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My foot tapped the floor as I realized Holland hadn’t been entirely forthcoming. I knew it wasn’t like he was the only Arae, and I also recognized that he had to walk a fine line between advising and interference, but I wanted to do worse than throw a comb at his face the next time I saw him.

If I did.

I exhaled loudly. “Okay, so if everything you say is true, then get Nyktos out of Dalos.”

“I would if I could.”

“If you could?” I rose, anger lodging in my chest. “You’re a Primal who flew in here as a hawk.”

“That doesn’t mean I can fly out of a cell as a hawk with Nyktos.” He stood cautiously, almost as if he expected me to throw another punch. “You see these bars? Have you touched them?”

“Yes.” I began pacing. “It didn’t feel that great.”

“Of course, not. They are bones of the Ancients.” He jerked his chin at them. “They’re chock-full of eather and powerful wards.”

Bones? My lip curled as I noted the discoloration in the gold once more.

Ew.

“Those bones, when wielded as a weapon? Prick even the skin of a god? Dead. And because of the embers, if I try to take you through them and you get nicked? Dead. They can even put a Primal into years-long stasis,” he told me. “Nyktos is just as imprisoned by them as you are, and he’s far more guarded.”

Slowly, I faced him as an image formed—the weapon the Primal of the Hunt and Divine Justice had held. “Was that what Hanan’s spear was made of?”

He nodded.

“Then, clearly, the bones of the Ancients can be destroyed,” I said.

“Only by two Primals: the Primal of Life and the Primal of Death.”

Great.

I crossed my arms. “But can they kill a Primal with more than just a few embers?”

“They can kill a fledgling Primal, depending on where they are struck, like one who is just coming out of their Culling. They’d be susceptible to that for many years until they fully harness their eather. But if any Primal, fledging or not, is impaled by a bone, they would remain incapacitated until it was removed.”

Well, that was the first helpful piece of information he’d shared. But in the moments of silence that followed, I realized there was something else I wanted to know.

“Can you…?” Breathe in. My chest constricted. Hold. “Can you tell me how Nyktos is?”

“You’re not going to like this answer, but I can’t.” He tracked the short path I was making in front of the divan. “I wish I could, but I haven’t seen him since I took him to the cells.”

He was right. I didn’t like the answer. “Was he conscious then?”

“No,” he said quietly.

Breathe in. I squeezed my eyes shut against the rising swell of panic and helplessness. Hold. Caving to that wouldn’t help either of us. Breathe out. “Where are these cells?”

“Was that where you were trying to escape to?”

I didn’t answer.

There was no need.

Attes let out a weary breath. “You would never make it there, even if you had managed to get free. I wouldn’t even be able to get you there and past the wards in place—at least undetected.”

“Where are these cells?” I repeated.

“They are in Dalos, but nowhere near the city,” he said. “They’re in the Carcers.”