoid another shower of icy water.
“Yeah, but we don’t want them tipped off that we’re heading into Avallen,” Baxian said. He spread his wings, flapping them once, spraying droplets off his black feathers. “I’ll head west along the wall,” the Helhound said to Hunt. “Meet back here in ten?”
Before Baxian could leap into the skies, the hatch behind them groaned, and Ruhn appeared through it, Flynn and Dec behind him. All three armed, as Bryce, Hunt, and Baxian were, with weapons from the Depth Charger’s arsenal. Handguns and knives, mostly—but better than nothing.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ruhn said upon seeing Hunt’s frown. “Flynn and Dec discovered the waffle station in the mess hall and went crazy.”
Flynn patted his stomach. “You mer know how to do breakfast,” he said to Sendes, who slid her phone into her pocket and sauntered over.
Bryce might have laughed if Tharion hadn’t emerged from the hatch behind them, tight-faced and pale. He met Bryce’s stare as he came to her side—bleak and exhausted.
Bryce reached out and cupped the mer’s strong jaw. “Hang in there,” she murmured.
“Thanks, Legs.” Tharion stepped back to the rail’s edge, his face becoming unreadable.
She wished she had more to say, more comfort to offer him. After all he’d done to help them these past several months, this was the best she could do? Leave him behind?
Movement in the hatch caught her eye again, and Lidia’s golden head emerged. Though Ruhn and his friends continued to debate whether waffles went better with syrup or whipped cream—of all the fucking things to talk about right now—she could have sworn her brother tensed.
Lidia didn’t look at Ruhn, though. Didn’t say anything, only stared up at the swirling mist. If she was surprised at its ominous presence, her face revealed nothing. She offered no explanation, no apology for her own tardiness.
The Hind glanced back at the open hatch. No doubt thinking about her sons far below.
Baxian was watching her—like she puzzled him. Bryce didn’t blame him. The Helhound had worked closely with her as the Hind, and yet here she stood, so different underneath the same exterior he’d always known. Even if he, too, had hidden his true allegiances behind his own mask.
She couldn’t begin to imagine how Lidia might feel, though. Bryce walked up to her and said quietly, “I’m sorry you can’t stay with them.”
Lidia’s golden eyes snapped to her face. For a moment, Bryce steadied herself for a biting response. But then Lidia’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she said, “Thank you.” Her gaze softened, like she remembered Bryce’s offer to talk last night, and she said again, quieter this time, “Thank you.”
Bryce nodded, and turned to find Ruhn watching them closely. His face instantly became as unreadable as stone. Whatever was between him and Lidia, she wouldn’t poke it with a ten-foot pole. A hundred-foot pole.
Bryce instead said to her brother, to Flynn and Dec, “We were about to run some recon, but it occurs to me that you three have actually been here before.” She gestured to the mists. “How do we get in?”
A particularly large wave rocked the Depth Charger, and Hunt was instantly there, a hand at Bryce’s back to steady her.
“Alphahole,” she muttered up at him, but let him see the light dancing in her eyes.
Ruhn and his two friends were frowning at each other, though. Her brother said, “Normally, you need an invite from Morven. But I learned during my Ordeal that having the Starsword grants you … entry privileges.”
Bryce’s brows lifted, but she winced as another blast of cold, wet wind slammed into her. She stepped closer into Hunt’s warmth, her mate curling a gray wing around her to block the gusts. “How?”
Ruhn jerked his chin to where the sword was sheathed down her back. “Draw it and you’ll see.” Bryce and Hunt swapped wary glances, and Ruhn sighed. “What, you think this is some sort of prank?”
Bryce said, “I don’t know! You’re being awfully cryptic!”
Baxian chuckled from Hunt’s other side, enjoying the show. Gods, he and Danika had been made for each other.
Despite the pang of loss at the thought, Bryce glared at the Helhound, then drew the sword in one smooth movement. The black blade didn’t so much as gleam in the gray light. The dagger at her side seemed to weigh heavier, as if being dragged toward the blade—
“Well, look at that,” Tharion drawled, peering up at the wall of mist.
“Doorbell indeed,” Hunt murmured.
A triangle of a door—like the one in Silene’s caves—had slid open.
The hair on Bryce’s arms rose as a white boat, the opposite of those at the Black Dock, sailed out. The arching prow had been carved like a stag’s head, twin lanterns hanging from the branches of its mighty horns.
And then the stag itself spoke, eyes glowing, its mouth moving as a deep male voice came from inside it—no doubt broadcast from a king miles away.
“Welcome, Bryce Danaan. I’ve been expecting you.”
Tharion watched his friends climb into the white boat, the angels furling their wings tightly. The boat held steady on the bobbing waves, guided by whatever magic had sent it here in the first place. Flynn kept a wary eye on Lidia as she leapt in after Ruhn, but hesitated before jumping himself. He turned back to Tharion and offered a hand. “See you around, mer.”
Tharion studied the male’s broad, callused hand, its golden skin flecked with sea spray. Behind Tharion, Sendes had already waved to his friends and was now heading for the hatch.
If he was to make his move, it had to be now. Because if he stayed on this ship another day … it wouldn’t end well for him.
Which left him with one choice, really.
Sendes paused at the open hatch and beckoned Tharion below. Places to be and all that.
Flynn frowned at the hand he still held extended, at Tharion, standing there—
Tharion moved.
Bracing his hands on the rail, he vaulted over the side, landing in the white boat with a thud that had the others cursing at him.
“Ketos,” Athalar demanded, a steadying hand on the side of the boat as it rocked, “what the fuck?”
But Flynn landed behind Tharion a second later, saying, “Go, go, go,” to the boat or whatever magic controlled it.
Tharion’s blood raced in his veins as the boat began to pull away from the Depth Charger, and then Sendes was at the rail, her eyes wide with shock.
“She’ll kill you,” Sendes cried. “Tharion—”
Tharion flashed the commander a grin. “She’ll have to breach the mists first.”
He barely got the last word out before the prow of the boat entered the famed mists.
Yet he could have sworn a shudder went through the ocean behind them, as if a great leviathan of power was already surging, rising for him—
They crossed into the dense mists. The sense of pure power vanished. Nothing remained except the gray water around the boat and the drifting mists, too thick to see more than a few feet beyond the glow of the stag’s eyes.
Tharion faced forward at last and found his friends staring at him in varying degrees of alarm. Lidia Cervos was slowly shaking her head—like she understood the gravity of what he’d done better than any of them.
“Well,” he said as casually as he could, sitting down and crossing his legs, “not to invite myself to the party, but I’m coming with you guys as well.”
