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Bryce said, “Think an earthworm with a mouth full of double rows of teeth. The size of two city buses.” “I said I didn’t want to know what that was,” Baxian grumbled.
Bryce slid Hunt a look. “Good thing we’ve got two hunky dudes with wings.”
It wasn’t just fire—it was a conflagration that swirled sky-high, as if generating its own winds and weather. Magma seemed to churn beneath it, visible through cracks in the whirling storm of flame.
Sounds like my girl aelin
“Omega-boats pulled into the Istros.” On the feed, buildings crumbled. “Their deck launchers just fired brimstone missiles into Asphodel Meadows.”
“And what,” she demanded, “try to redeem the Fae? Get them some self-help books and make them sit in circles to talk about their feelings?”
And there was nowhere to run, nothing to do but stand and face the threat, as Morven stalked out of the mists. And behind him, flame simmering in his eyes, strode the Autumn King.
“Now I don’t fucking care who you are, so long as you’re mine.” Her eyes shot to his, again full of surprise. “Because I’m yours, Day. I’m fucking yours.”
Aidas was smiling faintly—joy and hope brightening his remarkable eyes. “It seems you got a little lost on your way to find me, Bryce Quinlan. But welcome to Hel.”
Apollion lifted a hand. Pure, sizzling lightning danced around it, arcing out to meet Hunt’s. “Welcome, son,” said the Prince of the Pit.
“Because the Princes of Hel cannot be contained by the black crowns. The Asteri learned that—it was their downfall. As you were made by Hel’s princes, it should not be able to hold you.”
“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.”
“What … what was his name?” “Hyrieus,” Aidas answered. “He was a good male, Hunt Athalar. As you are.”
“The three of us,” Aidas amended. “Our four other brothers are currently engaged in other conflicts, helping other worlds.” “I didn’t realize you guys were, like, intergalactic saviors,” Bryce said.
“If you find that final piece of Theia’s power … if the cost of uniting the sword and knife is too much, Bryce Quinlan, then don’t do it. Choose life.” He glanced to Hunt. “Choose each other. I have lived with the alternative for millennia—the loss never gets easier to bear.”
“Sorry,” Bryce said to the kings, not lowering her weapons, “but the blades don’t work for rejected losers.”
“I’m assuming Sathia, Flynn, and Dec will be kept for breeding, too, but any non-Fae are out of luck. Sorry, guys.”
“No, it’s not,” Bryce said, and met his stare. “And I’m done laughing at you fools.”
Bryce exploded—into the twins’s minds, their bodies. Flooding them with starfire. A part of her recoiled in horror as their huge forms crumpled to the ground, steaming holes where their eyes had been. Where their brains had been. She’d melted their minds.
It was the Starsword. And it was Ruhn wielding it, standing behind him. Ruhn, who had driven the sword right through their father’s cold heart.
The line will end with me, you fucking prick, Ruhn said into his father’s mind, because I yield my crown, my title, to the queen.
But I am going to live, he said to his father. And I am going to live well—without you.
But it was Sathia who approached Bryce. Who knelt at her feet, bowing her head, and declared, “Hail Bryce, Queen of the Midgardian Fae.”
But Flynn and Declan knelt, too. And Ruhn turned to his sister and knelt as well, offering up the Starsword with both hands.
Ruhn blinked at her. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I do have a thought.” “Really?” Athalar said, frowning. “Don’t look so shocked,” Ruhn grumbled.
“You’re free,” Bryce whispered to Avallen, to the land and the pure, inherent magic beneath it. “Be free.”
And from the rocky ground beneath them, spreading from the star at Bryce’s feet, grass and flowers bloomed.
It was no longer gray and thrashing, but a vibrant, clear turquoise. And rising from the water, just as they had seen on the map Declan had found, were islands, large and small. Lush and green with life.
Their friends gave them space, understanding that it wasn’t pure joy that coursed through them—that their joy was tempered by grief for the years of pain, and hope for the years ahead.
Her brother only pressed a kiss to her brow and said, “Long live the queen.”
His throat worked for a moment. “I’m some weird demonic test-tube baby.”
“Welcome to Hotel Horseshit.”
“I’m asking,” Hunt said, noting the spark of amusement on the Helhound’s face, “because I trust you, asshole. For some weird reason.” “Asteri dungeon bonding at its finest.”
“Please don’t fuck right next to us,” Flynn muttered from a few feet away. “Ugh,” Bryce called from across the stables. “Really?”
Friends worth fighting for. Worth dying for.
Hunt nodded to the rifle in Randall’s gloved hands. “That work in these temperatures?” “It’d better,” Ember grumbled.
“That is …,” Randall said, and retched again. “Useful, but horrible.” “I think that sums me up in a nutshell,” Bryce said.
“But it must be broken.” He extended the sword to Ithan. “Ithan Holstrom is my heir.” Stunned silence rippled through the crowd, the world. Ithan couldn’t get a breath down. “And no one else,” the Prime finished.
Make your brother proud. And as his howl finished echoing, he could have sworn he heard a male wolf’s cry float up from the Bone Quarter itself.
“Then the Blue Court shall help. Any who we can bring down here before the warships catch wind of it … any person, from any House: I shall harbor them.”
“What, your girlfriend didn’t like that you’re a two-faced snake?” Hunt said.
Celestina held up her gloved hands. “I want no quarrel with you, Athalar.” “Too bad,” Hunt said, and lightning skittered over his tongue. “I want one with you.”
Apollion had given his essence, his Helfire, to Hunt. And if that made him a son of Hel, so be it.
“The Princes of Hel have offered their help, and Midgard needs it, whether you know it or not. Hunt and I have already killed two Archangels. Don’t make us kill you, too.”
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.”
“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.”
Connor said to Ithan, “You do make me proud, you know. Every day before now, and every day after. Nothing you do will ever change that.”
“Tell Bryce,” Connor said, eyes shining as he stepped toward the glowing Gate, a wall of light now shimmering in the empty arch, “to make the shot count.”
Ithan buried the Prime in the heart of the meadow, so his soul might feel the romping joy of pups for generations to come.
She looked back at all of them. Her eyes met Hunt’s. And Bryce said before she stepped into the light, “Through love, all is possible.”
And walking toward them, the armies parting before him, was the Prince of the Ravine, with the Prince of the Pit trailing close behind.
