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The Autumn King twisted toward the ancient Prime, shaking his head. Still not understanding.
Bryce was at the level of ordinary witches now. But still too far from life.
Motion caught Declan’s eye, and he whirled toward the feed of the Old Square.
Wreathed in lightning, healed and whole, Hunt Athalar was kneeling over Bryce’s dead body. Pumping her torso with his hands—chest compressions.
Hunt hissed to Bryce through his gritted teeth, thunder cracking above him, “I heard what you said.” Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. “What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward.” His lightning surged into her, sending her body arcing off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heart. He snarled in her ear, “Now come say it to my face.”
Sabine whispered a sentence to the room, to the Autumn King, and Declan’s heart rose, hearing it.
It was the answer to the ancient Prime’s words. To the Autumn King’s question of how, against every statistic blaring on Declan’s computer, they were even witnessing Hunt Athalar fight like Hel to keep Bryce Quinlan’s heart beating.
Through love, all is possible.
94
She was sea and sky and stone and blood and wings and earth and stars and darkness and light and bone and flame.
Danika was gone. She had given over what remained of her soul, her power, to get Bryce off the runway, and for that initial rocketing Ascent.
Danika had whispered, “I love you,” before fading into nothing, her hand sliding from Bryce’s.
And it had not destroyed Bryce, to make that final goodbye.
The roar she had emitted was not one of pain. But of challenge.
Bryce barreled higher. She could feel the surface nearby. The thin veil between this place and life. Her power shifted, dancing between forms and gifts. She thrust upward with a push of a mighty tail. Twisted and rose with a sweep of vast wings. She was all things—and yet herself.
And then she heard it. His voice. His answering challenge to her call.
He was there. Waiting for her.
Fighting to keep her heart going. She was close enough to the veil to see it now.
Even before she had come to lie dead before him, he’d fought to keep her heart going.
Bryce smiled, in this place between, and at last careened toward Hunt.
“Come on,” Hunt grunted, continuing the chest compressions, counting Bryce’s breaths until he could shock her again with his lighting.
He didn’t know how long she had been down, but she’d been dead when he’d awoken, healed and whole, to a repaired city. As if no magic bombs, no demons, had ever harmed it.
He saw the glowing Gate, the blazing light—the firstlight—and knew only someone making the Drop could generate that kind of power. And when he’d seen her lifeless body before the Gate, he’d known she’d somehow found a way to make the Drop, to unleash that healing firstlight, to use the Horn to seal the portals to Hel at the other Gates.
So he’d acted on instinct. Did the only thing he could think of.
He’d saved her and she’d saved him, and he—
His power felt it coming a moment later. Recognized her, like seeing itself in a mirror.
How she was bringing up this much power, how she was making the Ascent alone … he didn’t care about that. He had Fallen, he had survived, he had gone through every trial and torture and horror—all for this moment. So he could be here.
It had all been for her. For Bryce.
Closer and closer, her power neared. Hunt braced himself, and sent another shock of lightning into her heart. She arced off the ground once more, body lifeless.
“Come on,” he repeated, pumping her chest again with his hands. “I’m waiting for you.”
