Ithan snorted. “We can take her. My brother took down Philip Briggs.”

  “Something tells me Pippa might be worse than Briggs.”

  “Come on,” Ithan said, scoffing.

  Tharion didn’t bother to keep the gravity from his face. “I like being alive. I’m not going to risk death because you’ve got an outsize view of your wolf skills.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Tharion shrugged. “My river, my rules, pup.”

  Thunder from far above echoed in the quiet halls, rattling even the thick glass.

  “I can go after her on my own.”

  Tharion smirked. “Not while you’re stuck down here.”

  Ithan sized him up. “Really? You’d trap me?”

  “For your own safety, yeah. You know what Bryce would do to me if you wound up dead? I’d never get to fondle her underwear again.”

  Ithan gaped at him. Then burst out laughing. It was a rich sound, a little hoarse—like he hadn’t done it in a while. “I’m surprised Athalar lets you live.”

  “You know what Bryce would do to Hunt if I wound up dead?” Tharion grinned. “My sweet Legs has my back.”

  “Why do you call her that?” Ithan asked cautiously.

  Tharion shrugged again. “You really want me to answer that?”

  “No.”

  Tharion smirked. “Anyway, the real question is whether Emile is headed toward the place Danika hinted at in her email.”

  Holstrom had already filled him in on the papers and news clippings he and Bryce had uncovered yesterday, but none had any link to a potential rendezvous location.

  The door to Tharion’s office opened, and one of his officers, Kendra, strode in. The blond sentinel stopped short upon seeing Ithan, hair swaying around her. She looked to Tharion, who nodded. She was free to speak around the wolf.

  “Boss wants you in her quarters. She’s, ah … in a mood.”

  Fuck. “I thought I heard thunder.” Tharion jerked his chin at the door as Kendra left. “There’s a lounge down this hall on the left. Feel free to watch TV, help yourself to snacks, whatever. I’ll be back … soon. Then we can start sniffing around for the kid.” And hopefully avoid Pippa Spetsos.

  He used the walk to his queen’s quarters to steady his nerves against whatever storm was brewing. It had to be bad, if it was raining Above during the dry summer months.

  Bryce fanned her face in the summer heat, thanking Ogenas, Bringer of Storms, for the rain that was moments away from falling. Or whatever Vanir might be throwing a temper tantrum. Judging by how swiftly the storm had swept in to ruin the otherwise flawless blue sky, odds were on the latter.

  “It’s not that hot,” Ruhn observed as they walked down the sidewalk toward the Aux training facility on the edge of the Old Square and Moonwood. The empty, cavernous chamber was usually used for large meetings, but he’d reserved it once a week at this hour for their standing training.

  They’d have a newcomer today. At least, if Prince Cormac deigned to show up to begin her training, as he’d promised.

  “I don’t know how you’re wearing a leather jacket,” Bryce said, her sweaty thighs sticking together with each step.

  “Gotta hide the weapons,” Ruhn said, patting the holsters beneath the leather jacket. “Can’t have the tourists getting skittish.”

  “You literally carry a sword.”

  “That has a different impact on people than a gun.”

  True. Randall had taught her that a long time ago. Swords could mean hope, resistance, strength. Guns meant death. They were to be respected, but only as weapons of killing, even in defense.

  Bryce’s phone rang, and she checked the caller ID before shutting off the ringer and sliding it into her pocket.

  “Who’s that?” Ruhn asked, glancing at her sidelong as thunder grumbled. People began clearing the streets, darting into shops and buildings to avoid the downpour. With the arid climate, summer storms were usually violent and swift, prone to flooding the streets.

  “My mom,” Bryce said. “I’ll call her later.” She fished out a postcard from her purse and waved it at Ruhn. “She’s probably calling about this.”

  “A postcard?” On the front, it said Greetings from Nidaros! in a cheery font.

  Bryce slid it back into her purse. “Yeah. It’s a thing from when I was a kid. We’d get into a huge fight, and my mom would send me postcards as a weird kind of apology. Like, we might not be talking in person, but we’d start communicating again through postcards.”

  “But you were living in the same house?”

  Bryce laughed again. “Yeah. She’d put them under my door and I’d put them under hers. We’d write about everything but the fight. We kept doing it when I went to CCU, and afterward.” Bryce riffled through her bag and pulled out a blank postcard of an otter waving that said, Keep It Fuzzy, Lunathion! “I’m going to send her one later. Seems easier than a phone call.”

  He asked, “Are you going to tell her about … everything?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “What about the engagement being a ruse? Surely that’d get her off your back.”

  “Why do you think I’m avoiding her calls?” Bryce asked. “She’ll say I’m playing with fire. Literally, considering Cormac’s power. There’s no winning with her.”

  Ruhn chuckled. “You know, I would have really liked to have her as my stepmom.”

  Bryce snickered. “Weird. You’re, like, twenty years older than her.”

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t need a mom to kick my ass every now and then.” He said it with a grin, but … Ruhn’s relationship with his own mother was strained. She wasn’t cruel, merely out to lunch. Ruhn took care of her these days. He knew his father certainly wouldn’t.

  Bryce spoke before she had the chance to consider it. “I’m thinking of going home to Nidaros for the Winter Solstice. Hunt’s coming. You want to join?” Now that she and Hunt had adjusted their timeline, Bryce supposed she could be a decent human being and go home for the holiday.

  That is, if her mom forgave her for the engagement. And not telling her about it.

  Rain splattered the pavement, but Ruhn stopped. His eyes filled with such hope and happiness that Bryce’s chest hurt. But he said, “Bringing Hunt home, huh?”

  She couldn’t help her blush. “Yep.”

  “Big step, bringing home the boyfriend.”

  She waved him off, but cringed at the rain that now became a deluge. They still had five blocks to the training center. “Let’s wait it out,” she said, ducking under an empty restaurant’s awning. The Istros lay a block away, close enough that Bryce could see the veils of rain lashing its surface. Even the mer weren’t out in this.

  Rain streamed off the awning, thick as a waterfall, joining the veritable river already flowing down to the gaping sewer entrance at the corner of the block. Ruhn said over the din, “You really want me to come home with you?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” Assuming they were still alive by December. If this rebellion shit hadn’t killed them all.

  Ruhn’s tattooed throat bobbed. “Thanks. I normally spend it with Dec and his family, but … I don’t think they’ll mind if I skip this year.”

  She nodded, awkward silence setting in. They usually had the training to occupy them during any tense silences, but now, trapped by the rain … she kept quiet, waiting to see what Ruhn might say.

  “Why won’t you touch the Starsword?”

  She twisted, gesturing to the black hilt of the blade peeking over his shoulder. “It’s yours.”

  “It’s yours, too.”

  “I’ve got Danika’s sword. And you found it first. Doesn’t seem fair of me to claim it.”

  “You’re more Starborn than I am. You should have it.”

  “That’s bullshit.” She backed up a step. “I don’t want it.” She could have sworn the rain, the wind, paused. Seemed to listen. Even the temperature seemed to drop.

  “Aidas said you’ve got the light of the true Starborn Queen. I’m just the heir to some rapist asshole.”

  “Does it matter? I like that you’re the Chosen One.”

  “Why?”

  “Because …” She hooked her hair behind her ears, then fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. “I already have this star on my chest.” She touched the scar gently. The hair on her arms rose as if in answer. “I don’t need a fancy sword to add to it.”

  “But I do?”

  “Honestly? I think you don’t know how special you are, Ruhn.”

  His blue eyes flickered. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it.” She grabbed his hand, and light flared from her chest. “The sword came to you first for a reason. When was the last time two Starborn royals lived peacefully side by side? There’s that dumb prophecy that the Fae have: When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be. You have the Starsword. What if … I don’t know. What if there’s a knife out there for me? But beyond that, what’s Urd playing at? Or is it Luna? What’s the end goal?”

  “You think the gods have something to do with all this?”

  Again, the hair on her arms rose; the star on her chest dimmed and went dark. She turned to the rain-lashed street. “After this spring, I can’t help but wonder if there is something out there. Guiding all this. If there’s some game afoot that’s … I don’t know. Bigger than anything we can grasp.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hel is another world. Another planet. Aidas said so—months ago, I mean. The demons worship different gods than we do, but what happens when the worlds overlap? When demons come here, do their gods come with them? And all of us, the Vanir … we all came from elsewhere. We were immigrants into Midgard. But what became of our home worlds? Our home gods? Do they still pay attention to us? Remember us?”

  Ruhn rubbed his jaw. “This is some seriously sacrilegious shit for a lunchtime conversation. The postcards with your mom, I can handle. This? I need some coffee.”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes, unable to suppress the chill down her spine. “I just have this feeling.” Ruhn said nothing, and she opened her eyes again.

  Ruhn was gone.

  A rotted, veilless Reaper, black cloak and robes clinging to its bony body, rain sluicing down its sagging, grayish face, was dragging her unconscious brother across the drenched street. Its acid-green eyes glowed as if lit by Helfire.

  The rain must have covered the creature’s approach. The hair on her arms had been raised but she’d chalked it up to their dangerous conversation. No one was on the street—was it because everyone had somehow sensed the Reaper?

  With a roar, Bryce darted into the driving rain, but she was too late. The Reaper shoved Ruhn into the gaping sewer drain with too-long fingers that ended in cracked, jagged nails, and slithered in after him.

  24

  Ruhn drifted.

  One breath, he’d been talking to Bryce about gods and fate and all that shit. The next, something cold and rotting had breathed in his ear and he’d found himself here in this black void, no up or down.

  What the fuck had happened? Something had jumped him and fuck, Bryce—

  Night.

  The female voice flitted in from everywhere and nowhere.

  Night, open your eyes.

  He twisted toward the voice. Daybright?

  Open your eyes. Wake up.

  What happened? How did you find my mind? I don’t have the crystal.

  I have no idea what happened to you. Or how I found your mind. I simply felt … I don’t know what I felt, but the bridge was suddenly there. I think you’re in grave danger, wherever you are.

  Her voice echoed from above, from below, from within his bones.

  I don’t know how to wake up.

  Open your eyes.

  No shit.

  She barked, Wake up! Now!

  Something familiar echoed in her voice—he couldn’t place it.

  And then she was there, burning flame, as if the link between their minds had solidified. Bright as a bonfire, her hair floated around her head. Like they were both underwater.

  Get up! she roared, flames crackling.

  Why do I know your voice?

  I can assure you, you don’t. And you are about to be dead if you don’t wake up.

  Your scent—

  You can’t smell me.

  I can. I know it.

  I have never met you, and you have never met me—

  How can you know that, if you don’t know who I am?

  OPEN YOUR EYES!

  There was blackness, and the bellow of pouring water. That was Bryce’s first, pathetic assessment of the sewer as she plunged into the subterranean river rushing beneath the city.

  She didn’t let herself think of what swam or floated in the water as she splashed for the stone path running along its side, hauling herself up as she scanned for the Reaper. For Ruhn.

  Nothing but dimness, the faint trickle of light from the sewer grates overhead. She peered inward, to the star in her chest. Inhaled sharply. And when she exhaled, light bloomed.

  It cast the sewer in stark relief, silvering the stones, the brown water, the arched ceiling—

  Well, she’d found her brother.

  And five Reapers.

  The Reapers floated over the sewer’s river, black robes drifting. Ruhn, unconscious, dangled between two of them. The Starsword was still strapped to him. Either they were too stupid to disarm him, or they didn’t want to touch it.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Bryce stepped closer. Water poured from the grates above, the river rising swiftly.

  “We bear a message,” the Reapers intoned together. Like they were of one mind.

  “Easier ways to send it than this,” she spat, advancing another step.

  “No further,” they warned, and Ruhn dropped an inch for emphasis. Like they’d dump his unconscious ass into the water and let him drown.

  One of the Reapers drifted closer to Ruhn as they caught him. The hilt of the Starsword brushed against its robes. It hissed, recoiling.

  Okay, they definitely didn’t want to touch the sword.

  Yet that became the least of her worries as five more Reapers drifted out of the darkness behind her. She reached for the phone in her back pocket, but the Reapers holding Ruhn dropped him another inch. “None of that,” they said, the sound echoing from all around.

  Wake up, she willed Ruhn. Wake the fuck up and rip these shitheads apart.

  “What do you want?” she asked again.

  “The Prince of the Pit sent us.”

  Her blood chilled. “You don’t serve him. I doubt your king would be happy about it.”

  “We bear his message nonetheless.”

  “Put Prince Ruhn down and we can talk.”

  “And have you use the star on us? We think not.”

  She pivoted, trying to keep them all in her sights. Ruhn might survive being dumped in the river, but there were limits. How long could a Vanir who’d made the Drop go without oxygen? Or would it be a torturous process of drowning, healing, and drowning again, until even their immortal strength was spent and they finally died?

  She didn’t want to find out.

  “What’s your message?” she demanded.

  “Apollion, Prince of the Pit, is ready to strike.”

  Her blood iced over to hear the name spoken aloud. “He’s going to launch a war?” Aidas had said something like that yesterday, but he’d indicated that the armies would be for her. She’d thought he meant to help in whatever insanity Hel had planned.

  The Prince of the Pit wants a worthy opponent this time. One who will not break so easily, as Prince Pelias did so long ago. He insists on facing you, Starborn, at your full power.”

  Bryce barked a laugh. “Tell him I was literally on my way to training before you half-lives interrupted me.” But her bones quaked to say it, to think about who they represented. “Tell him you just knocked out my tutor.”

  “Train harder. Train better. He is waiting.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Your disrespect is not appreciated.”

  “Yeah, well, your kidnapping my brother is definitely not appreciated.”

  They seethed with ire and Bryce cringed. “The Prince of the Pit already hunts through the Bone Quarter’s mists to find the other one who might be his worthy opponent … or his greatest weapon.”

  Bryce opened her mouth, but shut it before she could blurt Emile? But fuck—Apollion was hunting for the kid, too? Was the Bone Quarter what Danika had meant after all? Her mind raced, plan after plan spreading out, then she said, “I’m surprised the Under-King lets Apollion wander around his territory unchecked.”

  “Even the caretakers of the dead bow to the Prince of the Pit.”

  Bryce’s heart sank. Emile was in the Bone Quarter. Or at least Apollion thought so. What the fuck had Danika been thinking, telling Sofie it was safe there?

  Before Bryce could ask more, the Reapers said as one, “You sold your soul away, Bryce Quinlan. When it is your time, we shall come to rip it to shreds.”

  “It’s a date.” She had to find some way to grab Ruhn, to be faster, smarter than them—

  “Perhaps we shall have a taste of you now.” They surged forward.

  Bryce flared her light, falling against the curved wall of the tunnel. Water lapped over the edge of the walkway, spilling toward her neon-pink sneakers.

  The Reapers exploded back, but despite their threats, kept Ruhn between them. So Bryce rallied that power inside her, let it crest in a blink, and then—

  Another blast. Not from her, but somewhere else. A blast of pure night.

  One moment a Reaper stood close to her. Then it was gone. Vanished into nothing. The others screeched, but—

  Bryce shouted as Cormac appeared out of nothing, hovering over the river, arms around another Reaper—and vanished once more.

  Again, he appeared. Again, he took another Reaper with him and vanished.

  What was already dead could not be killed. But they could be … removed. Or whatever the fuck he was doing.

  Cormac appeared again, blond hair shining, and yelled, “USE THE FUCKING LIGHT!”

  She caught the direction of his stare: Ruhn. The Reapers who still held him aloft.