Lidia didn’t look at Ruhn, though. Didn’t say anything, only stared up at the swirling mist. If she was surprised at its ominous presence, her face revealed nothing. She offered no explanation, no apology for her own tardiness.
The Hind glanced back at the open hatch. No doubt thinking about her sons far below.
Baxian was watching her—like she puzzled him. Bryce didn’t blame him. The Helhound had worked closely with her as the Hind, and yet here she stood, so different underneath the same exterior he’d always known. Even if he, too, had hidden his true allegiances behind his own mask.
She couldn’t begin to imagine how Lidia might feel, though. Bryce walked up to her and said quietly, “I’m sorry you can’t stay with them.”
Lidia’s golden eyes snapped to her face. For a moment, Bryce steadied herself for a biting response. But then Lidia’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she said, “Thank you.” Her gaze softened, like she remembered Bryce’s offer to talk last night, and she said again, quieter this time, “Thank you.”
Bryce nodded, and turned to find Ruhn watching them closely. His face instantly became as unreadable as stone. Whatever was between him and Lidia, she wouldn’t poke it with a ten-foot pole. A hundred-foot pole.
Bryce instead said to her brother, to Flynn and Dec, “We were about to run some recon, but it occurs to me that you three have actually been here before.” She gestured to the mists. “How do we get in?”
A particularly large wave rocked the Depth Charger, and Hunt was instantly there, a hand at Bryce’s back to steady her.
“Alphahole,” she muttered up at him, but let him see the light dancing in her eyes.
Ruhn and his two friends were frowning at each other, though. Her brother said, “Normally, you need an invite from Morven. But I learned during my Ordeal that having the Starsword grants you … entry privileges.”
Bryce’s brows lifted, but she winced as another blast of cold, wet wind slammed into her. She stepped closer into Hunt’s warmth, her mate curling a gray wing around her to block the gusts. “How?”
Ruhn jerked his chin to where the sword was sheathed down her back. “Draw it and you’ll see.” Bryce and Hunt swapped wary glances, and Ruhn sighed. “What, you think this is some sort of prank?”
Bryce said, “I don’t know! You’re being awfully cryptic!”
Baxian chuckled from Hunt’s other side, enjoying the show. Gods, he and Danika had been made for each other.
Despite the pang of loss at the thought, Bryce glared at the Helhound, then drew the sword in one smooth movement. The black blade didn’t so much as gleam in the gray light. The dagger at her side seemed to weigh heavier, as if being dragged toward the blade—
“Well, look at that,” Tharion drawled, peering up at the wall of mist.
“Doorbell indeed,” Hunt murmured.
A triangle of a door—like the one in Silene’s caves—had slid open.
The hair on Bryce’s arms rose as a white boat, the opposite of those at the Black Dock, sailed out. The arching prow had been carved like a stag’s head, twin lanterns hanging from the branches of its mighty horns.
And then the stag itself spoke, eyes glowing, its mouth moving as a deep male voice came from inside it—no doubt broadcast from a king miles away.
“Welcome, Bryce Danaan. I’ve been expecting you.”
* * *
Tharion watched his friends climb into the white boat, the angels furling their wings tightly. The boat held steady on the bobbing waves, guided by whatever magic had sent it here in the first place. Flynn kept a wary eye on Lidia as she leapt in after Ruhn, but hesitated before jumping himself. He turned back to Tharion and offered a hand. “See you around, mer.”
Tharion studied the male’s broad, callused hand, its golden skin flecked with sea spray. Behind Tharion, Sendes had already waved to his friends and was now heading for the hatch.
If he was to make his move, it had to be now. Because if he stayed on this ship another day … it wouldn’t end well for him.
Which left him with one choice, really.
Sendes paused at the open hatch and beckoned Tharion below. Places to be and all that.
Flynn frowned at the hand he still held extended, at Tharion, standing there—
Tharion moved.
Bracing his hands on the rail, he vaulted over the side, landing in the white boat with a thud that had the others cursing at him.
“Ketos,” Athalar demanded, a steadying hand on the side of the boat as it rocked, “what the fuck?”