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No. You may not.
Rhysand blinked slowly. Then he said aloud, “Then we’ll have to rely on your words.”
The petite female gaped at him. “But—”
Rhysand snapped his fingers and three chairs appeared behind them. He sank gracefully onto one, crossing an ankle over a knee. The epitome of Fae beauty and arrogance. He glanced up at his companions. “Azriel.” He motioned lazily to the male. Then to the female. “Amren.”
Then he motioned to Bryce and said neutrally, “Bryce … Quinlan.”
Bryce nodded slowly.
Rhysand examined his trimmed, clean nails. “So your sword … it’s been in your world for fifteen thousand years?”
“Brought by my ancestor.” She debated the next bit, then added, “Queen Theia. Or Prince Pelias, depending on what propaganda’s being spun.”
Amren stiffened slightly. Rhysand slid his eyes to her, clocking the movement.
Bryce dared to push, “You … know of them?”
Amren surveyed Bryce from her blood-splattered neon-pink shoes to her high ponytail. The blood smeared on Bryce’s face, now stiff and sticky. “No one has spoken those names here in a very, very long time.”
In fifteen thousand years, Bryce was willing to bet.
“But you have heard of them?” Bryce’s heart thundered.
“They once … dwelled here,” Amren said carefully.
It was the last scrap of confirmation Bryce needed about what this planet was. Something settled deep in her, a loose thread at last pulling taut. “So this is it, then. This is where we—the Midgard Fae—originated. My ancestors left this world and went to Midgard … and we forgot where we came from.”
Silence again. Azriel spoke in their own language, and Rhysand translated. Perhaps Rhysand had been translating for Azriel mind-to-mind these last few minutes.
“He says we have no such stories about our people migrating to another world.”
Yet Amren let out a small, choked sound.
Rhysand turned slowly, a bit incredulous. “Do we?” he asked smoothly.
Amren picked at an invisible speck on her silk blouse. “It’s murky. I went in before …” She shook her head. “But when I came out, there were rumors. That a great number of people had vanished, as if they had never been. Some said to another world, others said they’d moved on to distant lands, still others said they’d been chosen by the Cauldron and spirited away somewhere.”
“They must have gone to Midgard,” Bryce said. “Led by Theia and Pelias—”
Amren held up a hand. “We can hear your myths later, girl. What I want to know”—her eyes sharpened, and it was all Bryce could do to weather the scrutiny—“is why you came here, when you meant to go elsewhere.”
“I’d like to know that, too,” Bryce said, perhaps a bit more boldly than could be deemed wise. “Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of your hair immediately.”
“To go to … Hel,” Rhysand said neutrally. “To find this Prince Aidas.”
These people weren’t her friends or allies. This might be the home world of the Fae, but who the fuck knew what they wanted or aspired to? Rhysand and Azriel looked pretty, but Urd knew the Fae of Midgard had used their beauty for millennia to get what they wanted.
Rhysand didn’t need to read her mind—no, he seemed to read all that on her own face. He uncrossed his legs, bracing both feet on the stone floor. “Allow me to lay out the situation for you, Bryce Quinlan.”
She made herself meet his star-flecked stare. She’d taken on the Asteri and Archangels and Fae Kings and walked away. She’d take him on, too.
The corner of Rhysand’s mouth curled upward. “We will not torture it from you, nor will I pry it from your mind. If you choose not to talk, it is indeed your choice. Precisely as it will be my choice to keep you down here until you decide otherwise.”
Bryce couldn’t stop herself from coolly surveying the room, her attention lingering on the grate and the hissing that drifted up from it. “I’ll be sure to recommend it to my friends as a vacation spot.”
Stars winked out in Rhysand’s eyes. “Can we expect any others to arrive here from your world?”
