Bryce frowned. “Is it—is it the same as the Asteri’s?” She hadn’t realized how much the question had been weighing on her. Eating at her.
“No,” Apollion cut in, scowling. “They are similar in their ability to destroy, but the Asteri’s power is a blunt, wicked tool of destruction.”
Aidas added, eyes shining with sympathy, “Starfire’s ability to destroy is but one facet of a wonderous gift. The greatest difference, of course, lies in how the bearer chooses to use it.”
Bryce offered him a small smile as that weight lifted.
Hunt cut in, “So just to clarify: There’s still a third well of Theia’s power out there—or was?”
“Helena knew that her own portion of her mother’s magic would be passed down to future generations,” Aidas said. “But when Theia died, all that remained of Theia’s power lay in the Starsword. Theia put it into the blade after she parted from her daughters.”
Bryce shook her head. “Let me get this straight. Theia divided her power into three parts: one to each of her daughters, and she transferred the last part to the Starsword. So the final piece of her magic is … in this blade? It’s been waiting all this time?”
“No,” Aidas said. “Helena removed it.”
Bryce groaned. “Really? It can’t be easy?”
Aidas snorted. “Helena did not deem it wise to leave what remained of Theia’s star in the sword, even in secret.”
“But how would the Asteri have been able to wield Theia’s power to use the sword and knife,” Bryce protested, “if she was dead?”
“They could have resurrected her,” Hunt said quietly.
Aidas nodded gravely. “Theia didn’t want them to be able to access the full strength of the star in her bloodline, even through her corpse. So she split it in three, putting only enough into the Starsword for her to face Pelias—long enough to buy her daughters time to run. She gave her magic to her daughters, thinking they would both escape to their home world and be beyond the reach of the Asteri forever.”
“Why not send the Starsword with them, too?”
“Because then the knife and sword would have been together,” Thanatos said.
“But what sort of threat do they pose?” Bryce said, practically shouting with impatience. “The Autumn King said they can open a portal to nowhere—is that it?”
“Yes,” Aidas confirmed. “And together, they can unleash ultimate destruction. Theia separated them to keep the Asteri from ever having that ability. She did not know of a way they could be united by someone not of her bloodline, but the Asteri have been known to be … creative.”
“How did Helena transfer the power out of the sword? She didn’t have the Harp,” Bryce said.
“No,” Aidas agreed. “But Helena knew that Midgard possessed its own magic. A raw, weaker sort of magic than that in her home world, but one that could be potent in high concentrations. She learned that it flowed across the world in great highways, natural conduits for magic.”
“Ley lines,” Bryce breathed.
Aidas nodded. “These lines are capable of moving magic, but also carrying communications across great distances.” Like those between the Gates of Crescent City, the way she’d spoken to Danika the day she’d made the Drop. “There are ley lines across the whole of the universe. And the planets—like Midgard, like Hel, like the home world of the Fae—atop those lines are joined by time and space and the Void itself. It thins the veils separating us. The Asteri have long chosen worlds that are on the ley lines for that exact purpose. It made it easier to move between them, to colonize those planets. There are certain places on each of these worlds where the most ley lines overlap, and thus the barrier between worlds is at its weakest.”
Everything slotted together. “Thin places,” Bryce said with sudden certainty.
“Precisely,” Apollion answered for Aidas with an approving nod. “The Northern Rift, the Southern Rift—both lie atop a tremendous knot of ley lines. And while those under Avallen are not as strong, the island is unique as a thin place thanks to the presence of black salt—which ties it to Hel.”
“And the mists?” Hunt asked. “What’s the deal with them?”
“The mists are a result of the ley lines’ power,” Aidas said. “They’re an indication of a thin place. Hoping to find a ley line strong enough to help her transfer and hide Theia’s power, Helena sent a fleet of Fae with earth magic to scour every misty place they could find on Midgard. When they told her of a place wreathed in mists so thick they could not pierce them, Helena went to investigate. The mists parted for her—as if they had been waiting. She found the small network of caves on Avallen … and the black salt beneath the surface.”
Aidas smiled darkly. “She returned to the Eternal City and convinced Pelias that only such a place would be a worthy burial location for him. He was vain and arrogant enough to believe her. So they established the Fae kingdom on Avallen, and she carved his royal tomb into the rock. She spun lies about wanting future generations to worship him, to have to be born with the right blood to have the privilege of attaining his sword, which would be buried with him.”
Aidas gestured toward the Starsword, sheathed down Bryce’s back. “Helena knew Pelias would never part with his trophy, not until he died. And when he did, she at last drew upon the raw power of Avallen’s ley lines to take the star her mother had imbued in the Starsword and hide it.”
“So why the prophecy about the sword and knife?” Hunt asked. “If Theia was so scared of them being reunited, why all this crap about trying to get them back together?”
Aidas crossed his legs. “Helena planted that prophecy, seeded it in Fae lore. She knew that despite her mother’s fears, the sword and knife are needed to destroy the Asteri. She knew that if a scion came along who could claim all three pieces of magic, they’d need the sword and knife to make that power count. Theia’s power, when whole, is the only thing that can unite and activate the true power of those blades and stop the Asteri’s tyranny.”
Bryce’s mouth dried out. A real path to ending the Asteri, at last.
“So where is it?” Bryce asked. “Where’s the last part of Theia’s power?”
“I don’t know,” Aidas said sadly. “Helena told no one, not even me.”
Bryce let out a long, frustrated breath, but Hunt kept pushing the princes. “So to unite the sword and knife, Bryce needs to find the starlight Helena took from the Starsword—the last third of Theia’s power—which is stashed somewhere on Avallen?”
“Yes,” Aidas said simply.
“But how do I make them open that portal to nowhere—and what the Hel does that mean, anyway?” Bryce griped.
Thanatos said roughly, “We’ve been wondering that for eons.”
Aidas dragged a hand through his golden hair. “Ultimate destruction was the best any of us could guess.”
“Fantastic,” Bryce grumbled.
Yet Hunt asked, “If Avallen is one of the stronger thin places, why did the Asteri even allow the Fae to live here?”
“The black salt, in such high quantity, keeps them away. They never realized that its presence drew us as much as it repelled them,” Apollion said with satisfaction. “It has the same properties that made us immune to the thrall of their black crowns.”
Bryce tensed at that, glancing at Hunt, but her mate asked, setting aside his own questions for now, “Did Helena know the Asteri were repelled from this place?”
Aidas nodded. “Once she figured it out, it confirmed her decision to hide Theia’s power here.”
Bryce angled her head. “But why did the mists open for Helena to get through in the first place?”
“The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.”
Bryce brushed invisible dirt off her shoulders,
“Add it to Bryce’s list of Magical Starborn Princess crap,” Hunt said, chuckling. But then he frowned deeply. “If the sword and knife could open a portal to nowhere all along, why didn’t Theia use them herself in the First Wars?”
“Because she was scared,” Aidas said, his voice suddenly tense. “For everyone.”
“Right,” Bryce said. “Ultimate destruction.”
“Yes,” Aidas said. Thanatos gave a disdainful snort, but Apollion looked at Aidas with something like compassion. “Theia,” Aidas explained, “had theorized about what uniting the blades would do, but never put it into practice. She was afraid that if she opened a portal to nowhere, all of Midgard might get drawn in. She might succeed in trapping the Asteri in another world only to damn this world to follow them right in. So she opted for caution. And by the time she should have damned caution to the wind … it was too late for her. For us. It was safer, wiser, for her to separate the blades, and her power.”
“But Helena felt differently,” Bryce said.
“Helena believed the risk worthwhile,” Aidas said. “She suffered greatly in the years following the First Wars—and saw the suffering of others, too. I came to agree with her. She wouldn’t tell me where she moved Theia’s power, but I know she left it accessible for the future scion who might emerge, bearing Helena’s own third of Theia’s light. The person who could somehow, against all odds, unite the pieces of Theia’s power—and then the two blades.”
“What blinds an Oracle?” Bryce whispered.
“Theia’s star,” Aidas said softly. “I told you: The Oracle did not see that day … but I did. I saw you, so young and bright and brave, and the starlight Helena had told me to wait for. That third of Theia’s power, passed down through Helena’s line.”
Hunt demanded, “But what is Bryce supposed to do? Find that last piece of Theia’s power, use it on the blades, and open this portal to nowhere while praying we don’t all get locked in with the Asteri, too?”
“That’s about the sum of it,” Aidas said, his eyes fixed on Bryce. “But there was one thing Theia and Helena did not anticipate: that you would bear the Horn, reborn, in your body. Another way to open doors between worlds.”
“And what’s she supposed to do with that?” Hunt snarled.
Aidas smiled slightly. “Fully open the Northern Rift, of course.”
61
“So,” Bryce said slowly, as if letting the words sink in, “why not use the Horn to open the portal to nowhere?”
“Because no one knows what that is—where it is. The sword and knife are pinpointed to its location, somehow. They are the only way to get to that nowhere-place.”
Hunt’s head spun. Hel, his head had been spinning nonstop for the past ten minutes. But Bryce was having none of it. “What if I never got the knife back? What if I never came to Avallen? What if I never got the chance, or refused to come here, or whatever?”
Apollion and Thanatos shifted in their seats, either bored or on edge, but Aidas continued speaking. “I do not know how Helena hoped you would be able to retrieve the knife from her home world. As for Avallen … Helena wanted me to nudge you along. But you harbored such hatred for the Fae—you would never have trusted me if I had pushed you to travel to their stronghold.”
“That’s true,” Bryce muttered.
“My brothers and I had doubts about Helena’s plans. We continued to rest our hopes on reopening the Northern Rift so that we could continue the fight against the Asteri. If someone like you, a world-walker, did come along and Avallen was somehow not accessible for you to claim Theia’s power, we still needed a way to … fuel you up, as it were.” He faced Hunt at last.
Hunt could barely breathe. Here—after all this waiting … here were the answers.
“You are the son of my two brothers only in the vaguest sense,” Aidas said.
Something in Hunt’s chest eased—even as his stomach roiled.
“Thanatos refused to help at first,” Apollion added, glaring at his brother.
“I did not approve of the plan,” Thanatos snapped, gripping his helmet tight. “I still do not.”
“My brother,” Aidas said, nodding to Thanatos, “has long excelled at crafting things.”
“Funny,” Bryce said, “I didn’t take you for a quilter.”
Hunt gave her an incredulous look, but Aidas smiled before he said to Hunt, “During the First Wars, as you call them, Thanatos helped Apollion breed new types of demons to fight on our side. The kristallos, designed to hunt for the Horn—so we might find a way into Midgard unobstructed. The Shepherd. The deathstalkers.” A nod to Hunt, like he knew of the scar down Hunt’s back from one of them. “They were but a few of my brothers’ creations.”
Bryce shook her head. “But the kristallos venom can negate magic. If you knew how to do that, why did you not use it against the Asteri in the war?”
“We tried,” Aidas said. “It did not have the same effect on their powers.”
“I’m sorry,” Hunt interrupted, “but are you implying that I was made by you two assholes? As some sort of pet?” He pointed to Thanatos, then to Apollion.
“Not a pet,” Apollion said darkly. “A weapon.” He nodded to Bryce. “For her, whenever she might come along.”
“But you didn’t know the timelines would overlap,” Bryce said a bit breathlessly.
“No. There were previous experiments,” Apollion said. “We hoped they would spread and multiply throughout Midgard, but the Asteri caught wind of our plan and removed them.”
“The thunderbirds,” Bryce said, gaping. “You guys made them, too?”
“We did,” Aidas said matter-of-factly, “and sent them through the cracks in the Northern Rift. But they were hunted to near-extinction generations ago. Blessing an angel with their power, a perfect soldier … it was a gift of poisoned honey. The Asteri believed they had somehow, through their selective breeding of the malakim, finally achieved a flawless soldier to serve them. That it was their own brilliance that brought someone like Hunt Athalar into the world.”
“But you rebelled,” Apollion said to Hunt with no small hint of pride. “You were too valuable to kill, but they wanted you broken. Your servitude was that attempt.”
Hunt could barely feel his body.
“Can we please rewind for a moment?” Bryce cut in. “You guys made the thunderbirds to complement my power—in case I never got the sword and knife, and if I ever needed a boost to open the Rift. But when they were hunted down, you … made Hunt, and then I was born …”
“Athalar was already enslaved by then,” Aidas said, “but we kept a close watch.”
Apollion nodded to Hunt. “Why do you think you’re so adept at hunting demons? It’s in your blood—part of me is in your blood.”
Nausea clawed its way up Hunt’s throat. The thought of owing anything at all to the Prince of the Pit …
“Just as he gave over some of his essence for the kristallos,” Thanatos said, “so he gave something to me for you. His Helfire.”
“Helfire?” Bryce demanded.