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“A few days,” Bryce said, letting go of his arm. She glanced toward the sealed front doors of the archives, the island beyond. “I don’t think we have more than that before Morven decides it’s in his best interest to tell the Asteri we’re here, risks to his people be damned. Or before the Asteri’s mystics pinpoint our location.”

“Maybe the mists can keep out mystic eyes as well,” Ruhn suggested.

“Maybe, but I’d rather we not find out the hard way. A few days, Ruhn—then we’re out of here.”

“The caves could take longer than that to navigate,” Ruhn warned. “You sure there’s anything in there worth finding? As far as I could tell, it was some decorative crap on the walls and a lot of misty tunnels. We’d get through the archives way faster if we all tackled the catalog together.”

“I have to look at the caves,” Bryce said quietly. “Just in case.”

It hit him then, like a bucket of ice water. Bryce wasn’t entirely sure she could find anything to help her unite the blades. To kill the Asteri.

So Ruhn squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Bryce.”

She offered him a grim smile. It was all Ruhn could do to offer one back.

* * *

They found nothing else regarding the missing islands, the mists, or the sword and the knife in the hours they spent combing through the catalog. They’d barely made a dent in the collection by the time Bryce called it quits for dinner, her hands so achingly dry from all the dust that they burned.

In silence, the group walked to the castle dining room. What a long, fucking day. Each of their trudging steps seemed to echo the sentiment.

The dining room was empty, though a small buffet of food had been laid out for them.

“Guess we’re early,” Tharion said as the group surveyed the firelit room, its faded tapestries depicting long-ago Fae hunts. Their quarry lay at the center of one: a chained, collared white horse.

Bryce jolted. It wasn’t a horse. It was a winged horse.

So they’d survived here, then—at least for a few generations. Before they’d either died out or the Fae had hunted them to extinction.

“We’re not early,” Sathia said beside Tharion, her face tight. “The formal dinner started fifteen minutes ago. If I were to guess, it’s been moved to another location for everyone else.”

“No one wants to eat with us?” Hunt asked.

Bryce said, “They probably consider it beneath them to mingle with our ilk.” Hunt, Baxian, and Tharion turned to her with incredulous expressions. Bryce shrugged. “Welcome to my life.” Hunt was frowning deeply, and Bryce added to him, unable to help herself, “You don’t need to feel guilty about that one, you know.”

He glared at her, and the others made themselves scarce.

“What does that mean?” Hunt asked quietly.

It wasn’t the time or place, but Bryce said, “I can’t get a read on you. Like, if you even want to be here or not.”

“Of course I do,” Hunt growled, eyes flashing.

She didn’t back down. “One moment you’re all in, the next you’re all broody and guilty—”

“Don’t I have the right to feel that way?” he hissed. The others had already reached the table.

“You do,” she said, keeping her voice low, though she knew the others could hear them. One of the downfalls of hanging with Vanir. “But each of us made choices that led us to all this. The weight of that’s not only on you, and it isn’t—”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” He started walking toward the center of the room.

“Hunt,” she started. He kept walking, wings tucking in tight.

Across the room, she met Baxian’s stare from where he was pulling out a chair at the table. Give him time, the Helhound’s look seemed to say. Be gentle with him.

Bryce sighed, nodding. She could do that.

They served themselves, and sat at random spots along the massive table, large enough to seat forty: Ruhn, Flynn, Sathia, and Dec in one cluster; Tharion, Baxian, Hunt, and Bryce in another. Lidia claimed a chair beside Bryce, definitely not looking to where Ruhn watched them from down the table.