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

by Sarah J. Maas

Warm, bright magic answered. Healing magic, rising to the surface as if it had been dormant in his blood.

Taking the Godslayer Rifle with her, and leaving the Mask in Hunt’s hand.

“You destroy the firstlight core, and you destroy Midgard itself.”

“The language inked on your back—it is our language. From our home world. I can teach you how to wield it. Any world might be open to you, Bryce Quinlan. Name the world, and it shall be yours.”

Bryce had a heartbeat to take in what—where—she’d opened a portal to: a black, airless place, dotted with small, distant stars. A heartbeat, and then she was yanked in, too. Straight to deep space.

So many hands, so many powers, from almost every House. The friends they’d made were what mattered in the end. Not the enemies. Through love, all is possible.

“That Archesian amulet isn’t merely for protection against my books or against demons. It’s a link to Midgard itself.”

“The amulets first belonged to the librarian-priestesses of Parthos. Each was imbued with Midgard’s innate magic—the very oldest. The sort every world has, for those who know where to look.”

“The Parthos books are yours now. Protect them, cherish them. Share them with the world.”

“You’ve got one of the worst self-sacrificing streaks I’ve ever encountered,” Jesiba said. “I had a feeling an intervention might be needed here today.”

But what is eternal, what is made of love … that can never be destroyed.”

“You’ll find your way,” before walking toward the portal.

think that eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason. Take that sword and go figure out why.”

Apollion said to Hunt, “Hel has no hold on you, and you have no obligation to us.”

Thus, with the stroke of the Autumn King’s golden pen, the royal bloodlines of the Fae were wiped from existence.

The surge of magic that had resulted had been intense enough that apparently a whole new island had risen in Avallen—as if the island was now bound to her very soul. As if she and Midgard were, as Jesiba had claimed, bound together, Archesian amulet or no.

The books. The Parthos collection. No longer in darkness and hiding, but here, in the daylight, for anyone to come see.

Apparently, Jesiba had been anticipating this transfer of ownership—she’d made Ithan pack most of the artifacts up.

“Horses … with wings.” “Yes,” Baxian said, his voice rising. “They’re flying around and trampling everything and eating all the crops and I think you might need to come here because they seem to be the sort of thing that might belong to a Super Magical Fancy Starborn Princess …”

“For Jelly Jubilee in the flesh?” Hunt grinned. “Anything.”