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“So the River Queen was on the hunt for Sofie to … engage in some necromancy? Why not go to the Bone Quarter?”

“I don’t know what the River Queen wanted.”

Hunt scoured his memory for what had happened to Sofie’s corpse after they’d found it in the morgue aboard the Depth Charger. What had Cormac done with it? Was it still on the ship? And if so, did the Ocean Queen know what she had in her possession? The questions swarmed, but one rose to the forefront. “Why didn’t Rigelus just hunt down Sofie’s body? Why bother going after me?”

“You presented yourself to him rather conveniently, Athalar. Not to mention that you’re alive, and much easier to command than a corpse.”

“There are some Archangels who might disagree with you.”

Aidas’s mouth twitched upward, but he said, “It will likely take time for Rigelus to figure out a way to wield the lightning he extracted from you. Though I admit I am … disturbed to learn of his new experimentation. It does not bode well for any of us, if Rigelus is tangling with the dead.”

“Why now?” Hunt asked. “I’ve been enslaved to them for centuries, for Urd’s sake.”

“Perhaps they’ve at last learned what your father bred you to be.”

Even the miserable itching in his back was forgotten at those words. “What the fuck does that mean?”

But Aidas only shook his head. “A tale for another time, Athalar.”

“A tale for now, Aidas. These cryptic mentions of my father, the black crown, secrets about my powers—”

“Mean nothing, if you do not get out of these dungeons.”

“Then stop fucking popping out of the shadows and find a key.”

“I cannot. My body isn’t real here.”

“It was real enough in Quinlan’s apartment.”

“That was a portal, a summoning. This is like … a phone call.”

“Then send one of your buddies through the Northern Rift to help us—”

“The distance from Nena is too great. They wouldn’t arrive in time to make a difference. You will get answers, Athalar, I promise. If you survive. But if the Asteri can use your lightning to raise the dead, in ways swifter and less limited than traditional necromancy, then the armies they might create—”

“You’re not making me feel any better about giving some over.” Another bit of guilt to burden his soul. He didn’t know how he wasn’t already broken beneath the sheer weight of it.

“Try not to give him more, then.” But Aidas threw him a pitying look. “I am sorry that one of your companions will die tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” Hunt said hoarsely. “Any idea who they’ve picked?”

Aidas angled his head, more feline than princely. Like he could hear things Hunt couldn’t. “The one whose death will mean the most to both you and Bryce.” Hunt closed his eyes. “The Fae Prince.”

This was all Hunt’s fault. He’d learned nothing since the Fallen. And he’d been fine with taking on the punishment himself, but for others to do it, for Ruhn to—

“I’m sorry,” the Prince of the Chasm said again, and sounded like he meant it.

But Hunt said hoarsely, “If you find her … if you see her again … tell her …”

Not to come back. Not to dare enter this world of pain and suffering and misery. That he was so damn sorry for not stopping all of this.

“I know,” Aidas said, not needing Hunt to finish before he vanished into darkness.

29

Bryce had dropped down between worlds. And yet when she landed, she collided sideways with a wall.

Apparently, magical interstellar travel didn’t care about physics.