He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. Celestina could have struck, he supposed, but she remained kneeling.

  And just as he had that day when Hunt had given Sandriel her due, Isaiah suddenly knelt before him. Naomi joined him on her knees.

  “I’m not an Archangel,” Hunt blurted. “And I haven’t agreed to lead you two. So get up.”

  It was Celestina who said, “Perhaps the age of Archangels is over.”

  “You sound happy about it.”

  “I would be, if it were to come to pass,” Celestina said, and got to her feet. “I told you once: Shahar was my friend. I might not have had the courage to fight alongside her then …” Her chin lifted. “But I do now.”

  He was having none of it. “And what are you going to do during all this?”

  Bryce answered before Celestina could reply. “She’s going to Ephraim’s fortress.” At Hunt’s surprised look, echoed by Celestina, Bryce explained, “He’s the closest Archangel to the Eternal City. We need him occupied. If Ephraim joins the fight, it will complicate everything.”

  Celestina nodded gravely. “I will make sure he does not come within a hundred miles of the capital.”

  “How?” Hunt demanded. “Tie him up?”

  “I will do whatever is necessary to end this,” Celestina said, chin high.

  Hunt pointed to the Rift. “We’re going to open the Rift to Hel. You didn’t seem too keen on that a moment ago.”

  Celestina glanced between Hunt and Bryce. “It goes against everything I’ve worked for, but … it does seem that all you two have done has been in the best interest of the innocents of Midgard. I don’t believe that you would open the Rift if it would jeopardize the most vulnerable.”

  “Yeah?” Hunt snapped. “And where the fuck were you when Asphodel Meadows was blasted into nothing?”

  That brought a measure of ice to Bryce’s stare. True grief filled Celestina’s eyes.

  “It was the final straw, Hunt,” Isaiah said. “Why we—she—disobeyed the Asteri. They gave no warning. The ships pulled into the Istros, and they said it was for our protection. I didn’t even know the ships could send aerial missiles that far.”

  Naomi’s lashes were pearled with tears that quickly turned to ice as she added, “It was the most cowardly, unforgivable … We don’t stand for that. None of us. Not Celestina, and certainly not the 33rd.”

  Hunt looked back to Bryce, and found only pain and cold resolve staring back at him. She was right. They had enough enemies. Ones who had to pay.

  And he might not have trusted one word out of an Archangel’s mouth, but if Isaiah and Naomi believed Celestina, that meant something. Isaiah, who had suffered under Archangels as much as Hunt had, was here, helping Celestina, knowing she had betrayed his friend. Isaiah wasn’t some spineless asshole—he was good and smart and brave.

  And Isaiah was here.

  So Hunt said, “All right. Let’s ring Hel’s doorbell.”

  * * *

  Hunt had enough lightning left to blast Bryce again. It passed through her and into the Gate—into the heart of the Northern Rift.

  Her will, blazing with that undiluted starlight, changed its location once more.

  Celestina, Isaiah, and Naomi held back a step, all glowing with power, readying for the worst.

  Impenetrable darkness spread within the archway, broken only by two glowing blue eyes.

  Prince Aidas stood there, impeccably dressed in his jet-black clothes, not one golden hair on his head out of place. He surveyed the icy terrain, the sun now setting after a brief window of daylight.

  Bryce swung her arm out in a grand, sweeping gesture as the Prince of the Chasm stepped through the Northern Rift. “Welcome back to Midgard,” she said. “Hope you have a pleasant stay.”

  80

  “So,” Jesiba said, drumming her fingers on her desk, “the pup goes to pitch a deworming medicine to a bunch of wolves and comes home Prime.”

  Ithan ignored the jab. “I need you to get me in with the Under-King,” he said. He’d showered in the barracks at the Den and changed into nondescript Aux clothes, then swiftly checked on Perry and the others before running back to the House of Flame and Shadow. He was Prime, yes, and all that entailed, but—

  “Why?”

  “I need to see my brother. And considering that it was a fucking disaster the last two times I tangled with the dead … I’m not going to make mistakes this time. I need the Under-King’s help.” Ithan paced her office.

  “Again: Why?”

  He looked straight at her. “Because Connor is trying to reach me.” He’d heard that howl from the Bone Quarter and known whose it was. Who was calling to him.

  While Ithan had changed, Hypaxia had handed out the antidote at the Den, to those who’d take it. Perry had been first in line, apparently. And it hadn’t been an Omega standing before Ithan when he’d checked on her as he left the Den.

  Ithan hadn’t stayed long enough to find out what Perry was—what powers she and the others had gained, long buried in the wolves’ bloodline. He’d given the order that this new knowledge was to be contained to the Den, and the wolves had agreed.

  Obeyed him.

  “You were right,” Ithan said to Jesiba, “about needing a plan. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “You could take some lessons from Quinlan about thinking two steps ahead.”

  Ithan glared at her. “Any updates from Avallen?”

  “She called two hours ago. Wanting a favor, as always. And an update on your progress.” The sorceress smirked. “And when I told her what Hypaxia had accomplished, of course, she requested that you bring that antidote to her.”

  “When—where?”

  Jesiba smirked again. “The Eternal City. Tomorrow. I think Quinlan’s had enough of being pushed around. She said to bring some wolves, if you have any to back you up.”

  Ithan stared. To not only be Prime, but to act as Prime … “Is there going to be a battle?”

  “I don’t know.” Jesiba fixed him with a grave look. “But if I were you, I’d get the pups and vulnerable wolves to safe hiding places. Not the Den, not in Lunathion. Get them evacuated deep into the wild. Go to ground. And then take the best fighters you have to the Eternal City.”

  “There aren’t many at the Den—most are away.”

  “Then take whoever’s around. It will be better than nothing.”

  Ithan paced a step, then another. “Maybe I should have left Sigrid in that tank. It’d be better than being a Reaper.” There was no one to blame for her predicament but himself. Ithan rubbed his forehead. “Look, I need to see my brother. One last time.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  Ithan’s teeth flashed. “I know you can ask the Under-King.” He didn’t wait for her reply before he asked, “Do you know—about the secondlight? That our souls are food for the Under-King and the Asteri?”

  “Yes.”

  Ithan shook his head. “And it doesn’t bother you?”

  “Of course it bothers me. It’s bothered me for fifteen thousand years. But it is just one branch of the many-headed beast of the Asteri rule.”

  Ithan scrubbed at his face. “Can you help me or not?” He’d need all the help he could get. He wasn’t a leader. Judging by the mess he’d brought upon Sigrid, he wasn’t fit to make decisions for anyone. He’d tried to save her and failed—utterly and completely failed. That had been only one life. With all the Valbaran wolves now his responsibility …

  He pushed back against the crushing panic and dread.

  Jesiba was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly, “Let me see what I can do, pup.” Her mouth twisted to the side. “Bring Hypaxia with you.”

  * * *

  Bryce had just entered the guard booth when her phone rang. She’d needed one second—one fucking moment by herself—to process the enormity of what she’d done.

  She’d thrown her parents into the Fae world.

  Bryce had always found a sense of comfort in knowing that no matter what she did, or where she was, Ember Quinlan and Randall Silago were in Nidaros—that Ember and Randall existed and would always be there to fight for her. Fight with her, if she was being honest about her mom. Knowing that was a comfort, too.

  And now they were … gone. Alive, yes, but on the other side of the universe.

  They could have stayed on Avallen, safe with everyone else, with Cooper … but she’d needed them. Needed them to bargain with Nesta, but she also needed to know that her parents were forever beyond the Asteri’s reach.

  It was selfish, she knew. Cowardly. But she didn’t regret it.

  Though she really wanted one second to process it all. Hence the guard booth.

  Until the phone rang.

  She’d been out of range beyond the wall, so she had no idea if it was Urd’s timing or if her brother had been trying to reach her nonstop. She answered on the first ring.

  “Ruhn?”

  “I need you back here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Panic edged his every word. “Pollux intercepted the Depth Charger as it dropped people off at the edge of Avallen’s mists. He slaughtered a bunch of mer, and … I don’t know how, but he knew about Lidia’s sons. He took them. He’s holding them at the palace.”

  Bryce nearly dropped her phone. Outside, Hunt was a shadow against the darkness and snow, their companions more shadows around him.

  “I guess the Asteri figured out how to lure us to them,” Bryce said quietly.

  “The Depth Charger sent us a transport pod—we’re about to get on it with Flynn and Dec and head to the Eternal City,” Ruhn said hoarsely. “But if those kids are in the dungeons—”

  Her stomach flipped. “Okay,” she breathed. “Yes, of course. Okay. We’ll get on the helicopter immediately.”

  Ruhn let out a shaking breath. “Did you … do what you needed to up there?”

  “Yes,” Bryce said, and stepped out into the howling wind and brutal cold. Hunt and Aidas were huddled together, planning. Isaiah and Naomi stood a few feet away, chiming in, but keeping their distance, as if not quite comfortable with the idea that they were in the presence of a Prince of Hel. Celestina had flown off to Ephraim’s fortress in Ravilis moments ago, her white wings blindingly bright with the light off the snow. She’d keep him occupied, she’d promised again before leaving—with a final nod to Hunt that he hadn’t returned.

  Beyond Hunt and the others, stretching into the distance, marched the armies of Hel. They covered all twenty-four and a half miles from the wall to the still-open Rift.

  Unholy terrors—especially those pets that had been unleashed in Crescent City this spring. Bryce had never been more glad to have the Archesian amulet around her neck—though she wondered if it could hold off this many demons, should they choose to have a little snack.

  From Hunt’s tense shoulders, she knew the horde was as unnerving for him as it was for her. Leathery-winged, horned humanoids that seemed to be grunt soldiers. Bone-white reptilian beasts that crawled on all fours—hounds of war. Skeletal beings with too-large jaws, stacked with needlelike teeth that gleamed with greenish slime. There were more—so many more: things that slithered, things that flew, things that surveyed Midgard with milky, sightless eyes and bayed at the anticipated bloodlust.

  Hunt offered no commentary on the endless lines of nightmares. He’d spent a lifetime hunting down the very creatures now fighting for them—how many of Hel’s marching forces knew that, too? How many of them had crossed into Crescent City just a few months ago and gleefully unleashed pain and death?

  But this time, true to the princes’ word, the beasts stayed in line. As for the soldiers, Bryce didn’t look too closely at the faces beneath their armor. At the spiky wings poking above the lines, the taloned hands gripping spears. But they did not speak, did not snarl. Their breath curled from beneath the visors of their helmets with each step through the frigid air. Each step deeper into Midgard.

  All of Hel, ready to strike.

  She had to trust that it would prove to be the right choice.

  “Tell Lidia we’re coming,” Bryce said to Ruhn, still on the line. The thundering of their feet and hooves and claws shook the snowy earth. “And tell her we’re not coming alone.”

  81

  “This seems familiar,” Ithan muttered to Hypaxia as they stood on the Black Dock, each clutching a Death Mark in their hands. “You, me, the Under-King …”

  “Our best friend,” Hypaxia said wryly, the mists from the Bone Quarter an impenetrable wall across the river. She gestured to the water. “Shall we?”

  Ithan nodded, and they flicked their Death Marks into the river. They landed with a soft plunk, and ripples spread outward in only one direction—south. Toward the Bone Quarter. They vanished into the mist.

  In the ensuing silence, Ithan dared say, “Jesiba said you and the Governor were, ah … together. How long?”

  She threw him a pained wince. “A while. But not anymore.”

  “Even while she was with Ephraim?”

  “Her arrangement with Ephraim is a political contract. What she and I have … had …” She shook her head, the moonlight silvering her dark curls. “I’m sure Jesiba said I was naïve.”

  “Maybe,” he hedged.

  Hypaxia looked at where her Death Mark had disappeared under the surface. “Everyone told me, you know. That Archangels aren’t to be trusted. That they’ve got those secret training camps that indoctrinate them, that they’re puppets for the Asteri. But she spent all that time in Nena, and I thought it had removed her from their influence.” She chewed on her lip, then added, “Apparently it gave her incentive to do whatever it took to get her off that frozen bit of land.”

  “We … we all make bad decisions.” He blew out a breath. “Gods, that sounded dumb.”

  Hypaxia laughed quietly. “It’s appreciated nonetheless.” She sobered. “But when I learned what she’d done … Well. I miss my mother most days, but especially lately. Especially after everything with Celestina.” She indicated the mists across the way. “So I understand why you seek out your brother.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” he offered.

  “Most people tell me I should be over her passing. But …” Her shoulders bowed. “I don’t know if there will ever come a day when I don’t feel like there’s a hole in my heart where she used to be.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, his own chest aching. “I know the feeling.” He cleared his throat. “So you couldn’t, uh, raise your mom with your necromancy?”

  “No,” Hypaxia said gravely. “She took steps to ensure that her soul did not fall into the clutches of the Under-King. And even if I could, she would resent me for using it for something so … selfish.”

  “She’s your mom, though.”

  “She was also my queen.” Hypaxia’s chin lifted. “And she would be ashamed to learn that I have defected from the witches and yielded my crown. So, no. I don’t want to see her. I couldn’t face her, even if I had the chance.”

  “Aren’t you still a witch, though? I mean, yeah—you’re now in Flame and Shadow, but you didn’t stop being a witch.” Jesiba may have rejected the title, but that had been her choice.

  “I’m still a witch,” Hypaxia said, hands curling at her sides. “That can never be taken away from me.”

  Ithan surveyed the black planks beneath his feet. He had to arrange the Sailing for the Prime. For Sabine, too, he supposed.

  Did he, though? The Prime’s soul was gone. There was nothing to offer up to the Bone Quarter beyond an empty body. And if the people of Lunathion saw the Prime’s boat tip, not understanding why … he couldn’t allow it.

  He’d gladly give Sabine the indignity of letting everyone see her boat tip. He’d also be glad to let her soul live on in the Bone Quarter until it was time to be turned into mystery meat for the Asteri, but he’d have to decide whether she deserved a Sailing in the first place.

  Gods, he wished Bryce was with him. She’d have an idea. Just cut her up real small and shove her down the garbage disposal.

  Ithan snorted and offered up a prayer to Luna’s bright face above him that his friend was indeed safe—and on the move.

  A black boat glided out of the mists ahead, aiming straight for Ithan and Hypaxia, waiting on the dock. Exactly as Jesiba had promised it would.

  Ithan swallowed hard. “Cab’s here.”

  * * *

  Ithan knew he was Prime of the Valbaran Wolves, but he certainly didn’t feel like it. The whole thing was a joke. He was just … a dude. Granted, one with more power than he’d realized, but now there were people depending on him. He had to make decisions.

  At least as sunball captain, he’d had coaches telling him what to do. Now he was coach and captain rolled into one.

  And, given how much he’d fucked up lately, how every choice to help Sigrid had only led her toward an absolutely disastrous fate … Gods, he really didn’t feel like Prime at all.

  But he tried to at least look like it—back straight, shoulders squared—as he and Hypaxia stood before the Under-King in a gray-stoned temple to Urd.

  The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos.

  They looked oddly familiar. Ithan didn’t have time to ponder it as he and Hypaxia inclined their heads to the Under-King.

  “Thank you for the audience,” Ithan said, trying to keep his breathing normal. Praying that none of those hounds the Under-King had sent after them on the Autumnal Equinox were lurking around in the misty shadows.