Hunt chuckled. “I can bring it up to the roof and check it out.”
“So romantic. When do the wedding invites go out for you two?”
He laughed again. “I’m shocked Randall didn’t make you learn how to fix your own bike.”
“Oh, he tried. But I was a legal adult by that point and didn’t have to listen.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Seriously, though—you know how to fix a bike?”
Hunt’s amusement slipped a notch. “Yeah. I, ah … know how to fix a lot of machines.”
“Does your lightning give you an affinity for knowing how they work, or something?”
“Yeah.” Hunt trained his gaze upon the Istros. The relentless sun was finally setting, casting the river in reds and golds and oranges. Far below the surface, little lights glowed, all that showed of the mighty, sprawling court beneath the water. He said quietly, “Sandriel took advantage of that—she often had me take apart Ophion’s mech-suits after battles, so I could learn how they worked and then sabotage them before discreetly sending the machines back to the front for the rebels to use unwittingly.” He couldn’t look at her, especially when she remained silent as he added, almost confessing, “I learned a lot about how machines work. How to make them not work. Especially at key moments. A lot of people likely died because of that. Because of me.”
He’d tried convincing himself that what he did was justified, that the suits themselves were monstrous: fifteen feet high and crafted of titanium, they were essentially exoskeletal armor that the human standing within could pilot as easily as moving their own body. Armed with seven-foot-long swords—some of them charged with firstlight—and massive guns, they could go head-to-maw with a wolf shifter and walk away intact. They were the human army’s most valuable asset—and only way of withstanding a Vanir attack.
Sandriel ordering him to take apart and mess with the suits had nothing to do with that, though. It had been about pure cruelty and sick amusement—stealing the suits, sabotaging them, and returning them with the humans none the wiser. It was about watching with glee as the pilots squared off against Vanir forces, only to find that their mech-suits failed them.
Bryce laid a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry she made you do that, Hunt.”
“So am I,” Hunt said, exhaling deeply, as if it could somehow cleanse his soul.
Bryce seemed to sense his need to shift the subject, because she suddenly asked, “What the Hel are we going to do about Pollux and Baxian?” She threw him a wry look, drawing him out of the past. “Aside from pummeling them into tenderized meat.”
Hunt snorted, silently thanking Urd for bringing Bryce into his life. “We can only hope Celestina keeps them in line.”
“You don’t sound so certain.”
“I spoke to her for five minutes before Pollux came in. It wasn’t enough to make a judgment.”
“Isaiah and Naomi seem to like her.”
“You talked to them?”
“On the way in. They’re … concerned about you.”
Hunt growled. “They should be concerned about those two psychopaths living here.”
“Hunt.”
The sun lit her eyes to a gold so brilliant it knocked the breath from him. She said, “I know your history with Pollux. I understand why you reacted this way. But it can’t happen again.”
“I know.” He licked his ice cream again. “The Asteri sent him here for a reason. Probably to rile me like this.”
“They told us to lie low. Why goad you out of doing so?”
“Maybe they changed their minds and want a public reason to arrest us.”
“We killed two Archangels. They don’t need any further charges to sign our death sentences.”
“Maybe they do. Maybe they worry we could get away with it if it went to trial. And a public trial would mean admitting our roles in Micah’s and Sandriel’s deaths.”
“I think the world could easily believe you killed an Archangel. But a widdle nobody half-human like me? That’s the thing they don’t want leaking out.”
“I guess. But … I just have a hard time believing any of this. That Pollux and Baxian being here isn’t a sign of shit about to go down. That Celestina might actually be a decent person. I’ve got more than two hundred years of history telling me to be wary. I can’t deprogram myself.” Hunt shut his eyes.
A moment later, soft fingers tangled in his hair, idly brushing the strands. He nearly purred, but kept perfectly still as Bryce said, “We’ll keep our guards up. But I think … I think we might need to start believing in our good luck.”
“Ithan Holstrom’s arrival is the exact opposite of that.”
Bryce nudged him with a shoulder. “He’s not so bad.”
He cracked open an eye. “You’ve come around quickly on him.”
“I don’t have time to hold grudges.”
“You’re immortal now. I’d say you do.”
She opened her mouth, but a bland male voice echoed through the park: The Gates will be closing in ten minutes. Anyone not in line will not be granted access.
She scowled. “I could have lived without them using the Gates to broadcast announcements all day.”
“You’re the one to blame for it, you know,” he said, mouth kicking up at one corner.
Bryce sighed, but didn’t argue.
It was true. Since she’d used the crystal Gates to contact Danika, it had awoken public interest in them, and revived awareness that they could be used to speak throughout the city. They were now mostly used to make announcements, ranging from the opening and closing times at the tourist sites to the occasional recording of an imperial announcement from Rigelus himself. Hunt hated those the most. This is Rigelus, Bright Hand of the Asteri. We honor the fallen dead in beautiful Lunathion, and thank those who fought for their service.
And we watch all of them like hawks, Hunt always thought when he heard the droning voice that disguised the ancient being within the teenage Fae body.
The Gate announcer fell quiet again, the gentle lapping of the Istros and whispering palm trees overhead filling the air once more.
Bryce’s gaze drifted across the river, to the mists swirling on its opposite shore. She smiled sadly. “Do you think Lehabah is over there?”
“I hope so.” He’d never stop being grateful for what the fire sprite had done.
“I miss her,” she said quietly.
Hunt slid an arm around her, tucking her into his side. Savoring her warmth and offering his own. “Me too.”
Bryce leaned her head against his shoulder. “I know Pollux is a monster; and you have every reason in the world to want to kill him. But please don’t do anything to make the Governor punish you. I couldn’t …” Her voice caught, and Hunt’s chest strained with it. “Watching Micah cut off your wings … I can’t see that again, Hunt. Or any other horror she might invent for you.”
He ran a hand over her silken hair. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Not for this. Just … be cautious.”
“I will.”
She ate more of her ice cream, but didn’t move. So Hunt did the same, careful not to drip into her hair.