House of Flame and Shadow (Crescent City, #3)

“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.