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As they waited for the couple to pass, the tour guide went on, “We’ll dive more into the architectural wonders of the inner sanctum in a minute, but let’s direct our attention to the statue. The quiver, of course, is real gold, the arrows pure silver with tips of diamond.”
Someone let out an appreciative whistle. “Indeed,” the tour guide agreed. “They were donated by the Archangel Micah, who is a patron and investor in various charities, foundations, and innovative companies.” The tour guide went on, “Unfortunately, two years ago, the third of Luna’s treasures was stolen from this temple. Can anyone tell me what it was?”
“The Horn,” someone said. “It was all over the news.”
“It was a terrible theft. An artifact that cannot be replaced easily.”
The couple moved on, and Ruhn uncrossed his arms.
Hunt said, “All right, Danaan. Get to the point. Why’d you ask Bryce to come?”
Ruhn gestured to where the tourists were snapping photos of the goddess’s hand. Specifically, the fingers that now curled around air, where a cracked ivory hunting horn had once lain.
“Because I was tasked by the Autumn King to find Luna’s Horn.”
Athalar angled his head, but Bryce snorted. “Is that why you asked about it last night?”
They were interrupted again by the tour guide saying, as she moved toward the rear of the room, “If you’ll follow me, we’ve been granted special permission to see the chamber where the stag sacrifices are prepared to be burned in Luna’s honor.” Through the murky shadows, Bryce could make out a small door opening in the wall.
When they’d filtered out, Hunt asked, eyes narrowing, “What is the Horn, exactly?”
“A bunch of fairy-tale bullcrap,” Bryce muttered. “You really dragged me here for this? To what—help you impress your daddy?”
Growling, Ruhn pulled out his phone, making sure the shadows held around them, and brought up the photos he’d snapped in the Fae Archives last night.
But he didn’t share them, not before he said to Athalar, “Luna’s Horn was a weapon wielded by Pelias, the first Starborn Prince, during the First Wars. The Fae forged it in their home world, named it for the goddess in their new one, and used it to battle the demon hordes once they made the Crossing. Pelias wielded the Horn until he died.” Ruhn put a hand on his chest. “My ancestor—whose power flows in my veins. I don’t know how it worked, how Pelias used it with his magic, but the Horn became enough of a nuisance for the demon princes that they did everything they could to retrieve it from him.”
Ruhn held out his phone, the picture of the illuminated manuscript glaringly bright in the thick shadows. The illustration of the carved horn lifted to the lips of a helmeted Fae male was as pristine as it had been when inked millennia ago. Above the figure gleamed an eight-pointed star, the emblem of the Starborn.
Bryce went wholly still. The stillness of the Fae, like a stag halting in a wood.
Ruhn went on, “The Star-Eater himself bred a new horror just to hunt the Horn, using some blood he managed to spill from Prince Pelias on a battlefield and his own terrible essence. A beast twisted out of the collision of light and darkness.” Ruhn swiped on his phone, and the next illustration appeared. The reason he’d had her come here—had taken this gamble.
Bryce recoiled at the grotesque, pale body, the clear teeth bared in a roar.
“You recognize it,” Ruhn said softly.
Bryce shook herself, as if to bring herself back to reality, and rubbed her thigh absently. “That’s the demon I found attacking the angel in the alley on that night.”
Hunt gave her a sharp look. “The one that attacked you, too?”
Bryce gave a small, affirmative nod. “What is it?”
“It dwells in the darkest depths of the Pit,” Ruhn answered. “So lightless that the Star-Eater named it the kristallos, for its clear blood and teeth.”
Athalar said, “I’ve never heard of it.”
Bryce contemplated the drawing. “It … There was never a mention of a fucking demon in the research I did on the Horn.” She met his gaze. “No one put this together two years ago?”
“I think it’s taken two years to put it together,” Ruhn said carefully. “This volume was deep in the Fae Archives, with the stuff that’s not allowed to be scanned. None of your research would have ever pulled it up. The entire damn thing was in the Old Language of the Fae.” And had taken him most of the night to translate. Throwing in the lingering fog of the mirthroot hadn’t helped.
Bryce’s brow furrowed. “But the Horn was broken—it basically became a dud, right?”
“Right,” Ruhn said. “During the final battle of the First Wars, Prince Pelias and the Prince of the Pit faced each other. The two of them fought for like three fucking days, until the Star-Eater struck the fatal blow. But not before Pelias was able to summon all the Horn’s strength, and banished the Prince of the Pit, his brethren, and their armies back to Hel. He sealed the Northern Rift forever—so only small cracks in it or summonings with salt can bring them over now.”
Athalar frowned. “So you mean to tell me this deadly artifact, which the Prince of the Pit literally bred a new demon species to hunt, was just sitting here? In this temple? And no one from this world or Hel tried to take it until that blackout? Why?”
Bryce met Hunt’s disbelieving stare. “The Horn cracked in two when Pelias sealed the Northern Rift. Its power was broken. The Fae and Asteri tried for years to renew it through magic and spells and all that crap, but no luck. It was given a place of honor in the Asteri Archives, but when they established Lunathion a few millennia later, they had it dedicated to the temple here.”
