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“Then my parents will be safer stuck in your world than in mine.”
“But the Mask will be in yours. In the hands of the Asteri.”
“I don’t have anything greater to offer you than this,” Bryce said, voice cracking.
“It’s not about offering me anything.”
Bryce bit back her sob, and her parents turned to her, confused and trusting, angry on her behalf without knowing why.
“Bryce,” Hunt said, eyeing that approaching storm. “We should shut the connection.” Only Hunt knew the horrible thing she was doing. How it had killed her to leave Cooper behind, because it would have been too suspicious to insist he come on so dangerous a mission. But Baxian, Fury, and June would look after him—and Syrinx.
“Bryce?” her mom asked. “What’s going on?”
Bryce couldn’t stop her tears as she looked at her mom, at her dad. Possibly for the last time. “Nothing,” she said, and faced Nesta again.
“If you won’t give me the Mask,” she said to the female, “then take them anyway.”
Nesta blinked.
“Take my parents,” Bryce said, voice breaking. “They have no idea why they’re here or who you are or what your world is. They think I’m talking to someone in Hel. But take them, and keep them safe. I ask only that.”
Nesta studied Bryce, then Bryce’s mother and father. She set her dagger down on the side table near her chair. “You’d leave them in my world … and possibly never see them again.”
“Yes,” Bryce said. “I need Hunt to help me against the Asteri. But my parents are human. They’ll be easy targets for the Asteri—they’re already being hunted by them. They’re good people.” She fought back another sob. “They’re the best people.”
“Bryce,” Randall said, enough warning in his voice that she knew he’d spied the encroaching darkness and could tell that something was not right with this plan.
But Bryce couldn’t look at her parents. Only at Nesta.
The silver fire in the female’s gray-blue eyes banked. Then vanished.
Nesta extended her hand toward Bryce. Something golden glittered in it.
The Mask.
“For whatever good it can do you,” Nesta said quietly, “it’s yours to borrow.” A glance at her parents told Bryce enough: she’d take the collateral.
Bryce’s throat bobbed. Hunt murmured, “What the fuck is that thing?” As if he could sense the ancient, depthless power leaking from the Mask in Nesta’s hand.
But Bryce said, “Thank you,” and reached toward Nesta. She could have sworn the very world—all worlds—shuddered as Nesta’s hand crossed into Midgard and passed the Mask to Bryce.
Then it was in Bryce’s gloved fingers, and it was unholy and empty and cruel—but the star in her chest seemed to purr in its presence.
Bryce tucked it into her jacket, zipping it up inside. It thrummed against her body, its ancient beat echoing in her bones. Her starlight seemed to flicker in answer. Like whatever piece of Theia remained in it knew the Mask, and was glad to see it once more.
“Thank you,” Bryce said again. The darkness was now blotting out the city below Nesta’s window.
“Good luck,” Nesta whispered.
Bryce inclined her head in thanks. And with a subtle nod to Hunt …
His power struck her parents. Not lightning, but a storm wind at their backs. Shoving them through the portal, through the Northern Rift, and into Nesta’s world.
“Bryce!” her mother shouted, stumbling—but Bryce didn’t wait. Didn’t say anything as she willed the Horn to sever the connection, to collapse the bridge between their worlds. The last image she had was of the darkness, of Rhysand’s power, slamming into the windows of Nesta’s room, her mother’s outraged face, Randall reaching for his rifle—
Snow and mist returned. The Rift was shut. And her parents were on the other side of it.
Bryce’s knees wobbled. Hunt put a hand to her elbow. “We have to get out of here.”
