Ember shouted in fear, and even Randall stumbled back a step, but Hunt let his lightning flow into Bryce, kept a steady stream of it surging between them.

  “Open,” Bryce said, her voice carrying on the wind. A sliver of darkness began to spread in the middle of the Gate.

  Hunt funneled more lightning into her, and the sliver widened, inch by inch.

  The Northern Rift had been fixed on Hel—until now. Until his power had passed through not only the Horn on Bryce, but the star on her chest, too—that link to a different world. Reorienting the Gate, as it had that day in the Eternal Palace, to open elsewhere. That was their theory, at least. No one had ever tried to manipulate the Northern Rift to open somewhere other than Hel, but—

  “That’s enough, Hunt,” Ember warned.

  Hunt ignored her and sent another spike of power into his mate. Bryce’s hair floated up, snow and ice drifting with it, but she maintained an eerie calm until the void filled the entirety of the massive Gate.

  Hunt cut off his lightning, running to where Bryce stood before the wall of darkness.

  Darkness—flecked by starlight.

  A female with golden-brown hair sat in an armchair before a fireplace on the other side of it. All that darkness was the starry night beyond her windows.

  And her face was a portrait of pure shock as Bryce lifted a hand in greeting and said, “Hello, Nesta.”

  * * *

  The River Queen sat in a chair before a computer panel in the control room connected to the west air lock, a makeshift throne in the sterile, utilitarian space. The tech who operated the computer had vacated the chamber in a near-sprint at the queen’s snapped command.

  Tharion was well aware that the air lock could be easily hosed down to remove any and all traces of blood. A body flushed out through it would go straight to the sobeks circling outside like Reapers.

  If Sathia noted those details, if she understood that she and Tharion had been brought here purely for the convenience of getting rid of his corpse, she didn’t let on.

  His wife simply curtsied, a graceful swoop downward, at odds with her casual leggings and white sweater, the cashmere now streaked with dirt and torn along the bottom hem. “Your Majesty,” Sathia said, her voice cultured yet unthreatening. “It is an honor to meet you.”

  The River Queen’s dark eyes swept over Sathia. “Am I supposed to open my arms to the female who usurped my daughter?”

  Sathia didn’t so much as flinch. “If my union with Tharion has brought you grief or offense, then I offer my wholehearted apologies.”

  A beat, too long to be comforting. Tharion lifted his gaze to the River Queen and found her watching him. Her gaze was cold, cruel. Unimpressed.

  “I take it,” the River Queen said, “you want something very badly from me, if you have come back to risk my wrath.”

  Tharion bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And yet you have brought your wife—for what? To soften me? Or as a shield to hide behind?”

  “Considering she’s barely up to my chest,” Tharion said dryly, “I don’t think she’d make much of a shield.”

  Sathia glared at him, but the River Queen frowned. “Always making jokes. Always playing the fool.” She waved a hand adorned in rings of shell and coral toward Sathia. “I suppose I should wish you congratulations on your nuptials, but I instead wish you luck. With a male like that for a husband, you’ll need it in droves.”

  “I thank you,” Sathia said with such sincerity that Tharion nearly bought it, too. “May your good wishes fly straight to Urd’s ears.”

  Okay, maybe he’d underestimated his wife. She seemed more comfortable in this setting than he was.

  Indeed, the River Queen seemed intrigued enough by Sathia’s grace under fire that she said, “Well, Tharion. Let’s hear what was so important that you dared enter my realm again.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, exposing his chest like he knew the River Queen preferred. He didn’t see her jagged sea-glass knife anywhere, but she always had it on her. “I am here on behalf of Bryce Quinlan, Queen of the Fae of Valbara and Avallen, to request asylum in the Blue Court for the people of Crescent City.”

  Another long pause.

  “Queen, is it?” the River Queen said. “Of Valbaran and Avallen Fae?” Her eyes slid to Sathia—the Fae representative, he supposed.

  Sathia’s chin dipped. “Bryce Quinlan now rules both territories. I serve her, as does Tharion.”

  Eyes as black and depthless as a shark’s slid to Tharion. The same eyes as her sister, the Ocean Queen, he realized. “Am I supposed to be pleased to hear you have yet again defected?”

  “I did what my morals demanded,” Tharion said.

  “Morals,” the River Queen mused. “What morals do you have other than ensuring your own survival at any cost? Was it your morals that guided you when you took my daughter’s maidenhead, swearing to love her until you died, and then toyed with her affections for the next decade?”

  Fuck. But Sathia answered for him with that unflinching calm, “These are the mistakes of youth—ones Tharion has reflected upon and learned from.”

  The River Queen fixed her attention on Sathia again. “Has he? Or was that the poisoned honey he poured into your ear to woo you?”

  “He brought me before you,” Sathia countered. “Proof that he is willing to own up to his actions.”

  It took a special sort of person to talk like that to the River Queen. To not back down one inch, not tremble at her power, her ageless face.

  The River Queen’s eyes narrowed, clearly thinking along the same lines. “And this Queen Bryce thought Tharion the best emissary to beg me for such an enormous favor?”

  Sathia’s chin didn’t lower. “She remembered how Tharion and your people so bravely and selflessly carried innocents down here to safety during the attack this spring.”

  Damn, she was good.

  The River Queen waved a hand toward the window overlooking the depths and the monsters prowling beyond. “And does she have a good reason why I shouldn’t kill Tharion where he stands and send his body out to the river beasts?”

  Sathia didn’t even glance toward the circling sobeks. “Because he is now in Queen Bryce’s employ. You strike him down, and you shall have the Fae to deal with.”

  A flash of little pointed teeth. “They’ll have to get Beneath first.”

  Sathia didn’t miss a beat. “I believe it would not be in your best interest to become a city under siege.”

  Holy gods, his wife had balls. Tharion wisely wiped any sort of reaction from his face, but Ogenas damn him, if they survived this meeting, he wanted Sathia to teach him everything she knew.

  The River Queen scoffed, but angled her head before changing the subject. “How does the girl suddenly wield such power?”

  “That is her own story to tell,” Sathia said, folding her hands behind her back, “but she has powerful allies. In this world and in others.”

  “Others?”

  Tharion dared say, turning his voice into a mirror of his wife’s poised calm, “Bryce counts the Princes of Hel as allies.”

  “Then she is an enemy to Midgard. And an imbecile as well, if she is seeking to hide the people of this city from the demons she’d ally with.”

  “She doesn’t seek to hide people from Hel,” Tharion said, “but from the Asteri’s wrath.”

  The River Queen blinked slowly. “You ask me to take a stand against the Republic itself.”

  “What happened in Asphodel Meadows was a disgrace,” Tharion said, voice dangerously low. “If you don’t stand against the Republic for something of this nature, then you’re complicit in their slaughter.”

  Sathia cut him a warning glance, but the River Queen studied him. Like she hadn’t really seen him until this point.

  She opened her mouth, and hope surged in Tharion’s chest—

  But then the interior door to the room hissed open, and the River Queen’s daughter was charging in, rage and sorrow crumpling her beautiful face as she screamed, “How could you?”

  * * *

  “Is that a Prince of Hel?” Ember whispered from a few steps behind Bryce, her teeth clacking with cold.

  “Does she look like a prince?” Randall hissed back, snow crunching as he hopped from one foot to another to keep warm.

  “Bryce said Aidas appeared to her as a cat, so who’s to say—”

  “Guys,” Bryce murmured as Nesta slowly, slowly rose from her chair by the fireplace. A dagger had somehow appeared in the female’s hand, as if it had been concealed under the cushion.

  It had worked. They’d managed to make the Northern Rift open to a place other than Hel.

  “What are you doing?” Nesta said, and it occurred to Bryce in that moment that none of the others could understand her. Which left Bryce as translator.

  So Bryce muttered to Hunt, wide-eyed but poised to leap into action, “Give me a minute,” and faced Nesta.

  “I’m not going to harm you, or your world,” Bryce said in Nesta’s own language.

  “Then why is there a giant portal in my living room?” Nesta’s blue-gray eyes were gleaming with predatory violence. Some of that silver flame was starting to build at her fingertips. Would it withstand Bryce’s starfire? Especially with the force of that leveled-up power in her body behind it?

  But she hadn’t come here for that. “I needed to talk to you.”

  “How did you know I’d be alone?”

  “I didn’t. Urd threw me a bone.”

  The dagger and the silver flame didn’t vanish. “Shut that portal.”

  “Not until I say what I need to say.”

  The silver flame now flickered in Nesta’s eyes. “Then say it, and be gone.” Her gaze lowered to Bryce’s side. “And leave the dagger you stole.”

  Bryce ignored that and swallowed hard.

  Ember hissed to Randall, “I don’t think it’s going well.” Randall hushed her.

  But Nesta’s eyes slid to Hunt—to the feathered wings, the lightning dancing at his hand, the halo on his brow. “Is that your mate?”

  Bryce nodded, and motioned Hunt to step forward. “Hunt Athalar.” She’d never fucking use Danaan again. For either of them.

  Hunt approached and inclined his head. Bryce could have sworn lightning lashed across his eyes, as if the power he’d summoned, enough to open the Northern Rift, was riding him hard.

  But Nesta only observed him imperiously, then turned to Bryce. “What do you want?”

  Bryce squared her shoulders. “I need you to give me the Mask.”

  77

  “Is that a request or a threat?” Nesta asked quietly, and even with a portal between them, the ground seemed to shudder at the female’s power.

  “It’s a plea. A desperate fucking plea,” Bryce said, and exposed her palms to the female in supplication. “I need it to give me an edge against the Asteri. To destroy them.”

  “No.” Nesta’s eyes held no mercy. “Now shut the portal and be gone.” She glanced over a shoulder, where the stars seemed to be winking out in the far distance. “Before the High Lord gets here and rips you to shreds.”

  “What is that?” Hunt murmured, marking the darkness sweeping in.

  “Rhysand,” Bryce murmured back, then said to Nesta, “Please. I don’t need the Mask forever. Just … until it’s done. Then I’ll return it.”

  Nesta laughed, pure ice. “You expect me to trust a female who tried to deceive and outsmart us at every turn?”

  “I did outsmart you,” Bryce said coolly, and Nesta’s eyes sparked at the challenge. “But that’s neither here nor there. Look, I get it—the Mask is insanely powerful and dangerous. I wouldn’t trust someone who asked me to use the Horn, either. But my world needs this.”

  Nesta said nothing.

  The darkness crept closer. Fury leaked from it, along with a primal rage. Bryce took a step forward, and Nesta’s dagger angled upward.

  “Please,” Bryce said again. “I promise I’ll return the Mask—and Truth-Teller. After I’ve done what I need to do here.”

  “You must think me a fool if you believe I’d hand over one of the deadliest weapons in my world. Especially when the monsters in your world have wanted to get their hands on it and the rest of the Dread Trove for millennia. Not to mention that few people can use the Mask and live. You put it on, and you might very well die.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Bryce said calmly.

  “And I’m supposed to trust that you, after all you did here, are going to return the Mask out of the goodness of your heart?”

  Bryce nodded. “Yes.”

  Nesta laughed joylessly, glancing at the approaching darkness. “All I have to do is wait until he gets here, you know. Then you’ll wish you’d shut that portal.”

  “I know,” Bryce said, and her throat tightened. “But I’m begging you. The Asteri just exterminated an entire human community in my city. Families.” Her eyes burned with tears, and the frigid wind threatened to freeze them. “They killed children. To punish me. To punish my mate”—Bryce gestured to Hunt—“for escaping their clutches. This has to end—it has to stop somewhere.”

  The cold anger in Nesta’s eyes flickered.

  Bryce couldn’t stop the tears that slid down her cheeks, turning instantly to ice. “I know you don’t trust me. You have no reason to. But I promise I’ll return the Mask. I brought collateral—to prove that my intentions are good. That I will give it back.”

  And with that, Bryce ushered her parents forward. Ember and Randall gave her wary glances, but edged closer to the portal.

  It tore Bryce’s heart out to do it, but she said firmly to Nesta, “These are my parents. Ember Quinlan and Randall Silago. I’m giving them to you—to stay in your world, until I destroy the Asteri and return the Mask to you.”

  Nesta’s eyes flared with shock, but she mastered it instantly, squaring her shoulders. “And if you die in the process?”

  “Then my parents will be safer stuck in your world than in mine.”

  “But the Mask will be in yours. In the hands of the Asteri.”

  “I don’t have anything greater to offer you than this,” Bryce said, voice cracking.

  “It’s not about offering me anything.”

  Bryce bit back her sob, and her parents turned to her, confused and trusting, angry on her behalf without knowing why.

  “Bryce,” Hunt said, eyeing that approaching storm. “We should shut the connection.” Only Hunt knew the horrible thing she was doing. How it had killed her to leave Cooper behind, because it would have been too suspicious to insist he come on so dangerous a mission. But Baxian, Fury, and June would look after him—and Syrinx.

  “Bryce?” her mom asked. “What’s going on?”

  Bryce couldn’t stop her tears as she looked at her mom, at her dad. Possibly for the last time. “Nothing,” she said, and faced Nesta again.

  “If you won’t give me the Mask,” she said to the female, “then take them anyway.”

  Nesta blinked.

  “Take my parents,” Bryce said, voice breaking. “They have no idea why they’re here or who you are or what your world is. They think I’m talking to someone in Hel. But take them, and keep them safe. I ask only that.”

  Nesta studied Bryce, then Bryce’s mother and father. She set her dagger down on the side table near her chair. “You’d leave them in my world … and possibly never see them again.”

  “Yes,” Bryce said. “I need Hunt to help me against the Asteri. But my parents are human. They’ll be easy targets for the Asteri—they’re already being hunted by them. They’re good people.” She fought back another sob. “They’re the best people.”

  “Bryce,” Randall said, enough warning in his voice that she knew he’d spied the encroaching darkness and could tell that something was not right with this plan.

  But Bryce couldn’t look at her parents. Only at Nesta.

  The silver fire in the female’s gray-blue eyes banked. Then vanished.

  Nesta extended her hand toward Bryce. Something golden glittered in it.

  The Mask.

  “For whatever good it can do you,” Nesta said quietly, “it’s yours to borrow.” A glance at her parents told Bryce enough: she’d take the collateral.

  Bryce’s throat bobbed. Hunt murmured, “What the fuck is that thing?” As if he could sense the ancient, depthless power leaking from the Mask in Nesta’s hand.

  But Bryce said, “Thank you,” and reached toward Nesta. She could have sworn the very world—all worlds—shuddered as Nesta’s hand crossed into Midgard and passed the Mask to Bryce.

  Then it was in Bryce’s gloved fingers, and it was unholy and empty and cruel—but the star in her chest seemed to purr in its presence.

  Bryce tucked it into her jacket, zipping it up inside. It thrummed against her body, its ancient beat echoing in her bones. Her starlight seemed to flicker in answer. Like whatever piece of Theia remained in it knew the Mask, and was glad to see it once more.

  “Thank you,” Bryce said again. The darkness was now blotting out the city below Nesta’s window.

  “Good luck,” Nesta whispered.

  Bryce inclined her head in thanks. And with a subtle nod to Hunt …

  His power struck her parents. Not lightning, but a storm wind at their backs. Shoving them through the portal, through the Northern Rift, and into Nesta’s world.

  “Bryce!” her mother shouted, stumbling—but Bryce didn’t wait. Didn’t say anything as she willed the Horn to sever the connection, to collapse the bridge between their worlds. The last image she had was of the darkness, of Rhysand’s power, slamming into the windows of Nesta’s room, her mother’s outraged face, Randall reaching for his rifle—

  Snow and mist returned. The Rift was shut. And her parents were on the other side of it.

  Bryce’s knees wobbled. Hunt put a hand to her elbow. “We have to get out of here.”

  She had the Mask. And the Horn. And Theia’s star. And the blades. It would have to be enough to take on living gods.