Hours after Pollux and the Hawk had left with Rigelus, Hunt was no closer to knowing who they would select to die. His bet was on Baxian, but there was a good chance Pollux would realize that killing Ruhn would devastate Bryce. If Bryce ever got back home to learn of it.
He’d been surprised and disturbed to stir from unconsciousness to find a familiar, growing weight at his back. A glance to Baxian had shown him the source: their wings were somehow regrowing at rapid speed, despite the gorsian shackles. Someone had to have given them something to orchestrate the healing—though it couldn’t mean anything good.
He wondered if their captors had realized that the relentless itching would be a torment as awful as the whips and brands. Gritting his teeth against it, Hunt writhed, arching his spine, as if it’d help ease the merciless sensation. He’d give anything, anything, for one scratch—
“Orion.” Aidas’s voice sounded in his head, in the chamber. A cat with eyes like blue opals crouched on the floor, amid the blood and waste. The same form Rigelus had used to deceive Hunt months ago.
“Aidas … or Rigelus?” Hunt groaned.
Aidas was smart enough to get it—Hunt needed proof. The demon prince said, “Miss Quinlan first met me on a park bench outside of the Oracle’s Temple when she was thirteen. I asked her what blinds an Oracle.”
The real thing, then. Not some trick of the Asteri.
“Bryce,” Hunt moaned.
“I’m looking for her,” Aidas said. Hunt could have sworn the cat looked sad.
“What does Rigelus want from my lightning?”
Aidas’s tail swished. “So that’s why he’s working so hard to break you.”
“He threatened to kill one of them if I didn’t give some to him.” A nod to Ruhn and Baxian.
Aidas bristled. “You mustn’t do so, Athalar.”
“Too late. He harvested it into a crystal like firstlight. And the fucker’s going to kill one of them anyway.”
Aidas’s blue eyes filled with worry, but the prince said nothing.
So Hunt said again, “What does he want from my lightning?”
“If I were to guess … The same thing Sofie Renast’s lightning was hunted for: to resurrect the dead.”
Hunt’s head swam. “My lightning can’t do that. We didn’t even know Sofie’s lightning could do that.”
Aidas blinked. “Well, apparently, Rigelus thinks both sources of lightning can.”
“How did you find that out? We didn’t discover that, and we were trying to dig up information about Sofie for weeks.” Hunt fought the fog in his head. No, he knew this wasn’t possible.
“I don’t just sit around waiting for you to contact me,” Aidas said. “My spies hear whispers around Midgard … and when some concern me, I go to investigate.”
“So the River Queen was on the hunt for Sofie to … engage in some necromancy? Why not go to the Bone Quarter?”
“I don’t know what the River Queen wanted.”
Hunt scoured his memory for what had happened to Sofie’s corpse after they’d found it in the morgue aboard the Depth Charger. What had Cormac done with it? Was it still on the ship? And if so, did the Ocean Queen know what she had in her possession? The questions swarmed, but one rose to the forefront. “Why didn’t Rigelus just hunt down Sofie’s body? Why bother going after me?”
“You presented yourself to him rather conveniently, Athalar. Not to mention that you’re alive, and much easier to command than a corpse.”
“There are some Archangels who might disagree with you.”
Aidas’s mouth twitched upward, but he said, “It will likely take time for Rigelus to figure out a way to wield the lightning he extracted from you. Though I admit I am … disturbed to learn of his new experimentation. It does not bode well for any of us, if Rigelus is tangling with the dead.”
“Why now?” Hunt asked. “I’ve been enslaved to them for centuries, for Urd’s sake.”
“Perhaps they’ve at last learned what your father bred you to be.”
Even the miserable itching in his back was forgotten at those words. “What the fuck does that mean?”
But Aidas only shook his head. “A tale for another time, Athalar.”
“A tale for now, Aidas. These cryptic mentions of my father, the black crown, secrets about my powers—”
“Mean nothing, if you do not get out of these dungeons.”
“Then stop fucking popping out of the shadows and find a key.”
“I cannot. My body isn’t real here.”
“It was real enough in Quinlan’s apartment.”
“That was a portal, a summoning. This is like … a phone call.”
“Then send one of your buddies through the Northern Rift to help us—”
“The distance from Nena is too great. They wouldn’t arrive in time to make a difference. You will get answers, Athalar, I promise. If you survive. But if the Asteri can use your lightning to raise the dead, in ways swifter and less limited than traditional necromancy, then the armies they might create—”
“You’re not making me feel any better about giving some over.” Another bit of guilt to burden his soul. He didn’t know how he wasn’t already broken beneath the sheer weight of it.
“Try not to give him more, then.” But Aidas threw him a pitying look. “I am sorry that one of your companions will die tomorrow.”
“Fuck,” Hunt said hoarsely. “Any idea who they’ve picked?”
Aidas angled his head, more feline than princely. Like he could hear things Hunt couldn’t. “The one whose death will mean the most to both you and Bryce.” Hunt closed his eyes. “The Fae Prince.”
This was all Hunt’s fault. He’d learned nothing since the Fallen. And he’d been fine with taking on the punishment himself, but for others to do it, for Ruhn to—
“I’m sorry,” the Prince of the Chasm said again, and sounded like he meant it.
But Hunt said hoarsely, “If you find her … if you see her again … tell her …”
Not to come back. Not to dare enter this world of pain and suffering and misery. That he was so damn sorry for not stopping all of this.
“I know,” Aidas said, not needing Hunt to finish before he vanished into darkness.
