“Yes,” she said without a moment of hesitation. “I meant all of it.”
“Bryce.” His face grew grave. “You really thought that I would care more about the Starborn shit than about you? You honestly think I care which one of us it is?”
“It’s both of us,” she said. “Those books you read said such things once happened.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he said, smiling slightly. “I don’t care if I’m called Prince or Starborn or the Chosen One or any of that.” He grabbed her hand. “The only thing I want to be called right now is your brother.” He added softly, “If you’ll have me.”
She winked, even as her heart tightened unbearably. “I’ll think about it.”
Ruhn grinned before his face turned grave once more. “You know the Autumn King will want to meet with you. Be ready.”
“Doesn’t getting a bunch of fancy-ass power mean I don’t have to obey anyone? And just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I forgive him.” She would never do that.
“I know.” Ruhn’s eyes gleamed. “But you need to be on your guard.”
She arched a brow, tucking away the warning, and said, “Hunt told me about the mind-reading.” He’d mentioned it briefly—along with a recap of the Summit and everything that had gone down—on the walk up to the roof.
Ruhn glared at the adjacent rooftop where Hunt stood. “Athalar has a big fucking mouth.”
One she’d like to put to good use on various part of her body, she didn’t say. She didn’t need Ruhn puking on her clean clothes.
Ruhn went on, “And it’s not mind-reading. Just … mind-talking. Telepathy.”
“Does dear old Dad know?”
“No.” And then her brother said into her head, And I’d like to keep it that way.
She started. Creepy. Kindly stay the fuck out of my head, brother.
Gladly. His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen before wincing. “I gotta take this.”
Right, because they all had work to do to get this city to rights—starting with tending to the dead. The sheer number of Sailings would be … she didn’t want to think about it.
Ruhn let the phone ring again. “Can I come over tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said, smirking. “I’ll get your name added to the guest list.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a fucking hotshot.” He rolled his eyes and answered the call. “Hey, Dec.” He strode down the street to where Flynn waited, throwing Bryce a parting grin.
Bryce looked to the rooftop across the street. Where the angel still waited for her, a shadow against the night.
But no longer the Shadow of Death.
97
Hunt stayed at the Comitium barracks that night. Bryce had lost track of the hours they’d worked, first through the night, then into the cloudless day, and finally at sunset she’d been dragging so much that he’d ordered Naomi to fly her home. And presumably ordered her to stand watch, since a dark-winged figure still stood on the adjacent rooftop in the gray light before dawn, and a peek into Hunt’s room revealed that his bed remained made.
But Bryce didn’t dwell on all the work they’d done yesterday, or all that lay ahead. Reorganizing the city’s leadership, Sailings for the dead, and waiting for the big announcement: which Archangel would be tapped by the Asteri to rule over Valbara.
Odds of them being decent were slim to none, but Bryce didn’t dwell on that, either, as she slipped into the still-dim streets, Syrinx tugging on his leash as she tucked her new phone into her pocket. She’d defied the odds yesterday, so maybe the gods would throw them another bone and convince the Asteri to send someone who wasn’t a psychopath.
At the very least, there would be no more death bargains for Hunt. Nothing more to atone for. No, he would be a free and true member of the triarii, if he wished. He had yet to decide.
Bryce waved to Naomi, and the angel waved back. She’d been too tired yesterday to object to having a guard, since Hunt didn’t trust the Asteri, her father, or any other power brokers to stay the Hel away. After letting Syrinx do his business, she shook her head when the chimera made to turn back toward the apartment. “No breakfast yet, buddy,” she said, aiming for the river.
Syrinx yowled with displeasure, but trotted along, sniffing at everything in his path until the broad band of the Istros appeared, its riverside walkway empty at this early hour. Tharion had called her yesterday, promising the River Queen’s full support for any resources she needed.