But he didn’t share them, not before he said to Athalar, “Luna’s Horn was a weapon wielded by Pelias, the first Starborn Prince, during the First Wars. The Fae forged it in their home world, named it for the goddess in their new one, and used it to battle the demon hordes once they made the Crossing. Pelias wielded the Horn until he died.” Ruhn put a hand on his chest. “My ancestor—whose power flows in my veins. I don’t know how it worked, how Pelias used it with his magic, but the Horn became enough of a nuisance for the demon princes that they did everything they could to retrieve it from him.”

Ruhn held out his phone, the picture of the illuminated manuscript glaringly bright in the thick shadows. The illustration of the carved horn lifted to the lips of a helmeted Fae male was as pristine as it had been when inked millennia ago. Above the figure gleamed an eight-pointed star, the emblem of the Starborn.

Bryce went wholly still. The stillness of the Fae, like a stag halting in a wood.

Ruhn went on, “The Star-Eater himself bred a new horror just to hunt the Horn, using some blood he managed to spill from Prince Pelias on a battlefield and his own terrible essence. A beast twisted out of the collision of light and darkness.” Ruhn swiped on his phone, and the next illustration appeared. The reason he’d had her come here—had taken this gamble.

Bryce recoiled at the grotesque, pale body, the clear teeth bared in a roar.

“You recognize it,” Ruhn said softly.

Bryce shook herself, as if to bring herself back to reality, and rubbed her thigh absently. “That’s the demon I found attacking the angel in the alley on that night.”

Hunt gave her a sharp look. “The one that attacked you, too?”

Bryce gave a small, affirmative nod. “What is it?”

“It dwells in the darkest depths of the Pit,” Ruhn answered. “So lightless that the Star-Eater named it the kristallos, for its clear blood and teeth.”

Athalar said, “I’ve never heard of it.”

Bryce contemplated the drawing. “It … There was never a mention of a fucking demon in the research I did on the Horn.” She met his gaze. “No one put this together two years ago?”

“I think it’s taken two years to put it together,” Ruhn said carefully. “This volume was deep in the Fae Archives, with the stuff that’s not allowed to be scanned. None of your research would have ever pulled it up. The entire damn thing was in the Old Language of the Fae.” And had taken him most of the night to translate. Throwing in the lingering fog of the mirthroot hadn’t helped.

Bryce’s brow furrowed. “But the Horn was broken—it basically became a dud, right?”