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

by Sarah J. Maas

Showing a masked queen, a crown upon her head, bearing instruments in her hand and standing before an adoring crowd.

The last carving before the river had been one of transition: a Fae King and Queen seated on thrones, a mountain—different from the one with the palace atop it—behind them with three stars rising above it. A different kingdom, then. Some ancient High Lord and Lady, Nesta had suggested before approaching the river.

Whatever that mask was, whatever power it had … death lay within it. “Take it off,” Azriel snarled, but Nesta extended a hand into the darkness of the tunnel.

“Take it off,” Azriel ordered her. The female turned her head toward him with a smooth motion that Bryce had only seen from possessed dolls in horror movies. “Take it off,” Azriel snarled.

“Cassian’s waiting for you, Nesta,” Azriel said—tone gentling. “Take off the Mask.” Nesta stayed silent, Ataraxia ready in her hand. One swipe, and Azriel would be dead. “He’s waiting for you at the House of Wind,” Azriel went on. “At home.”

Azriel said softly, voice tinged with pain, “She looks like Rhysand’s sister.”

But my mother, Theia, used the time she served the Daglan to learn all she could about their instruments of conquest. The Dread Trove, we called it in secret. The Mask, the Harp, the Crown, and the Horn.

They were Fae like us, but not. The ears, the grace, the strength were identical, but they were shape-shifters, all of them. Each capable of turning into an animal. And each, even in their humanoid body, equipped with elongated canine teeth.

“You’re my home, Hunt. Our love spans across stars and worlds, remember?” She smiled slightly. “I’ll always find you.”

“I thought we were on the same page about doing what needs to be done.” His expression shuttered. “We were—are.” “You don’t sound too sure of that.” “You didn’t have to see your friends carved apart.”

Apollion lifted a hand. Pure, sizzling lightning danced around it, arcing out to meet Hunt’s. “Welcome, son,” said the Prince of the Pit.

“Hyrieus,” Aidas answered. “He was a good male, Hunt Athalar. As you are.”

“If you find that final piece of Theia’s power … if the cost of uniting the sword and knife is too much, Bryce Quinlan, then don’t do it. Choose life.” He glanced to Hunt. “Choose each other. I have lived with the alternative for millennia—the loss never gets easier to bear.”