But Athalar cracked open an eye. Met his stare. Pain and rage and determination shone there, unbroken despite the halo and slave brand on his wrist. “Then talk to your … person.” Girlfriend, the angel didn’t say.
Ruhn ground his teeth, and his ravaged mouth gave a burst of pain. He’d rather die here than beg the Hind for help. “Another way.”
“I was in these dungeons … for seven years,” Hunt said. “No way out. Especially not with Pollux so invested in ripping us apart.”
Ruhn glanced again at the halo. He knew the angel didn’t only mean a way out of the dungeons. The Asteri owned them now.
Baxian stirred from his slumber to wearily rasp, “I never appreciated it, Athalar. What you went through.”
“I’m surprised I didn’t get a badge of honor when I left here.” The light words were at odds with the utter emptiness of Hunt’s stare. Ruhn couldn’t stand to see it there, in the eyes of the Umbra Mortis.
Baxian chuckled brokenly, playing along. “Maybe Pollux will give you one this time.”
If Ruhn got free, Pollux would be the first asshole he ended. He didn’t dwell on why. Didn’t dwell on the rage that coursed through him whenever he saw the white-winged angel.
He’d been so stupid. Na?ve and reckless and stupid to let himself get in so deep with Day—with Lidia—and forget the Oracle’s warning. Delude himself into thinking that it probably meant he wouldn’t have kids. He’d been so fucking pathetic and lonely that he’d needed to think the best, even though it was clear he’d always had a one-way ticket to disaster.
The only thing left to do was put an end to it.
So Ruhn said, “You were alone then, Athalar.”
Hunt met Ruhn’s stare, as if to say, Oh yeah? Ruhn just nodded. Friends, brothers, whatever—he had Athalar’s back.
Something glimmered in Athalar’s eyes. Gratitude, maybe. Or hope. Much better than what had been there moments ago. It sharpened Ruhn’s focus. Cleared the pain-fogged bits of his brain. This might be a one-way ticket for him, but it didn’t have to be for Hunt. And Bryce …
Ruhn looked away before Hunt could read the fear that filled his eyes, his heart.
Thankfully, Baxian added, “And you weren’t … the Umbra Mortis back then, either. You’ve changed, Athalar.”
Hunt let out a grating laugh, full of challenge and defiance. Thank the gods for that. “What are you thinking, Danaan?”
12
“You’ve been here this whole time?” Bryce eyed the shadow-wreathed warrior as they left the river behind, walking through the lower tunnel passage. They followed the light of Bryce’s star, once again pointing ahead, faintly illuminating the carvings all around them. Her teeth chattered with cold, but moving helped warm her frozen body—just a fraction.
Azriel, striding a few feet behind Bryce as Nesta led the way through the tunnel, said, “Yes.”
Nesta snorted. “That’s about all you’ll get out of him.”
Bryce peered over a shoulder at the male, trying to calm her shivers. “Those were your shadows against my light earlier?”
“Yes,” Azriel said again.
Nesta chuckled. “And he’s probably been put out about it ever since.”
“Seeing you go into that freezing river helped,” Azriel said mildly, and Bryce could have sworn she caught a hint of a smile gracing his beautiful face.
But she asked, “Why keep hidden at all?”
“To observe,” Nesta answered for him, stride unfaltering. “To see what you’d do. Where you’d lead me. As soon as we realized there was a tunnel, we got supplies together and followed you.” Hence her pack of food.
They passed by more carvings—all disarmed well ahead of their approach by Nesta’s silver flame. These were more peaceful: They showed small children playing. Time passing with trees blooming, then barren, then blooming again. Pretty, perfect scenes at odds with the conversation at hand.
Bryce gestured to the passageway and the carvings. “Your guess remains as good as mine. I’m just following the light.”
“Right into the river,” Nesta grumbled. Azriel snickered behind her.
Bryce glanced at him again, at the wings and armor. At his ears—she realized now that they weren’t arched, but round like a human’s. There had been carvings earlier of warriors that looked like him—armies of them. “Do you have Vanir in this world?”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”