The Cave of Princes was as foul and disorienting as Ruhn remembered. But at least he had a kernel of starlight to keep the ghouls at bay in the misty dark. Even if it took most of his concentration to summon it and keep it glimmering.
He and Lidia had entered hours ago, and he’d immediately smelled Flynn’s and Dec’s scents hanging in the air. Along with Morven’s and the Murder Twins’. But it was the sixth scent that had sent Ruhn running down the passages, Lidia easily keeping pace with him. A scent that haunted his nightmares, waking and asleep.
Somehow, the Autumn King was here. And his father wasn’t lying in wait for Ruhn, but heading deeper into the caves, after Bryce. Ruhn pushed ahead, even when his legs demanded a break.
Morven’s and his father’s scents—with the others in tow—cut through nearly hidden tunnels and steeply descending passageways, as if the Stag King knew every secret, direct route. He probably did, as King of Avallen. Or maybe the ghouls showed him the way.
Eventually, Ruhn’s body screamed for water, and he paused. Lidia didn’t complain—didn’t do anything but follow him, always alert to any threat. Yet as they once again rushed down the passage, Lidia said quietly, “I apologize for last night.”
Despite every instinct roaring at him to hurry, Ruhn halted. “What do you mean?”
Her throat worked, her face almost luminous in his starlight. “When I … flinched.”
He blinked. “Why the Hel would you apologize for that?” Pollux should be the one to apologize. Hel, Ruhn would make the fucker apologize to Lidia—on his knees—before putting a bullet in his head.
Color stained her cheeks, a rosy glow against the misty darkness behind them. “I like to think myself immune to … lingering memories.”
Ruhn shook his head, about to object, when she went on. “Everything I did with Pollux, I did willingly. Even if I found his brand of entertainment hard to stomach at times.”
“I get it,” Ruhn said a shade hoarsely. “I really do. I’m not judging, Lidia. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Ever.”
“I want to, though.” Lidia glanced at his mouth.
“Want to what?” he asked, voice dropping an octave.
“Know what your body feels like. Your mouth. In reality. Not in some dreamworld.”
His cock hardened, and he shifted on his feet. He didn’t mask the arousal in his tone, his scent, when he said, “Anytime you want, Lidia.”
Except, of course, right now. But after he sorted through whatever shitshow was about to go down in these caves—
The pulse in her throat seemed to flutter in answer. “I want you all the time.”
Gods damn. Ruhn leaned in. Ran his mouth, his tongue, up her neck. Lidia let out a breathy little sound that had his balls drawing tight.
Ruhn said against her soft skin, “When we get out of these caves, you’ll show me exactly where you want me, and how you want me.”
She squirmed a little, and he knew that if he slid his hand between her legs, he’d find her wet. “Ruhn,” she murmured.
He kissed her neck again, watching through heavily lidded eyes as her nipples pebbled, poking against the thin material of her shirt. He’d explore those a lot. Maybe do a little exploring right now—
A rasping, ancient hiss sounded from the rocks nearby.
And this was so not the place. Ruhn peeled away from Lidia, meeting her eyes. They were glazed with lust.
But she cleared her throat. “We have to keep going.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Maybe you should, ah, take a moment,” she said, smirking at the bulge in his pants.
He threw her a wry look. “You don’t think the ghouls will appreciate it?”
Lidia snickered. Then grabbed his hand, tugging him back into a steady, paced run. “I want to be the only one who gets to appreciate it from now on.”
He couldn’t stop the purely male smugness that flooded him. “I can live with that.”
“I know what Theia did,” Bryce said, shaking her head. “She tried to send her daughters back to their home world, but only Silene made it.”
Aidas arched a brow. “I’m assuming you have gleaned something of the truth, if you know of Silene by name. Did you learn what happened to her?”
“She left a … a magical video that explained everything.” Bryce pulled Truth-Teller from the sheath at her side. Here, at least, the blades didn’t pull at each other. “Silene had this with her when she returned to her home world. And now I’ve brought it back to Midgard.”
Aidas started at the sight of the dagger. “Did Silene account for what happened during that last encounter with her mother?”
Bryce rolled her eyes. “Just tell me, Aidas.”
Thanatos and Apollion shifted in their seats, annoyed at her irreverence, but Aidas’s mouth curved toward a smile. “It took me—and Helena—years to understand what Theia actually did with her magic.”
“She shielded her daughters,” Bryce said, recalling how Theia’s star had split in three, with an orb going to each of her children. “She used the Harp to carry her magic over to them as a protection spell of sorts.”
Aidas nodded. “Theia used the Harp to divide her magic—all her magic—between the three of them. A third to Silene. A third to Helena. And the remainder stayed with Theia.” His eyes dimmed with an old sorrow. “But she did not keep enough to protect herself. Why do you think Theia fell to Pelias that day? With only a third of her power, she did not stand a chance against him.”
“And the sword and knife?” Bryce asked.
“Theia endeavored to keep the Asteri from being able to wield her power to use the sword and knife. Both weapons were keyed to her power, thanks to Theia’s assistance in their Making,” Aidas explained calmly. “It is why the Starsword calls to the descendants of Helena—of Theia. But only to those with enough of Theia’s starlight to trigger its power. Your ancestors called these Fae Starborn. The Asteri have no power over the blades; they lack Theia’s connection to the weapons. Since the Starsword and the knife were both Made by Theia at the same moment, their bond has always linked them. They have long sought to be reunited, as they were in their moment of their Making.”
“Like calls to like,” Bryce murmured. “That’s why the Starsword and Truth-Teller keep wanting to be close to each other. Why they keep freaking out.”
Aidas nodded. “I believe that when you opened the Gate, despite your desire to come to Hel, the Starsword’s desire to reach the knife—and vice versa—was so strong that the portal was redirected to the world where they were Made. With the door closed between worlds, they had been unable to reunite. But once you opened it, the blades’ pull toward each other was stronger than your untrained will.”
With the Starsword in hand, she’d gone right to Truth-Teller, landing on that lawn mere feet away from Azriel and the dagger.
Bryce winced down at the blades. “I’m trying not to be creeped out that these things are, like … sentient.” But she’d felt it, hadn’t she? That pull, that call between them. She’d sworn they were talking last night, for fuck’s sake. Like two friends who’d been apart, now rushing to catch up on every detail of their lives.
Over fifteen thousand years of separation.
Aidas went on, “But it wasn’t just the blades that you reunited in the home world of the Fae, was it?”
Bryce’s hands glowed faintly with that ghostly aura. “No,” she admitted. “I think … I think I claimed some of Theia’s magic. Silene left it waiting there.” She’d thought it was another star, not a piece of a larger one.
Aidas did not seem surprised, but the other two princes wore such similar expressions of confusion that she almost smiled. Bryce glanced to Hunt, who nodded shallowly. Go ahead, he seemed to say.
So Bryce explained how she had claimed the power from the Prison, what she’d seen and learned from Silene’s memory, her confrontation with Vesperus.
Bryce finished, “I thought Silene had left her power, yet she still had magic afterward. It must have been Theia’s power that she left in the stones. It absorbed into mine—like it was mine. And when my light shone through the Autumn King’s prism, it had transformed. Become … fuller. Now tinged with dark.”
Aidas mused, “I’d say you had a third of Theia’s power already, the part that originally was given to Helena—that came down to you through Helena’s bloodline, and you took another third from where Silene stashed it. But if you can find the last third, the part that Theia originally kept for herself … I wonder how your light might appear then. What it might do.”
“You knew Theia,” Bryce said. “You tell me.”
“I believe you’ve already begun to see some glimpses of it,” Aidas said, “once you attained what Silene had hidden.”
Bryce considered. “The laser power?”
Aidas laughed. “Theia called it starfire. But yes.”
Bryce frowned. “Is it—is it the same as the Asteri’s?” She hadn’t realized how much the question had been weighing on her. Eating at her.
“No,” Apollion cut in, scowling. “They are similar in their ability to destroy, but the Asteri’s power is a blunt, wicked tool of destruction.”
Aidas added, eyes shining with sympathy, “Starfire’s ability to destroy is but one facet of a wonderous gift. The greatest difference, of course, lies in how the bearer chooses to use it.”
Bryce offered him a small smile as that weight lifted.
Hunt cut in, “So just to clarify: There’s still a third well of Theia’s power out there—or was?”
“Helena knew that her own portion of her mother’s magic would be passed down to future generations,” Aidas said. “But when Theia died, all that remained of Theia’s power lay in the Starsword. Theia put it into the blade after she parted from her daughters.”
Bryce shook her head. “Let me get this straight. Theia divided her power into three parts: one to each of her daughters, and she transferred the last part to the Starsword. So the final piece of her magic is … in this blade? It’s been waiting all this time?”
“No,” Aidas said. “Helena removed it.”
Bryce groaned. “Really? It can’t be easy?”
Aidas snorted. “Helena did not deem it wise to leave what remained of Theia’s star in the sword, even in secret.”
“But how would the Asteri have been able to wield Theia’s power to use the sword and knife,” Bryce protested, “if she was dead?”
“They could have resurrected her,” Hunt said quietly.
Aidas nodded gravely. “Theia didn’t want them to be able to access the full strength of the star in her bloodline, even through her corpse. So she split it in three, putting only enough into the Starsword for her to face Pelias—long enough to buy her daughters time to run. She gave her magic to her daughters, thinking they would both escape to their home world and be beyond the reach of the Asteri forever.”
“Why not send the Starsword with them, too?”
“Because then the knife and sword would have been together,” Thanatos said.
“But what sort of threat do they pose?” Bryce said, practically shouting with impatience. “The Autumn King said they can open a portal to nowhere—is that it?”
“Yes,” Aidas confirmed. “And together, they can unleash ultimate destruction. Theia separated them to keep the Asteri from ever having that ability. She did not know of a way they could be united by someone not of her bloodline, but the Asteri have been known to be … creative.”
“How did Helena transfer the power out of the sword? She didn’t have the Harp,” Bryce said.
“No,” Aidas agreed. “But Helena knew that Midgard possessed its own magic. A raw, weaker sort of magic than that in her home world, but one that could be potent in high concentrations. She learned that it flowed across the world in great highways, natural conduits for magic.”
“Ley lines,” Bryce breathed.
Aidas nodded. “These lines are capable of moving magic, but also carrying communications across great distances.” Like those between the Gates of Crescent City, the way she’d spoken to Danika the day she’d made the Drop. “There are ley lines across the whole of the universe. And the planets—like Midgard, like Hel, like the home world of the Fae—atop those lines are joined by time and space and the Void itself. It thins the veils separating us. The Asteri have long chosen worlds that are on the ley lines for that exact purpose. It made it easier to move between them, to colonize those planets. There are certain places on each of these worlds where the most ley lines overlap, and thus the barrier between worlds is at its weakest.”
Everything slotted together. “Thin places,” Bryce said with sudden certainty.
“Precisely,” Apollion answered for Aidas with an approving nod. “The Northern Rift, the Southern Rift—both lie atop a tremendous knot of ley lines. And while those under Avallen are not as strong, the island is unique as a thin place thanks to the presence of black salt—which ties it to Hel.”
“And the mists?” Hunt asked. “What’s the deal with them?”
“The mists are a result of the ley lines’ power,” Aidas said. “They’re an indication of a thin place. Hoping to find a ley line strong enough to help her transfer and hide Theia’s power, Helena sent a fleet of Fae with earth magic to scour every misty place they could find on Midgard. When they told her of a place wreathed in mists so thick they could not pierce them, Helena went to investigate. The mists parted for her—as if they had been waiting. She found the small network of caves on Avallen … and the black salt beneath the surface.”
Aidas smiled darkly. “She returned to the Eternal City and convinced Pelias that only such a place would be a worthy burial location for him. He was vain and arrogant enough to believe her. So they established the Fae kingdom on Avallen, and she carved his royal tomb into the rock. She spun lies about wanting future generations to worship him, to have to be born with the right blood to have the privilege of attaining his sword, which would be buried with him.”
Aidas gestured toward the Starsword, sheathed down Bryce’s back. “Helena knew Pelias would never part with his trophy, not until he died. And when he did, she at last drew upon the raw power of Avallen’s ley lines to take the star her mother had imbued in the Starsword and hide it.”
“So why the prophecy about the sword and knife?” Hunt asked. “If Theia was so scared of them being reunited, why all this crap about trying to get them back together?”
Aidas crossed his legs. “Helena planted that prophecy, seeded it in Fae lore. She knew that despite her mother’s fears, the sword and knife are needed to destroy the Asteri. She knew that if a scion came along who could claim all three pieces of magic, they’d need the sword and knife to make that power count. Theia’s power, when whole, is the only thing that can unite and activate the true power of those blades and stop the Asteri’s tyranny.”
Bryce’s mouth dried out. A real path to ending the Asteri, at last.
“So where is it?” Bryce asked. “Where’s the last part of Theia’s power?”
“I don’t know,” Aidas said sadly. “Helena told no one, not even me.”
Bryce let out a long, frustrated breath, but Hunt kept pushing the princes. “So to unite the sword and knife, Bryce needs to find the starlight Helena took from the Starsword—the last third of Theia’s power—which is stashed somewhere on Avallen?”
“Yes,” Aidas said simply.
“But how do I make them open that portal to nowhere—and what the Hel does that mean, anyway?” Bryce griped.
Thanatos said roughly, “We’ve been wondering that for eons.”
Aidas dragged a hand through his golden hair. “Ultimate destruction was the best any of us could guess.”
“Fantastic,” Bryce grumbled.
Yet Hunt asked, “If Avallen is one of the stronger thin places, why did the Asteri even allow the Fae to live here?”
“The black salt, in such high quantity, keeps them away. They never realized that its presence drew us as much as it repelled them,” Apollion said with satisfaction. “It has the same properties that made us immune to the thrall of their black crowns.”
Bryce tensed at that, glancing at Hunt, but her mate asked, setting aside his own questions for now, “Did Helena know the Asteri were repelled from this place?”
Aidas nodded. “Once she figured it out, it confirmed her decision to hide Theia’s power here.”
Bryce angled her head. “But why did the mists open for Helena to get through in the first place?”
“The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.”
Bryce brushed invisible dirt off her shoulders,
“Add it to Bryce’s list of Magical Starborn Princess crap,” Hunt said, chuckling. But then he frowned deeply. “If the sword and knife could open a portal to nowhere all along, why didn’t Theia use them herself in the First Wars?”
“Because she was scared,” Aidas said, his voice suddenly tense. “For everyone.”
“Right,” Bryce said. “Ultimate destruction.”
“Yes,” Aidas said. Thanatos gave a disdainful snort, but Apollion looked at Aidas with something like compassion. “Theia,” Aidas explained, “had theorized about what uniting the blades would do, but never put it into practice. She was afraid that if she opened a portal to nowhere, all of Midgard might get drawn in. She might succeed in trapping the Asteri in another world only to damn this world to follow them right in. So she opted for caution. And by the time she should have damned caution to the wind … it was too late for her. For us. It was safer, wiser, for her to separate the blades, and her power.”
“But Helena felt differently,” Bryce said.
“Helena believed the risk worthwhile,” Aidas said. “She suffered greatly in the years following the First Wars—and saw the suffering of others, too. I came to agree with her. She wouldn’t tell me where she moved Theia’s power, but I know she left it accessible for the future scion who might emerge, bearing Helena’s own third of Theia’s light. The person who could somehow, against all odds, unite the pieces of Theia’s power—and then the two blades.”
“What blinds an Oracle?” Bryce whispered.
“Theia’s star,” Aidas said softly. “I told you: The Oracle did not see that day … but I did. I saw you, so young and bright and brave, and the starlight Helena had told me to wait for. That third of Theia’s power, passed down through Helena’s line.”
Hunt demanded, “But what is Bryce supposed to do? Find that last piece of Theia’s power, use it on the blades, and open this portal to nowhere while praying we don’t all get locked in with the Asteri, too?”
“That’s about the sum of it,” Aidas said, his eyes fixed on Bryce. “But there was one thing Theia and Helena did not anticipate: that you would bear the Horn, reborn, in your body. Another way to open doors between worlds.”
“And what’s she supposed to do with that?” Hunt snarled.
Aidas smiled slightly. “Fully open the Northern Rift, of course.”
