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It was Bryce’s turn to nod. She motioned to the cell, the realm above it. “From what I learned, long before the Asteri came to my world, they were here. They conquered and meddled with and ruled this world. But eventually the Fae managed to overthrow them—to defeat them.” She loosed a tight breath, scanning each of their faces. “How?” The question was hoarse, desperate. “How did you do it?”
But Rhysand glanced warily to Amren. She had to be some sort of court historian or scholar if he kept consulting her about the past. He said to her, “Our history doesn’t include an event like that.”
Bryce cut in, “Well, the Asteri remember your world. They’re still holding a grudge. Rigelus, their leader, told me it’s his personal mission to find this place and punish you all for kicking them to the curb. You’re basically public enemy number one.”
“It is in our history, Rhysand,” Amren said gravely. “But the Asteri were not known by that name. Here, they were called the Daglan.”
Bryce could have sworn Rhysand’s golden face paled slightly. Azriel shifted in his chair, wings rustling. Rhysand said firmly, “The Daglan were all killed.”
Amren shuddered. The gesture seemed to spark more alarm in Rhysand’s expression. “Apparently not,” she said.
Bryce pushed Amren, “Do you have any record about how they were defeated?” A kernel of hope glowed in her chest.
“Nothing beyond old songs of bloody battles and tremendous losses.”
“But the story … it rings true to you?” Bryce asked. “Immortal, vicious overseers once ruled this world, and you guys banded together and overthrew them?”
Their silence was confirmation enough.
Yet Rhysand shook his head, as if still not quite believing it. “And you think …” He met Bryce’s stare, his eyes once again full of that predatory focus. Gods, he was terrifying. “You believe the Daglan—these Asteri—want to come back here for revenge. After at least fifteen thousand years.” Doubt dripped from every word.
“That’s, like, five minutes for Rigelus,” Bryce countered. “He’s got infinite time—and resources.”
“What kind of resources?” Cold, sharp words—a leader assessing the threat to his people.
How to begin describing guns or brimstone missiles or mech-suits or Omega-boats or even the Asteri’s power? How to convey the ruthless, swift horror of a bullet? And maybe it was reckless, but … She extended her hand to Rhysand. “I’ll show you.”
Amren and Azriel cut him sharp looks. Like this might be a trap.
“Hold on,” Rhysand said, and vanished into nothing.
Bryce started. “You—you can teleport?”
“We call it winnowing,” Amren drawled. Bryce could have sworn Azriel was smirking. But Amren asked, “Can you do it?”
“No,” Bryce lied. If Azriel sensed her lie, he didn’t call her out this time. “There are only two Fae who can.”
It was Amren’s turn to start. “Two—on your entire planet?”
“I’m guessing you have more?”
Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn’s, yet … wilder. The way Cormac’s had been.
Amren’s chin dipped. “Only the most powerful, but yes. Many can.”
As if on cue, Rhysand appeared again, a small silver orb in one hand.
“The Veritas orb?” Amren said, and Azriel lifted an eyebrow.
But Rhysand ignored them and extended his other hand, in which lay a small silver bean.
Bryce took it, peering at the orb he laid on the floor. “What are these?”
Rhysand nodded to the orb. “Hold it, think of what you want to show us, and the memories shall be captured within for us to view.”
Easy enough. Like a camera for her mind. She gingerly approached the orb and picked it up. The metal was smooth and cold. Lighter than it should have been. Hollow inside.
“Here goes,” she said, and closed her eyes. Pictured the weapons, the wars, the battlefields she’d seen on television, the mech-suits, the guns she’d learned to fire, the lessons with Randall, the power Rigelus had blasted down the hall after her—
