They were Fae. There was nothing to suggest that they were better than the pieces of shit Bryce had known for most of her life. And somehow, despite appearing to be stuck a few centuries behind her own world, they seemed even more powerful than the Midgardian Fae, which could only lead to more arrogance and entitlement.
She needed to get to Hel. Or at the very least back to Midgard. And if she said too much …
The female noted her hesitation and said, “Just look in her mind already, Rhys.”
Bryce went rigid. Oh gods. He could pry into her head, see anything he wanted—
Rhysand glanced at the female. She held his stare with a ferocity that belied her small stature. If Rhysand was in charge, his underlings certainly weren’t expected to be silent cronies.
Bryce eyed the lone door. No way to reach it in time, even on the off chance they’d left it unlocked. Running wouldn’t save her. Would the Archesian amulet provide any protection? It hadn’t prevented Ruhn’s mind-speaking, but—
I do not pry where I am not willingly invited.
Bryce lurched back in the chair, nearly knocking it over at the smooth male voice in her mind. Rhysand’s voice.
But she answered, thanking Luna for keeping her own voice cool and collected, Code of mind-speaking ethics?
She felt him pause—as if almost amused. You’ve encountered this method of communication before.
Yes.It was all she’d say about Ruhn.
May I look in your memories? To see for myself?
No. You may not.
Rhysand blinked slowly. Then he said aloud, “Then we’ll have to rely on your words.”
The petite female gaped at him. “But—”
Rhysand snapped his fingers and three chairs appeared behind them. He sank gracefully onto one, crossing an ankle over a knee. The epitome of Fae beauty and arrogance. He glanced up at his companions. “Azriel.” He motioned lazily to the male. Then to the female. “Amren.”
Then he motioned to Bryce and said neutrally, “Bryce … Quinlan.”
Bryce nodded slowly.
Rhysand examined his trimmed, clean nails. “So your sword … it’s been in your world for fifteen thousand years?”
“Brought by my ancestor.” She debated the next bit, then added, “Queen Theia. Or Prince Pelias, depending on what propaganda’s being spun.”
Amren stiffened slightly. Rhysand slid his eyes to her, clocking the movement.
Bryce dared to push, “You … know of them?”
Amren surveyed Bryce from her blood-splattered neon-pink shoes to her high ponytail. The blood smeared on Bryce’s face, now stiff and sticky. “No one has spoken those names here in a very, very long time.”
In fifteen thousand years, Bryce was willing to bet.
“But you have heard of them?” Bryce’s heart thundered.
“They once … dwelled here,” Amren said carefully.
It was the last scrap of confirmation Bryce needed about what this planet was. Something settled deep in her, a loose thread at last pulling taut. “So this is it, then. This is where we—the Midgard Fae—originated. My ancestors left this world and went to Midgard … and we forgot where we came from.”
Silence again. Azriel spoke in their own language, and Rhysand translated. Perhaps Rhysand had been translating for Azriel mind-to-mind these last few minutes.
“He says we have no such stories about our people migrating to another world.”
Yet Amren let out a small, choked sound.
Rhysand turned slowly, a bit incredulous. “Do we?” he asked smoothly.
Amren picked at an invisible speck on her silk blouse. “It’s murky. I went in before …” She shook her head. “But when I came out, there were rumors. That a great number of people had vanished, as if they had never been. Some said to another world, others said they’d moved on to distant lands, still others said they’d been chosen by the Cauldron and spirited away somewhere.”
“They must have gone to Midgard,” Bryce said. “Led by Theia and Pelias—”
Amren held up a hand. “We can hear your myths later, girl. What I want to know”—her eyes sharpened, and it was all Bryce could do to weather the scrutiny—“is why you came here, when you meant to go elsewhere.”
“I’d like to know that, too,” Bryce said, perhaps a bit more boldly than could be deemed wise. “Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of your hair immediately.”
“To go to … Hel,” Rhysand said neutrally. “To find this Prince Aidas.”
These people weren’t her friends or allies. This might be the home world of the Fae, but who the fuck knew what they wanted or aspired to? Rhysand and Azriel looked pretty, but Urd knew the Fae of Midgard had used their beauty for millennia to get what they wanted.
Rhysand didn’t need to read her mind—no, he seemed to read all that on her own face. He uncrossed his legs, bracing both feet on the stone floor. “Allow me to lay out the situation for you, Bryce Quinlan.”
She made herself meet his star-flecked stare. She’d taken on the Asteri and Archangels and Fae Kings and walked away. She’d take him on, too.
The corner of Rhysand’s mouth curled upward. “We will not torture it from you, nor will I pry it from your mind. If you choose not to talk, it is indeed your choice. Precisely as it will be my choice to keep you down here until you decide otherwise.”
Bryce couldn’t stop herself from coolly surveying the room, her attention lingering on the grate and the hissing that drifted up from it. “I’ll be sure to recommend it to my friends as a vacation spot.”
Stars winked out in Rhysand’s eyes. “Can we expect any others to arrive here from your world?”
She gave the truest answer she could. “No. As far as I know, they’ve been looking for this place for fifteen thousand years, but I’m the only one who’s ever made it back.”
“Who is they?”
“The Asteri. I told you—intergalactic parasites.”
“What does that mean?”
“They are …” Bryce paused. Who was to say these people wouldn’t hand her right over to Rigelus? Bow to him? Theia had come from this world and fought the Asteri, but Pelias had bought what they were selling and gleefully knelt at their immortal feet.
Her pause said enough. Amren snorted. “Don’t waste your breath, Rhysand.”
Rhysand angled his head, a predator studying prey. Bryce withstood it, chin high. Her mother would have been proud of her.
He snapped his fingers again, and the blood, the dirt on her, disappeared. A stickiness still coated her skin, but it was clean. She blinked down at herself, then up at him.
A cruel half smile graced his mouth. “To incentivize you.”
Amren and Azriel remained stone-faced. Waiting.
She’d be stupid to believe Rhysand’s incentive meant anything good about him. But she could play this game.
So Bryce said, “The Asteri are ancient. Like tens of thousands of years old.” She winced at the memory of that room beneath their palace, the records of conquests going back millennia, complete with their own unique dating system.
Her captors didn’t reply, didn’t so much as blink. Fine—insane old age wasn’t totally nuts to them.
“They arrived in my world fifteen thousand years ago. No one knows from where.”
“What do you mean by arrived?” Rhysand asked.
“Honestly? I have no idea how they first got to Midgard. The history they spun was that they were … liberators. Enlighteners. According to them, they found Midgard little more than a backwater planet occupied by non-magical humans and animals. The Asteri chose it as the place to begin creating a perfect empire, and creatures and races from other worlds soon flocked to it through a giant rip between worlds called the Northern Rift. Which now only opens to Hel, but it used to open to … anywhere.”
Amren pushed, “A rip. How does that happen?”
“Beats me,” Bryce said. “No one’s ever figured out how it’s even possible—why it’s at that spot in Midgard, and not others.”
Rhysand asked, “What happened after these beings arrived in your world?”
Bryce sucked her teeth before saying, “In the official version of this story, another world, Hel, tried to invade Midgard. To destroy the fledgling empire—and everyone living in it. But the Asteri unified all these new people under one banner and pushed Hel back to its own realm. In the process, the Northern Rift was fixed with its destination permanently on Hel. After that, it remained mostly closed. A massive wall was erected around it to keep any Hel-born stragglers from getting through the cracks, and the Asteri built a glorious empire meant to last for eternity. Or so we’re all ordered to believe.”
The faces in front of her remained impassive. Rhysand asked quietly, “And what is the unofficial story?”
Bryce swallowed, the room in the archives flashing through her memory. “The Asteri are ancient, immortal beings who feed on the power of others—they harvest the magic of a people, a world, and then eat it. We call it firstlight. It fuels our entire world, but mostly them. We’re required to hand it over upon reaching immortality—well, as close to immortality as we can get. We seize our full, mature power through a ritual called the Drop, and in the process, some of our power is siphoned off and given over to the firstlight stores for the Asteri. It’s like a tax on our magic.”
She wasn’t even going to touch upon what happened after death. How the power that lingered in their souls was eventually harvested as well, forced by the Under-King into the Dead Gate and turned into secondlight to fuel the Asteri even more. Whatever reached them after the Under-King ate his fill.
Amren angled her head, sleek bob shifting with the movement. “A tax on your magic, taken by ancient beings for their own nourishment and power.” Azriel’s gaze shifted to her, Rhysand presumably still translating mind-to-mind. But Amren murmured to herself, as if the words triggered something, “A tithe.”
Rhysand’s brows rose. But he waved a broad, elegant hand at Bryce to continue. “What else?”
She swallowed again. “Midgard is only the latest in a long line of worlds invaded by the Asteri. They have an entire archive of different planets they’ve either conquered or tried to conquer. I saw it right before I came here. And, as far as I know, there were only three planets that were able to kick them out—to fight back and defeat them. Hel, a planet called Iphraxia, and … a world occupied by the Fae. The original, Starborn Fae.” She nodded to the dagger at Azriel’s side, which had flared with dark light in the presence of the Starsword. “You know my sword by a different name, but you recognize what it is.”
Only Amren nodded.
“I think it’s because it came from this world,” Bryce said. “It seems connected to that dagger somehow. It was forged here, became part of your history, then vanished … right? You haven’t seen it in fifteen thousand years, or spoken this language in nearly as long—which lines up perfectly with the timeline of the Starborn Fae arriving in Midgard.”
The Starborn—Theia, their queen, and Pelias, the traitor-prince who’d usurped her. Theia had brought two daughters with her into Midgard: Helena, who’d been forced to wed Pelias, and another, whose name had been lost to history. Much of the truth about Theia had been lost as well, either through time or the Asteri’s propaganda. Aidas, Prince of the Chasm, had loved her—that much Bryce knew. Theia had fought alongside Hel against the Asteri to free Midgard. Had been killed by Pelias in the end, her name nearly wiped from all memory. Bryce bore Theia’s light—Aidas had confirmed it. But beyond that, even the Asteri Archives had provided no information about the long-dead queen.
“So you believe,” Amren said slowly, silver eyes flickering, “that our world is this third planet that resisted these … Asteri.”
It was Bryce’s turn to nod. She motioned to the cell, the realm above it. “From what I learned, long before the Asteri came to my world, they were here. They conquered and meddled with and ruled this world. But eventually the Fae managed to overthrow them—to defeat them.” She loosed a tight breath, scanning each of their faces. “How?” The question was hoarse, desperate. “How did you do it?”
But Rhysand glanced warily to Amren. She had to be some sort of court historian or scholar if he kept consulting her about the past. He said to her, “Our history doesn’t include an event like that.”
Bryce cut in, “Well, the Asteri remember your world. They’re still holding a grudge. Rigelus, their leader, told me it’s his personal mission to find this place and punish you all for kicking them to the curb. You’re basically public enemy number one.”
“It is in our history, Rhysand,” Amren said gravely. “But the Asteri were not known by that name. Here, they were called the Daglan.”
Bryce could have sworn Rhysand’s golden face paled slightly. Azriel shifted in his chair, wings rustling. Rhysand said firmly, “The Daglan were all killed.”
Amren shuddered. The gesture seemed to spark more alarm in Rhysand’s expression. “Apparently not,” she said.
Bryce pushed Amren, “Do you have any record about how they were defeated?” A kernel of hope glowed in her chest.
“Nothing beyond old songs of bloody battles and tremendous losses.”
“But the story … it rings true to you?” Bryce asked. “Immortal, vicious overseers once ruled this world, and you guys banded together and overthrew them?”
Their silence was confirmation enough.
Yet Rhysand shook his head, as if still not quite believing it. “And you think …” He met Bryce’s stare, his eyes once again full of that predatory focus. Gods, he was terrifying. “You believe the Daglan—these Asteri—want to come back here for revenge. After at least fifteen thousand years.” Doubt dripped from every word.
“That’s, like, five minutes for Rigelus,” Bryce countered. “He’s got infinite time—and resources.”
“What kind of resources?” Cold, sharp words—a leader assessing the threat to his people.
How to begin describing guns or brimstone missiles or mech-suits or Omega-boats or even the Asteri’s power? How to convey the ruthless, swift horror of a bullet? And maybe it was reckless, but … She extended her hand to Rhysand. “I’ll show you.”
Amren and Azriel cut him sharp looks. Like this might be a trap.
“Hold on,” Rhysand said, and vanished into nothing.
Bryce started. “You—you can teleport?”
“We call it winnowing,” Amren drawled. Bryce could have sworn Azriel was smirking. But Amren asked, “Can you do it?”
“No,” Bryce lied. If Azriel sensed her lie, he didn’t call her out this time. “There are only two Fae who can.”
It was Amren’s turn to start. “Two—on your entire planet?”
“I’m guessing you have more?”