His eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
She crossed her arms. “Let’s just say that I know a female who could wipe your sorry ass from existence and not break a sweat.”
And yet Nesta hadn’t done that to Bryce. She’d thought it luck, but was it possible the female had pulled her punches? Nesta hadn’t been anything like Silene or Theia.
It didn’t matter now, but the thought lingered.
“That still doesn’t answer my question. You must have gone to that world for a reason—what did you learn?”
“One, I wound up there by accident. Two, technically, I did answer your question, so be more specific next time.”
Something dark and lethal passed over her father’s face. “How—”
Bryce held up a finger, mocking him. “What happened after I left?”
Her father’s whiskey-colored eyes simmered with flame at the sight of that finger, the command and insistence of the right to speak it conveyed. The sight must have been especially galling from a female.
But he seemed to tamp down his anger and said with a smugness of his own, like he was savoring the bad news as much as she had while giving hers, “The Asteri threw Athalar and your brother into their dungeons, and managed to contain the knowledge of what occurred at their palace. They only informed those of us who needed to know.” He drained his wine. “Did you bring these Fae back into Midgard with you?”
“Did you see them arrive here with me?” No need to tell him that she didn’t part on good terms. Azriel might very well have killed her if she’d stayed a moment longer.
Bryce braced her forearms on the table, gorsian shackles thudding against the cool marble. “So you’ve known Ruhn is in the Asteri’s dungeons for five days and have done nothing to help him?”
“Ruhn deserves all that is coming his way. He chose his fate.”
Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her flesh. “He’s your son, for fuck’s sake.”
“I can have others.”
“Not if I kill you first.” A familiar white haze crept over her vision.
Her father smiled, as if noting the primal fury of the Fae—but purely human rage. “You’re so like your mother.” He smirked. “No questions about her fate?”
“I know you wouldn’t be able to keep from telling me if something had happened to her. You’d take too much pleasure in it. Why have the Asteri kept Hunt and Ruhn alive?”
“I believe it is my turn.”
“I believe it’s my turn. No questions about her fate? counts as a question, asshole.”
Her father’s eyes flickered, as if amused despite himself—and impressed. “Very well.”
“Why have they kept Ruhn and Hunt alive?”
“To use them against you, I assume, though I cannot say for sure.” He poured himself more wine, the fading sunlight streaming through the windows making the liquid glow like fresh blood. “Tell me about the knife—it is the one from our prophecies, the sibling to the Starsword?”
“The one and only. They call it Truth-Teller.” He opened his mouth again, but she tapped her fingers on the table. Better get the lay of the land, assess where any allies might be—if they survived. “What’s the status of Ophion?”
“No attacks since the one on the lab. Their numbers are nearly depleted. Ophion is, for all intents and purposes, dead.”
Bryce reined in her wince.
The Autumn King drank from his wine again. At this rate, he’d get through the whole bottle before the sun had fully set. “How did you attain Truth-Teller?”
“I stole it.” She smiled slightly at his frown of distaste. “What of my other friends—are they all alive?”
“If you counted that traitor Cormac amongst your friends, then no. But the rest of them, as far as I have heard, are alive and well.” Bryce reeled. Cormac was— “Did you steal the dagger to fulfill the prophecy?”
She shrugged with what nonchalance she could muster and set down her fork. “I’m tired of this game.”
Cormac was dead. Had he died that day at the lab, or had it been afterward—perhaps in the Asteri’s dungeons, under their questioning? Or had they simply sent the male home to his shitty father and let the King of Avallen rip him to shreds for dishonoring his household?
The Autumn King smiled like he’d won. “Then you are dismissed. I shall see you tomorrow.”
She pushed past her twisting grief to say, “Fuck you.”