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

by Sarah J. Maas

“It is in our history, Rhysand,” Amren said gravely. “But the Asteri were not known by that name. Here, they were called the Daglan.”

“The glowing letters inked on her back … they’re the same as those in the Book of Breathings.”

“What you were born to do—to accomplish the task for which your father brought you into existence,” Apollion said before fading into nothing, leaving Aidas standing alone before the prisoners. Shock reared up in Hunt, dampened by the weight of an old, unbidden hurt. “I have no father.” Aidas’s expression was sad as he stepped out of the shadows. “You spent too long asking the wrong questions.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Aidas shook his head. “The black crown once again circling your brow is not a new torment from the Asteri. It has existed for millennia.”

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

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.

“Go Team Caves on three?”

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

It was the Starsword. And it was Ruhn wielding it, standing behind him. Ruhn, who had driven the sword right through their father’s cold heart.

“I think it’s what the Prison—the island in the Fae’s home world—once was. When Theia ruled it, I mean. Before Silene fucked it all up. Maybe they’re linked in some way through being thin places and spilled over to each other a bit. Maybe back in that other world … maybe I woke up the land around the Prison, too.”

The old wolf let out a heavy sigh. “Danika might have led us back to what we were before we allowed ourselves to be collared by the Asteri. I have long believed that she was killed for this goal—by the powers who wish the status quo to remain in place.” The Prime looked down at the wolf kneeling at his feet. “But it must be broken.” He extended the sword to Ithan. “Ithan Holstrom is my heir.”

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.”

It confirmed what Lidia had long guessed. Why she had named Brannon after the oldest legends from her family’s bloodline: of a Fae King from another world, fire in his veins, who had created stags with the power of flame to be his sacred guards.

“Your mother loves you,” Nesta said quietly, reading the exasperation on Bryce’s face. “Don’t for one second take that for granted.” Bryce could only incline her head to Nesta. “I’m lucky,” she admitted. “I’ve always been lucky to have her as a mom.” Ember really looked like she might cry now, especially as she turned back to Nesta and said, “This time with you was a gift, Nesta. It truly was.” With that, she pulled Nesta to her in a tight embrace, and Bryce could have sworn something like pain and longing crossed Nesta’s expression. Like she hadn’t experienced a mom-hug for a long, long time.

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

The other request he’d made of the realtor: stock the fridge with one thing and one thing only. Maybe the veritable frat house wasn’t entirely gone. He walked back to the couch and handed Lidia a beer. “As promised, Day,” he said, twisting off the cap on his bottle. “One beer.”