Her throat ached. “I feel like I have no idea who I am. I know that’s so fucking cliché, but … I thought I knew who I was then. And now …” She lifted her hands, letting them fill with starlight. “What’s the end goal in this? Somehow, someway, overthrowing the Asteri? What then? Rebuilding a government, an entire world? What if it triggers another war?”

  Hunt tugged her into his arms and rested his chin atop her head. “Don’t worry about that shit. We focus on the now, then deal with everything else afterward.”

  “I thought a general always planned ahead.”

  “I do. I am. But the first step in making those plans is finding out what the fuck Sofie knew. If it’s nothing, then we reassess. But … I know how it feels to wake up one day and wonder how you got so far from that carefree person you were. I mean, yeah, my life in the slums with my mom wasn’t easy, but after she died … It was like I’d had some illusion ripped away from me. It’s how I wound up with Shahar. I was reeling and angry, and … it took me a long, long while to sort myself out. I’m still sorting it out.”

  She leaned her brow against his chest. “Can I admit that I’m scared shitless?”

  “Can I admit that I am, too?”

  She laughed, squeezing him tight around the middle, breathing in his scent. “I’d be slightly less scared if you were staying here, and I could go in knowing you’re safe.”

  “Likewise.”

  She pinched his ass. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other, venturing into the lion’s den.”

  “More like a sobek nest.”

  “Great. Really reassuring.”

  He chuckled, the sound rumbling into her bones, warming them. “Ruhn talked to Declan. He’s going to hack into the security cameras at the palace—turn away the cameras while we’re in there. We need to give him our route through the building so he can turn them without being noticed by anyone monitoring the system. Flynn will run support for him.”

  “What if we wind up needing to take a different hall?”

  “He’ll have backup plans, but … we’ll really need to try to stick to ours.”

  Nausea roiled her gut, but she said, “Okay.”

  Hunt kissed her cheek. “Take your time, Quinlan. I’ll be with the others.” Then he was gone.

  Bryce stared at the photo again. She pulled out her phone from her bathrobe and dialed. Unsurprisingly, Juniper’s phone went to audiomail. It was five thirty in the morning, but—she knew Juniper would have picked up before.

  “Hey, this is Juniper Andromeda. Leave a message!”

  Bryce’s throat closed up at her friend’s lovely, cheerful voice. She took a breath as the audiomail beeped. “Hey, June. It’s me. Look, I know I fucked up, and … I’m so sorry. I wanted to help, but I didn’t think it through, and everything you said to me was absolutely right. I know you might not even listen to this, but I wanted you to know that I love you. I miss you so much. You’ve been a rock for me for so long, and I should have been that for you, but I wasn’t. I just … I love you. I always have, and always will. Bye.”

  She rubbed at her aching throat as she finished. Then removed the photo from the frame, folded it, and slipped it inside her phone case.

  69

  Ruhn found Cormac sitting alone in an Old Square dive bar, face stony as he watched the late-night news show, a glossy-haired celebrity laughing her way through some interview—a shameless promo for her recent movie.

  “What are you doing here?” the Avallen Prince asked him as Ruhn slid onto the stool beside him.

  “Flynn was notified of your location. Thought I’d see why you were up so late. Considering our appointment tomorrow.”

  Cormac studied him sidelong, then drained his beer. “I wanted some quiet.”

  “And you came to a dive in the Old Square for that?” Ruhn indicated the blasting music, the wasted patrons around them. The sylph puking green liquid into the trash can by the pool table in the back.

  His cousin said nothing.

  Ruhn sighed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Does it matter to you?” Cormac signaled for another beer.

  “It matters to me when we’re relying on you tomorrow.” When Day and Bryce were relying on the prince to be alert and ready.

  “This isn’t my first big … appointment.” Ruhn glanced at the male—the immaculate blond hair, the unfailingly arrogant angle of his chin.

  Cormac caught him looking and said, “I don’t know how your father never managed to do it.”

  “Do what?” Ruhn leaned his forearms on the oak bar.

  “Break you. The kindness in you.”

  “He tried,” Ruhn choked out.

  “My father did, too. And won.” Cormac snorted, taking his fresh beer from the bartender. “I wouldn’t have bothered to check on you.”

  “Yet you expended a lot of time and risk on finding … her.”

  The prince shrugged. “Perhaps, but deep down, I am what I’ve always been. The male who would have gladly killed you and your friends.”

  Ruhn tugged on his lip ring. “You’re telling me this right before we head off?”

  “I suppose I’m telling you this to … to apologize.”

  Ruhn tried not to gape. “Cormac—”

  His cousin blankly watched the TV. “I was jealous of you. Then and now. For your friends. For the fact that you have them. That you don’t let your father … corrupt what is best in you. But had I been forced to marry your sister …” His mouth twisted to the side. “I think, with time, she might have undone the damage my father did to my soul.”

  “Bryce has that effect on people.”

  “She will be a good princess. As you are a good prince.”

  “I’m starting to get disturbed by all this niceness.”

  Cormac drank again. “I’m always pensive the night before an appointment.”

  For a glimmer, Ruhn could see the male his cousin might have become—might yet become. Serious, yes, but fair. Someone who understood the cost of a life. A good king.

  “When all this shit is done,” Ruhn said hoarsely, tucking even thoughts of Day aside as he settled himself more comfortably on the stool, “I want us to start over.”

  “Us?”

  “You and me. Prince to prince. Future king to future king. Screw the past, and screw that shit with the Starsword. Screw our fathers. We don’t let them decide who we get to be.” Ruhn extended his hand. “We’ll carve our own paths.”

  Cormac smiled almost sadly. Then took Ruhn’s hand, clasping firmly. “It’d be an honor.”

  The barracks were dim. No one lounged in the common area, from what Hunt could tell down the hall as he entered his room.

  Good. No one but the cameras to see him come and go.

  He’d left Quinlan sleeping, and hadn’t told anyone where he was going.

  His room was cold and soulless as he shut the door behind him. Just as he’d been when he’d first met Quinlan. He’d displayed no traces of his life, put no art on the walls, done absolutely nothing to declare that this space was his. Perhaps because he’d known it truly wasn’t.

  Hunt strode to his desk, setting his empty duffel on it. He made quick work of loading up the extra knives and guns he’d kept in here, not wanting to be noticed checking out a stock of weapons from the armory. Thank the gods Micah had never bothered with enforcing the sign-out rules. Hunt had enough here to … well, to sneak into the crystal palace, he supposed.

  He zipped the duffel, his gaze catching on the helmet on his desk. The skull painted on its front stared at him, unholy Hel in its black pits for eyes. The face of the Umbra Mortis.

  Hunt picked up the helmet and set it on his head, the world shading into hues of red and black through the visor. He didn’t let himself second-guess it as he stalked out of his room and into the night.

  Celestina was standing at the elevator bay.

  Hunt drew up short. Did she know? Had someone tipped her off? The duffel of weapons burned against his hip. He reached to pull off the helmet.

  “Leave it,” she said, and though her words were firm, her expression was contemplative. “I’ve always wondered what it looked like.”

  Hunt lowered his hand. “Everything all right?”

  “I’m not the one sneaking in at five in the morning.”

  Hunt shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” The Archangel remained in front of the elevator bay, blocking his access. Hunt asked, “How are things with Ephraim?”

  Her wings snapped shut. A clear warning. Whether it was to keep his mouth shut about Hypaxia or something else, he didn’t know. Celestina only said, “He departs tomorrow. I shall visit his keep next month if there is not … a change in my situation by then.”

  If she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

  “Your silence speaks volumes about your dismay, Athalar.” Power crackled in her voice. “I go to the mating bed willingly.”

  Hunt nodded, even as disgust and rage curled through him. The Asteri had ordered this, done this. They’d make Celestina keep going to Ephraim until she was pregnant with the child they wanted her to bear. Another little Archangel for them to mold into a monster. Would Celestina fight to keep her child free from their influence? Or would Ephraim hand the kid over to the Asteri and the secretive training centers they had for young Archangels? Hunt didn’t want to know.

  Celestina asked, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

  He blew out a breath through his nose. “Is it pathetic to say it’s because of the prince stuff?”

  She offered him a pitying wince. “I thought that might come up.”

  Hunt tapped the side of his helmet. “I … weirdly missed it. And I wanted to clear out the last of my stuff from the room before it became a public spectacle.” It was partially true.

  She smiled softly. “I haven’t had the chance to ask, but will you be leaving us?”

  “I honestly have no idea. Bryce and I are giving the Autumn King a few days to cool down before asking him to define my royal duties. The thought of having to act fancy and take meetings with a bunch of assholes makes me want to puke.”

  Another quiet laugh. “But?”

  “But I love Bryce. If doing that shit is what will allow us to be together, then I’ll grin and bear it.”

  “Does she want to do such things?”

  “Hel no. But … we don’t really get much say. The Autumn King forced her hand. And now we’re pretty much stuck with things as they are.”

  “Are you? The Umbra Mortis and the Starborn Princess don’t seem the types to accept things as they are. You proved that with your surprise at the party.”

  Was there an edge to her voice? A gleam of suspicion?

  They’d trusted Hypaxia not to say a word of their activities to her lover, had believed the witch when she said Celestina didn’t know, but … the gods knew he talked when Bryce fucked the Hel out of him. Mistakes happened. Especially with a gorgeous set of tits involved.

  But he made himself shrug again. “We’re trying to get a better picture of the battle ahead before deciding where to start fighting the royal nonsense.”

  Her mouth quirked to one side. “Well, I hope that if you need an ally, you’ll come to me.”

  Was that code for something? He scanned her face but could pick up nothing beyond reserved concern. He had to get out of here. So Hunt bowed his head. “Thank you.”

  “A prince doesn’t need to bow to a Governor, you know.” She walked over to the landing veranda doors, opening them for him. All right. He’d fly home.

  Hunt stalked into the night, that bag of weapons a millstone hanging off his shoulder. He spread his wings. “Old habits.”

  “Indeed,” she said, and a shiver went down his spine.

  He didn’t look back as he launched skyward.

  Hunt slowly sailed over the city. Dawn remained a whisper on the horizon, and only a few delivery trucks rumbled along to bakeries and coffee shops. He had the skies to himself.

  Hunt tugged off his helmet, tucking it into the crook of his elbow, and breathed in the open, clean breeze off the Istros. In a few hours, they’d leave for Pangera—Tharion had already reached out to Commander Sendes and arranged for transport across the ocean.

  By tomorrow morning, they’d reach the Eternal City.

  Tomorrow morning, he’d again wear this helmet. And pray that he and his mate walked away alive.

  70

  Tharion had commanded plenty of raids for the River Queen. He’d gone in solo, led teams small and large, and usually emerged unscathed. But riding shotgun beside Prince Cormac in the open-air jeep as they approached the security checkpoint down the cypress-lined road, he had the distinct feeling that he might not get so lucky today.

  The imperial uniform they each wore lay heavy and smothering in the sun, but at least the hot day would disguise any glimmer of nervous sweat on them.

  No one had seemed to notice the change he felt with every breath: the invisible tether, now stretched tight, linking whatever remained of his heart—that cold, dead thing—to the Viper Queen in Valbara. A constant reminder of his promise. His new life.

  He tried not to think of it.

  He’d been grateful for the wonders of the Depth Charger’s swift submersible-pod as it hurtled their group across the ocean. Sendes had told him when he contacted her that the city-ship was too slow to make it in time, but one of its makos—sleek little transport pods—could do it. So they’d boarded the pod at the coast, then spent their time either planning or sleeping, keeping themselves mostly separate from the mer who steered the ship.

  Cormac waved with impressive casualness to the four guards—ordinary wolves, all of them—at the gate. Tharion kept his right hand within swift reach of the gun strapped to the side of his seat.

  “Hail the Asteri.” Cormac spoke with such offhanded ease that Tharion knew he’d said it a thousand times. Perhaps in similar settings.

  “Hail the Asteri,” the female guard who stepped forward said. She sniffed, marking what her eyes confirmed: a Fae male and a mer male, both in officer’s uniforms. She saluted, and Tharion nodded for her to stand down.

  Cormac handed over their forged papers. “We’re to meet with Doctor Zelis. Have they radioed that he’s ready?”

  The guard scanned the clipboard in her hands. The three others with her didn’t take their attention off the car, so Tharion gave them a glare he usually reserved for field agents who’d royally fucked up. The wolves, however, didn’t back down.

  “There’s no appointment on here with Zelis,” the guard said.

  Tharion drawled, “It wouldn’t be in writing.”

  She studied him, and Tharion smirked. “Rigelus’s orders,” he added.

  The female’s throat bobbed. To question the actions of an Asteri, or to risk letting two officers in who weren’t on the security roster …

  Cormac pulled out his phone. “Shall I call him?” He showed her a contact page that merely read: Bright Hand.

  The wolf paled a little. But she saluted again, waving them through.

  “Thank you,” Cormac said, gunning the engine and driving through the gates before they’d finished lifting.

  Tharion didn’t dare speak to Cormac. Not with the wolves so nearby. They just stared ahead at the dirt road winding through the forest. At the sprawling concrete compound that appeared around the next bend, where guards were already waving them through the barbed-wire fencing.

  He had to keep an eye on the clock today. The spray of the water from the mako’s passage had extended the amount of time he could stay Above, but a familiar itching had started an hour ago. Another fucking headache to deal with: five more hours until he had to truly submerge. The coast was a two-hour drive from here. So … they’d better get this shit done within three. Two, to be safe.

  Tharion nodded to the wolves in front of the lab and took in the enormous, low building. It hadn’t been built for beauty, but for function and storage.

  Smokestacks billowed behind the lab, which seemed to be at least half a mile long and perhaps twice as wide. “Look at this place,” Tharion murmured as Cormac pulled up to the steel front doors. They opened as if by invisible hands—another guard must have pressed the security button to allow them in. Tharion whispered, “You think Pippa’s going to come?” How the Hel would she get in?

  Cormac cut the engine and threw open his door, stepping crisply into the morning sun. “She’s already here.”

  Tharion blinked, but followed Cormac’s military-precise motions as he climbed from the car. Cormac turned toward the open doors to the lab. “They’re in the trees.”

  Declan had spent the previous day covertly planting information on rebel networks: the anti-Ophion rebels who’d destroyed the base on Ydra were making a move on this lab before Pippa and her agents could do so. She must have had Lightfall hauling ass to get here in time.

  Tharion suppressed the urge to peer into the trees. “What about the dreadwolves?”

  “This place reeks of humans, can’t you smell it?”

  “No.”

  Cormac stalked toward the open doors, black boots shining. “They’re using human labor. Carted in and out every dawn and dusk. Pippa would have timed their arrival with it, so their scents are hidden from the dreadwolves below.”

  Solas. “So why wait for us to arrive, then?”

  Cormac growled, “Because Pippa has a score to settle.”

  Bryce had no idea why anyone would want to live in the Eternal City. Not simply because it lay in the shadow of the crystal palace of the Asteri, but because it was … old. Dusty. Worn. No skyscrapers, no neon lights, no music blasting from passing cars. It seemed to have been trapped in time, stuck in another century, its masters unwilling to bring it forward.

  As she, Hunt, and Ruhn lurked in the shadows of an olive grove a mile to the west of the palace, she steadied her nerves by imagining the Asteri as a bunch of cranky old people, shouting for everyone to keep the noise down, complaining that the lights were too bright and the youngsters too whippersnappery.

  It definitely helped. Just a little.

  Bryce glanced at Hunt, who kept his attention on the olive grove, the skies. He’d worn his black battle-suit, along with the Umbra Mortis helmet, to her shock. A warrior going back into battle.