“Gwydion,” the dark-haired female whispered, indicating the Starsword.
The broader male sucked in a breath. Then said something in that language she couldn’t comprehend. The brunette at his side snapped something back that sounded like a reprimand.
“Is this Hel?” Bryce asked again in the old tongue of the Fae.
The dark-haired female observed Bryce from head to toe: the clothes so thoroughly at odds with their own attire, the blood and cuts. Then she replied in the old tongue, “No one has spoken that language in this world for fifteen thousand years.”
Bryce rubbed at her face. Had she traveled in time, somehow? Or did Hel occupy a different time and—
“Please,” she said. “I need to find Prince Aidas.”
“I do not know who that is.”
“Apollion, then. Surely you know the Prince of the Pit.”
“I do not know of such people. This world is not Hel.”
Bryce slowly shook her head. “I … Then where am I?” She surveyed the silent others, the winged males and the other Fae female, who stared coolly. “What world is this?”
The front door opened again. First, a lovely female with the same brown-gold hair as the one already standing before Bryce entered. She wore a loose white shirt over brown pants, both splattered with paint. Her hands were tattooed to the elbows in intricate swirls. But her blue-gray eyes were wary—soft and curious, but wary.
The winged, dark-haired male who stepped in behind her …
Bryce gasped. “Ruhn?”
The male blinked. His eyes were the same shade of violet blue as Ruhn’s. His short hair the same gleaming black. This male’s skin was browner, but the face, the posture … It was her brother’s. His ears were pointed, too, though he also possessed those leathery wings like the two other males.
The female beside him asked the petite female a question in their language.
But the male continued to stare at Bryce. At the blood on her, at the Starsword and the knife, the blades still gleaming with their opposite lights.
He lifted his gaze to her, stars in his eyes. Actual stars.
Bryce pleaded with the petite female, “My world … Midgard … It’s in grave danger. My mate, he …” She couldn’t get the words out. “I didn’t mean to come here. I meant to go to Hel. To get aid from the princes. But I don’t know what this world is. Or how to find Hel. I need your help.”
It was all there was left to do: throw herself at their mercy and pray they were decent people. That even if she’d come from another world, they’d recognize her as Fae and be compassionate.
The petite female seemed to repeat Bryce’s words to the others. The female with the tattooed hands asked Bryce a question in their language. The petite one translated: “She wants to know what your name is.”
Bryce glanced from the tattooed female to the beautiful male at her side. They both possessed an air of quiet, gentle authority. The others all seemed to wait for their cues. So Bryce addressed the two of them as she lifted her chin. “My name is Bryce Quinlan.”
The male stepped forward, tucking in his wings. He smiled slightly and said in the Old Language, in a voice like glorious night, “Hello, Bryce Quinlan. My name is Rhysand.”
EPILOGUE
Ithan Holstrom crouched, a hulking wolf among the rain-lashed shadows outside the Astronomer’s building, monitoring the few people in the alley braving the storm.
No word had come from Pangera. Just a mention of an explosion at a lab outside the city, and that was it. He didn’t expect to hear anything from Bryce and the others at least until the next day.
But he couldn’t help the urge to pace, even as he guarded the doors across the alley. He’d seen no glimpse of the Astronomer. No patrons had entered. Had Mordoc dragged the wretch off for an interrogation about why Ithan and his friends had visited him? And left the mystics here—unguarded and alone?
He’d fucked up guard duty with Hypaxia. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not with the mystic caged beyond those doors.
Another Fendyr heir to the Prime. An Alpha to challenge Sabine.
Something moved in the shadows far down the alley, beyond the neon glow of the signs above the tattoo parlors and bars. Swift and hulking and— He sniffed the air. Even with the rain, he knew that scent. Knew the golden eyes that glowed in the rainy darkness.
Ithan’s growl rumbled over the slick cobblestones, his wet fur bristling.
Amelie Ravenscroft, his former Alpha, only snarled back, sending whatever patrons were on the streets scattering into the buildings, and melted into the dimness.