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“She was,” Apollion said, and the way he smiled …
White rage blinded every one of Hunt’s senses. “Did you dare—”
“She was not ill used,” Aidas said, holding up an elegant hand. “We might command nightmares, but we are not monsters.”
“Explain,” Bryce ordered the demon princes, starlight rippling from her. Thanatos sniffed the air once more, savoring it, and earned a glare from Aidas. “From the beginning.”
Despite the heated words they’d exchanged earlier, Hunt had never loved her more—had never been so grateful that Urd had chosen such a loyal, fierce badass for his mate. He could trust her to get the answers they needed.
“How much do you know?” Aidas asked her. “Not just about Athalar, but about the whole history of Midgard.”
“Rigelus has a little conquest room,” Bryce said, the softness fading from her face as she crossed her arms. “He’s got a whole section about invading your planet. And I know Hel once had warring factions, but you sorted out your shit and marched as one to kick the Asteri out of Hel. A year later, you hunted them down across the stars and found them on Midgard. You fought them again, and it didn’t go well that time. You got jettisoned from Midgard and have been trying to creep back through the Northern Rift ever since.”
“Is that all?” Apollion drawled.
Bryce said warily to Aidas, “I know you loved Theia. That you fought for her.”
The Prince of the Chasm studied his long, slender hands. “I did. I continue to do so, long after her death.”
Hunt had a feeling that the darkness in the pit before them was breathing.
“Even though she was hardly any better than the Asteri?” Bryce challenged.
Aidas lifted his head. “There is no denying how Theia spent most of her existence. But there was goodness in her, Bryce Quinlan. And love. She came to regret her actions, both in her home world and on Midgard. She tried to make things right.”
“Too little, too late,” Bryce said.
“I know,” Aidas admitted. “Believe me, I know. But there is much that I regret, too.” He swallowed, the strong column of his throat working.
“What happened?” Bryce pressed. Hunt almost didn’t want to know.
Aidas sighed, the sound weighted with the passing of countless millennia. “The Asteri ordered Pelias to use the Horn to close the Northern Rift, to defend themselves against attack. He did, sealing out all the other worlds in the process, but the Horn broke before he could close it entirely on Hel. The tiniest of wedges was left in the Rift for my kind to sneak through. Helena used black salt to contact me, hoping to launch another offensive against the Asteri, but we couldn’t find a way. Unless the Rift was fully opened, we could not strike. And our numbers were so depleted that we would not have stood a chance.”
Thanatos picked up the narrative, resting his helmet on a knee. “The vampyrs and Reapers had defected to the Asteri. They betrayed us, the cowards.” From the shadows behind him, his hounds snarled, as if in agreement. “They’d been our captains and lieutenants, for the most part. Our armies were in shambles without them. We needed time to rebuild.”
“I believe Helena realized,” Aidas went on, “that the war would not be won in her lifetime. Nor by any of her sons. They had too much of their father in them. And they, too, greatly enjoyed the benefits of being in the Asteri’s favor.”
Bryce uncrossed her arms, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand why Helena built the Cave of Princes. Just to talk to you guys like long-distance pen pals?”
Aidas’s full mouth kicked up at a corner. “In a way, yes. Helena needed our counsel. But by that point, she’d also figured out what Theia had done in her last moments alive.”
60
The Cave of Princes was as foul and disorienting as Ruhn remembered. But at least he had a kernel of starlight to keep the ghouls at bay in the misty dark. Even if it took most of his concentration to summon it and keep it glimmering.
He and Lidia had entered hours ago, and he’d immediately smelled Flynn’s and Dec’s scents hanging in the air. Along with Morven’s and the Murder Twins’. But it was the sixth scent that had sent Ruhn running down the passages, Lidia easily keeping pace with him. A scent that haunted his nightmares, waking and asleep.
Somehow, the Autumn King was here. And his father wasn’t lying in wait for Ruhn, but heading deeper into the caves, after Bryce. Ruhn pushed ahead, even when his legs demanded a break.
Morven’s and his father’s scents—with the others in tow—cut through nearly hidden tunnels and steeply descending passageways, as if the Stag King knew every secret, direct route. He probably did, as King of Avallen. Or maybe the ghouls showed him the way.
Eventually, Ruhn’s body screamed for water, and he paused. Lidia didn’t complain—didn’t do anything but follow him, always alert to any threat. Yet as they once again rushed down the passage, Lidia said quietly, “I apologize for last night.”
Despite every instinct roaring at him to hurry, Ruhn halted. “What do you mean?”
Her throat worked, her face almost luminous in his starlight. “When I … flinched.”
He blinked. “Why the Hel would you apologize for that?” Pollux should be the one to apologize. Hel, Ruhn would make the fucker apologize to Lidia—on his knees—before putting a bullet in his head.
