The cave antechamber was smaller than Niall remembered. Or maybe it seemed smaller because he was sharing it with a still pissed-off bard. The anger fairly rolled off Gareth in palpable waves. The ethera were disturbed by it, twittering in distress without offering any intelligible remarks.

Fine. If Gareth didn’t want to speak, Niall would indulge him. It was the least he could offer in return for his betrayal. If he’d been guilt-ridden over lying to Gareth when they’d met, it was nothing compared to the crushing weight of knowing what a shambles he’d made of Gareth’s life by letting the deception go on.

But his vow of silence lasted perhaps ten minutes. He sighed. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us. Why not just pretend?”

“Pretend?” Gareth’s voice was rough.

“Yes. I don’t hope for lovers or, gods help me, even friends. But at least pretend that we’re . . . companions, seeking a common goal. Pretend you don’t hate me. You’re a performer. Surely you can manage that.”

“Didn’t do such a good job last night.”

“Is that where the black eye came from?”

“Not exactly. That was afterward. I pretty much trashed our concert. More fights broke out in the audience than in the last battle of the Oak Wars.”

“Bit of an overstatement, don’t you think? That battle was bloody awful.”

“You weren’t at the concert.”

“No.” Niall forced himself to keep his voice level, his gaze fixed straight ahead into the depths of the cave illuminated by his headlamp. “I wasn’t.” It was probably for the best. If he had been, Gareth’s voice would have entranced him again, and he’d have been tempted to do something stupid like fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

He might still do that anyway, not that it was likely to do any good.

They reached a rough wall. Gareth stared at it. “Dead end. Now what? If we don’t—”

“Shush.”

“Shush? Seriously?”

Niall glanced from his study of the wall back at Gareth. “You spend the last however many hours giving me the silent treatment, and now—when I actually need the silence—you decide to pipe up?”

“I—” Gareth snapped his mouth shut and crossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Niall ran his fingers lightly over the wall, listening for a change in the ethera’s distressed chatter. When it came at last, he bent closer. There. The mark he’d scratched in the wall when he’d passed through before. He looked up, and there it was—the gap that led to the next cave, nearly hidden in the shadows of the cave’s irregular ceiling and trailing roots from plants overhead.

Gareth peered at the mark. “That’s an ogham N. Like my tat—” Gareth stopped and cleared his throat. “Your initial. You’ve been here before.”

“How else do you think I knew about it?”

“I don’t know. You and Bryce are the ones who plotted this adventure. For all I know it was a druid spell, and you’re just as much bound to him as Mal.”

Niall shot him a disgusted glance. “For one thing, Bryce would never cheat on your brother, even with another familiar. For a second thing, what makes you think I would cheat on you?”

Gareth blinked. “You— When you went with Eamon . . .” He clenched his eyes shut. “He’s your brother. You didn’t fuck him.”

“Too right. I’m not a bloody Welsh elder god. They’re the ones who were all about the incest.”

“That was nothing but post-Christianity propaganda, and you know it.”

Niall shrugged. “Not like it was unheard of in other pantheons too. But I’m not an elder god, and I never cheated.”

“You expect me to believe that? Two hundred years in the Unseelie court, and don’t think we haven’t heard stories about the orgies.”

“If that’s what you’ve heard, whoever made up the tale had a better imagination than a bard. The Unseelie court is about as boring as I expect the Seelie court is these days. Intrigue and one-upmanship and power plays, all for nothing. Besides, I wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t . . . Then where were you?”

Niall didn’t miss the hurt accusation in Gareth’s tone, the question obvious: If you weren’t there, why weren’t you with me?

“Someplace else. Now give me a boost. We need to go up.”

Gareth scowled, but braced his back against the wall and laced his fingers together. Niall placed one booted foot in Gareth’s hands and pushed off with the other, managing to grasp the rough edges of the opening, thanking Bryce’s forethought for the leather half-gloves. One foot in the indentation in the wall that had allowed him to descend all those years ago, and he was up and through, straining to lever himself until he could sit on the edge of the hole.

He sat for a moment, catching his breath, and looked around.

The ceiling of this cave was like a stone wave breaking overhead, the floor cobbled like a sun-baked riverbed. At the far reaches of the light, the ceiling was low enough that they’d have to crawl on hands and knees until they got to the entrance to the central cavern. Then they’d have to slither on their stomachs like a couple of tunnel snakes.

Niall’s newly healed back twitched when he remembered the roof of that long stretch, covered with jagged rocks like hag’s teeth. It had scraped him even rawer in his last visit. At least this time he was wearing a shirt and one of Bryce’s tactical vests—although they’d have to empty the pockets. Crawling along on their bellies would be painful enough without the pressure of their lumpy supplies.

He peered down at Gareth’s anxious face. “See that recess? Put your foot there and take my hand. I’ll pull you up until you can grab the ledge.”

Gareth clenched his jaw and nodded, then took Niall’s offered hand in a strong grip. Musician’s hands. Niall braced himself to take Gareth’s weight, but Gareth had no more trouble scrambling up the wall than a mountain goat.

When he was perched on the ledge, Niall raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

Gareth shrugged. “Hamish likes rock climbing. I go with him sometimes.”

“Good to know.” Niall stood and brushed off his pants, nodding toward the back of the cave. “This is phase two. We’ll follow this to nearly the end, crawl through another low tunnel, then into the central cavern and down.”

Niall began unloading batteries and a pocket knife and energy bars from his vest. “While we can still stand upright, better transfer all your gear.” He slapped the pockets on the outside of the legs of Bryce’s loaner pants. “I don’t recommend having anything under your chest when you crawl through here.” He glanced down at the pockets on the vest. “In fact, I’d suggest turning this around backward, except the ceiling is likely to catch on the fabric of the zippers and we’d get stuck.”

“Stuck? In here?” Gareth’s voice rose on the last word.

“Not here. At its lowest point, we can still get by on hands and knees. But in the next bit, it’s barely the height of our bodies. The floor is sand, though, so we can dig out a bit.” He might need to dig out a lot. The last time he took this route, he wasn’t nearly as developed through the chest and shoulders. “I’ll go first. You’re smaller than I am, so if I can make it, so can you.”

Gareth’s eyes were wide in the light from Niall’s headlamp. He clutched the pocket of his vest, where the spare batteries lay. “I—I’m not sure I can—”

“Hey hey hey.” Niall gripped Gareth’s shoulders. “It’ll be all right. After that bit, the cavern opens up. The path is a bit narrow and the pit it circles is deep, but at least we can stand. You’re not bothered by heights, are you?”

“Not heights. No. But this.” He gestured to the walls around them, the ceiling so close overhead. “No escape. If our lights were to fail, we’d be in the . . . in the dark.”

Gareth trembled, his headlamp wavering, and Niall couldn’t help it—he took Gareth in his arms, holding him close. Gareth kept his hands fisted at his sides, not returning the embrace, but at least he didn’t pull away.

“Tell me what you need to make this better,” he murmured. Gareth’s hair, so different with the curls gone, feathered against his cheek. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Gareth chuckled weakly. “Go back?”

“Well, almost anything.” He pulled away so he could meet Gareth’s gaze. “We have to keep going. For your brothers. For mine. We have no choice.”

“I know. And Goddess knows I’m used to having my path dictated for me. But what if—”

“No what ifs. Once we’re through here, we won’t be in the dark entirely. We’ll be able to see the flames of the Abyss. Will that help?”

Gareth shrugged. “It’ll have to. Let’s get it over with.”

Despite his obvious fear, Gareth kept pace with Niall until they had to drop to their hands and knees and go single file. When they reached the tunnel entrance, Niall stopped and turned sideways.

“This is it.”

Gareth’s mouth dropped open. “You call that a tunnel? I’d call it a fucking mousehole.”

“I’ll talk to you as I go, all right? You’ll know exactly what I’m seeing, what I’m doing, how far I’ve gone. Will that help?”

Gareth nodded, then dropped his gaze, which meant that suddenly their hands and knees were the only fully illuminated things in the cave. He raised his chin again with a gasp. “Yes. But—” The wild way his eyes darted around the shadowed recesses of the cave belied his words.

“All right then.” Niall tried to put as much reassurance in his tone as possible. “No point in hanging about, eh?”

Gareth shook his head. “None. Good . . . good luck.”

Niall made himself grin, the same way he’d have done in centuries past before he embarked on one of his usual harebrained schemes. Like falling in love with a Seelie bard. “Not needed. I’ve done this before, remember?”

Niall wiggled headfirst into the tunnel. Danu’s tits, had it been this shallow when he’d last passed through? None of that. Have to reassure Gareth. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll just push the sand aside. Open the way for you to slide through, slick as you please.”

He heard Gareth’s laugh, echoing weirdly in the outer cave. “Are you talking about the tunnel or sex?”

“Could be both.” He used his forearms to shove sand away and to the side. Please don’t let me hit rock. Please don’t let me hit rock. “Preparation. That’s the key. Not that the channel won’t be tight.”

“How tight?”

“Tight enough to hug you.” Shite, it better not be that tight, because those spikes on the ceiling were worse than Niall remembered, snagging on the fabric of his vest. Gareth wouldn’t appreciate that. “But deep.” He shoved more sand out of the way, increasing the clearance. There was one spike longer than the others, directly in his path. He remembered that one: it had gouged a bloody slash in his back.

Could he change direction? Detour around it? But if he did, there was no telling whether he’d get them lost for good.

“Niall? Are you all right?” Gareth’s expressive voice couldn’t disguise his panic.

“Oh yes. Fine. Just catching my breath, you know. Wouldn’t want to finish too soon.”

He squirmed forward another few inches and scooped sand away from under the overlong stone tooth. He eyed the clearance and scooped some more. And more. And more. It was one thing for his back to be lacerated—he was used to it. But not Gareth. “Just dealing with a . . . protuberance.”

He squirmed onward, the stone scoring his back but not too badly. He could smell the distinctive scent of the Abyss now, although it had a fainter, smokier tinge than he remembered. Was it because they were so far away from it? Think about that later.

He emerged onto the path, panting, and scrambled around to call back through the tunnel.

“I’m out. The path is clear enough for you. Just beware of—

“The protuberance?” Gareth’s voice seemed so far away. Faint. Was that fear? Niall wished they could have gone through side by side, but if wishes were granted, he’d have spent the last two centuries with Gareth.

“Exactly.”

He could hear Gareth humming softly, although the melody was jerky. Sounds like a man crawling through a twelve-inch-high tunnel on his belly.

“Keep going, Gareth. It’s not too far. I’m right here. If you—”

“Niall?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Right.”

Niall stood and studied the cavern. The pit was as wide as he remembered, but the path that circled it down into the earth was narrower. He hoped Gareth was telling the truth about being inured to heights, because Niall couldn’t see the bottom of the pit, not even the distant glow of the fires. He sighed. They had long trek ahead of them.

He turned, listening for Gareth’s hum, but heard nothing. Terror spiked through him and he dropped to his knees next to the tunnel mouth. “Gareth? Are you all right?” No answer, and the terror spiked higher. “Gareth? Say something? Are you stuck? Can I—”

A hand thrust out of the tunnel mouth, and Niall, giddy with relief, grasped it to pull a panting Gareth free. He toppled onto his back, his head over the edge of the path, Gareth on top of him.

Gareth’s eyes popped wide. “Gwydion’s bollocks.”

“It’s all right.” Niall wrapped his arms around Gareth, steadying them both, although the rocks in the path were cutting divots into his arse. He stroked Gareth’s spine. “Just breathe for a moment and then crawl backward. Slowly.”

Gareth clenched his eyes shut for a moment and nodded, his chest expanding in a singer’s breath. Was it Niall’s imagination, or was he lingering with their bodies pressed together from chest to knees—

And Niall’s shoulders with nothing under them but air. Not the best time to hope for a reconciliation.

Gareth eased back onto his knees, then onto his arse, his back against the cavern wall. He held out a hand and helped Niall sit up.

“Well. Let’s never do that again.”

So much for that hope. “Sorry. I just thought you needed a little assistance—”

“I meant the caves, you twit. Now. What’s next?” The ground trembled beneath their feet, and they both steadied themselves against the cavern wall. “Uh . . . is that normal?”

“We’re in the fucking underworld. I don’t think there’s any such thing as normal.”

Gareth hated being weak enough that he craved Niall’s touch. It’s only because of the cave, the descent. It couldn’t be because he still craved Niall. Not after the lies. Not when he was a gods-bedamned Unseelie prince. Although when Niall had pulled him out of that tunnel, and Gareth had fallen on top of him—

Stop it.

He followed Niall down the path, keeping his eyes firmly on Niall’s feet in front of him and not on the pit they were circling. Despite his declaration about not fearing heights, even a glimpse of that vast void turned his insides to jelly.

One step after another. That’s all it takes. But he needed a distraction. He’d sworn not to talk to Niall, but it wasn’t as if he had a lot of other options.

The further down they traveled, the warmer the air grew, until Gareth’s hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and his shirt clung clammily to his back.

“So. You made this trip before, did you?”

Niall glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Yes. The other direction though. Trust me, going up was way harder than going down.”

“Then why do it?”

Niall turned back, and his shoulders moved in a half-shrug. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” He trod closer to the edge of the path and peered over. Gareth wanted to grab him and pull him back. “I don’t understand. Why are the fires so low?”

“You want them to be hotter?”

“It’s not a question of want. It’s how things ought to be. And something’s wrong.”

“Well we knew that.”

“Something in Faerie, yes. But the underworld isn’t part of the Faerie sphere, nor the Outer World. It exists outside of both. Last month the fires reached—”

“Wait.” He grabbed Niall’s arm. “You made this trip last month?”

An odd expression flitted across Niall’s face. Guilt? Regret? “No. But I was in the underworld last month. Granted we’re not quite at the bottom yet, but the fires are still too fucking low.”

“What should—”

An eerie wail echoed through the cavern, as if some giant were mourning at the bottom of the pit. Even in the reddish light of the cavern, Gareth could see Niall blanch.

“Shite. Come on. We have to hurry.”

He broke into a run, rocks skittering under his boots, and Gareth had no choice but to follow. After another three circuits of the cavern, the flames were visible below them, and sweat was running freely down Gareth’s chest.

He could do nothing but pound after Niall, praying that neither one of them would slip and tumble over the edge.

Suddenly the ground leveled out, and Gareth nearly ran into Niall, who’d stopped in the middle of a sort an antechamber off the main cavern, its floor worn smooth as if from eons of foot traffic. A huge anvil stood in its center, an equally gigantic bellows lying abandoned on its side, with jumbled heaps of scrap metal lining the walls and piled in every crevice.

It dawned on Gareth where they were: the underworld forge, realm of Govannon. But where—

Niall swore and darted forward.

An enormous figure was crouched in the embers at the back of the cave, flames licking his flesh, blistering and blackening it, yet not consuming it. Why didn’t he step out? Then Gareth saw the shackles at his wrists, attached to gigantic rings set in the cavern wall. Someone had bound him there and left him.

Gareth stumbled forward. “Is that—?”

“Govannon. But how . . . Shite. He doesn’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this. Where is the . . .” Niall raced to the nearest pile of metal and began sorting through it, casting pieces aside to clash and clang against the stone walls.

“What are you looking for? How can I help?”

“His hammer. It’s the only thing that can hope to break those chains.”

“But even if we find it, can you wield it? It’s bound to be proportional to him, and he’s as big as a house.”

“I’ll find a way.”

Gareth glanced around helplessly, his gaze pulled by the sight of the god huddled and groaning in the flames with chains pooled around his feet. Wait a moment. Gareth eyed the monstrous links, counting them, estimating their size and number.

“Niall?”

Niall didn’t stop heaving metal about. “What?”

“Look at his chains.”

“I have done. That’s why I’m trying to find the blasted hammer.”

“No, I mean look at them. There’s plenty of play in them. He could walk out of the fire if he wanted to.”

Niall tossed a broken sword aside, but instead of joining Gareth by the anvil, he strode right up to the edge of the flames.

“Govannon. Come forth.”

The huge smith didn’t respond, merely hung his head as flames licked along his flesh, singed his black hair, turned the manacles on his wrists molten red.

“Govannon! Who did this to you? Where are Tiar— the others who should be here?”

Finally Govannon raised his head, focusing on Niall, his eyes mirroring the flames that played sullenly around him. At the despair, the anger, the inhuman fury in those eyes, Gareth wanted to pull Niall away, back into the cavern and up to that thrice-blasted tunnel. But Niall didn’t even flinch.

Gareth couldn’t breathe, and not only from the sulfurous stench of the flames—and Govannon wasn’t even looking at him. How could Niall bear it? And why did Niall act as if conversation with a god was nothing out of the ordinary?

“Why do you return, Niall MacTiarnach? Do you so miss your captivity that you want to resume it after only two score days?”

Two score days? Gareth tottered, steadying himself on the wall with one hand. Had Niall been here so recently? And why? He edged forward and caught Niall’s arm. “Captivity? What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing.” Niall shook off his hand and moved closer to the flames. Goddess, even standing as far from them as possible, Gareth still felt as if he were being parboiled, but Niall hadn’t broken a sweat.

“Govannon. I see the fault lines in your soul, cracking wider by the moment. You must lay down your burden of guilt over your nephew’s death. Otherwise, you will shatter.”

Govannon raised his head and glared at Niall, his eyes redder than the flames that surrounded him. “Mine is the hand that forged the spear, mine is the hand that threw it. My spears throw ever true, so mine is the blame.”

“It was an accident.”

“Does that make him any less dead, or me any less his murderer?”

“And will punishing yourself in this way bring him back?” Niall’s gentle tone didn’t seem to console Govannon, who turned away, hunkering down amid the flames.

“Plague me no more, Niall MacTiarnach. Leave me to face the End of Days thusly, atoning for my crime.”

Niall’s shoulders tensed. “End of Days? What do you mean?”

“You know. You must feel it. The trembling of the spheres as they’re poised on the brink of collapse.”

Niall glanced back at Gareth, but Gareth could swear his widened eyes contained guilt as well as panic. “I thought those were just ordinary tremors. Earthquakes.”

“You knew they were not. If Faerie falls, the underworld will crumble. Without either, the Outer World cannot long stand.” His blazing eyes seemed to sear right into Gareth’s soul. “Make your own peace, before it is too late.”

“Bugger that.” Niall moved as if to step into the flames, but Gareth caught him.

“Are you mad? He might be able to handle the fire, but he’s a god.”

“He’s also the one with the answers. And I don’t care if he’s a god, a demon, or my fucking madman of a father, he doesn’t deserve this.” Niall turned back to the giant figure in the flames. “Govannon, I ask you again. Come forth.”

“And I tell you again, Niall MacTiarnach—no.” He regarded Niall, his head canted to one side. “Any road, why would you show pity on me, after I tormented you for two hundred years?”

Two hundred years?

The words twanged in Gareth’s head like a dissonant chord. He wrapped his fingers around Niall’s biceps. “That’s the second time he’s referred to you as if you’d spent— Goddess, Niall, is this where you’ve been since you left me? Is he why you couldn’t come back?”

“No.” Niall’s tone was sharp, his arm like stone under Gareth’s hand. “But even if he were, would you leave him to suffer? If so, you’re not the man I took you for.”