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

by Sarah J. Maas

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

Thanatos scoffed. “You are no son of his.” He yanked off his war helmet, cradling it under an arm. “If anything, you are mine.” Hunt’s knees buckled. “What?”

“The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again.

“No,” Thanatos said, missing the joke entirely, “I can smell it on your spirit. I am the Prince of Souls—such things are known to me. Your power has been touched by something new.”

Urd’s Temple.

“Someone explain what the fuck that is,” Hunt snapped. Of all the things he’d ever imagined for his life, sitting in a circle with three Princes of Hel hadn’t been anywhere on the list. “The black crowns were collars in Hel,” Thanatos answered darkly. His powerful body seemed primed to leap across that pit to attack. Hunt monitored his every breath. “Spells, crafted by the Asteri to enslave us. They were a binding, one the Asteri adapted in their next war—upon Midgard.” Hunt turned to Aidas. “You seemed surprised to see one on me that first time we met. Why?” But before Aidas could begin, Apollion answered, “Because the Princes of Hel cannot be contained by the black crowns. The Asteri learned that—it was their downfall. As you were made by Hel’s princes, it should not be able to hold you.” Made by them? By these fuckers?

“Hunt’s mother was an angel.” His mother’s loving, tired face flashed before Hunt’s eyes, twisting his heart. “She was,” Apollion said, and the way he smiled … White rage blinded every one of Hunt’s senses. “Did you dare—” “She was not ill used,” Aidas said, holding up an elegant hand. “We might command nightmares, but we are not monsters.”

“Rigelus has a little conquest room,” Bryce said, the softness fading from her face as she crossed her arms. “He’s got a whole section about invading your planet. And I know Hel once had warring factions, but you sorted out your shit and marched as one to kick the Asteri out of Hel. A year later, you hunted them down across the stars and found them on Midgard. You fought them again, and it didn’t go well that time. You got jettisoned from Midgard and have been trying to creep back through the Northern Rift ever since.” “Is that all?” Apollion drawled. Bryce said warily to Aidas, “I know you loved Theia. That you fought for her.” The Prince of the Chasm studied his long, slender hands. “I did. I continue to do so, long after her death.” Hunt had a feeling that the darkness in the pit before them was breathing. “Even though she was hardly any better than the Asteri?” Bryce challenged. Aidas lifted his head. “There is no denying how Theia spent most of her existence. But there was goodness in her, Bryce Quinlan. And love. She came to regret her actions, both in her home world and on Midgard. She tried to make things right.” “Too little, too late,” Bryce said. “I know,” Aidas admitted. “Believe me, I know. But there is much that I regret, too.” He swallowed, the strong column of his throat working. “What happened?” Bryce pressed. Hunt almost didn’t want to know. Aidas sighed, the sound weighted with the passing of countless millennia. “The Asteri ordered Pelias to use the Horn...

“She shielded her daughters,” Bryce said, recalling how Theia’s star had split in three, with an orb going to each of her children. “She used the Harp to carry her magic over to them as a protection spell of sorts.”

“It is why the Starsword calls to the descendants of Helena—of Theia. But only to those with enough of Theia’s starlight to trigger its power. Your ancestors called these Fae Starborn. The Asteri have no power over the blades; they lack Theia’s connection to the weapons. Since the Starsword and the knife were both Made by Theia at the same moment, their bond has always linked them. They have long sought to be reunited, as they were in their moment of their Making.”

“I believe that when you opened the Gate, despite your desire to come to Hel, the Starsword’s desire to reach the knife—and vice versa—was so strong that the portal was redirected to the world where they were Made. With the door closed between worlds, they had been unable to reunite. But once you opened it, the blades’ pull toward each other was stronger than your untrained will.”

Aidas went on, “But it wasn’t just the blades that you reunited in the home world of the Fae, was it?” Bryce’s hands glowed faintly with that ghostly aura. “No,” she admitted. “I think … I think I claimed some of Theia’s magic. Silene left it waiting there.” She’d thought it was another star, not a piece of a larger one.

But if you can find the last third, the part that Theia originally kept for herself … I wonder how your light might appear then. What it might do.” “You knew Theia,” Bryce said. “You tell me.” “I believe you’ve already begun to see some glimpses of it,” Aidas said, “once you attained what Silene had hidden.” Bryce considered. “The laser power?” Aidas laughed. “Theia called it starfire. But yes.”

“Starfire’s ability to destroy is but one facet of a wonderous gift. The greatest difference, of course, lies in how the bearer chooses to use it.”

“So just to clarify: There’s still a third well of Theia’s power out there—or was?” “Helena knew that her own portion of her mother’s magic would be passed down to future generations,” Aidas said. “But when Theia died, all that remained of Theia’s power lay in the Starsword. Theia put it into the blade after she parted from her daughters.”

Bryce shook her head. “Let me get this straight. Theia divided her power into three parts: one to each of her daughters, and she transferred the last part to the Starsword. So the final piece of her magic is … in this blade? It’s been waiting all this time?” “No,” Aidas said. “Helena removed it.” Bryce groaned. “Really? It can’t be easy?”

“Because then the knife and sword would have been together,” Thanatos said. “But what sort of threat do they pose?” Bryce said, practically shouting with impatience. “The Autumn King said they can open a portal to nowhere—is that it?” “Yes,” Aidas confirmed. “And together, they can unleash ultimate destruction. Theia separated them to keep the Asteri from ever having that ability.

“Ley lines,” Bryce breathed. Aidas nodded. “These lines are capable of moving magic, but also carrying communications across great distances.” Like those between the Gates of Crescent City, the way she’d spoken to Danika the day she’d made the Drop. “There are ley lines across the whole of the universe. And the planets—like Midgard, like Hel, like the home world of the Fae—atop those lines are joined by time and space and the Void itself. It thins the veils separating us. The Asteri have long chosen worlds that are on the ley lines for that exact purpose. It made it easier to move between them, to colonize those planets. There are certain places on each of these worlds where the most ley lines overlap, and thus the barrier between worlds is at its weakest.”

together. “Thin places,” Bryce said with sudden certainty. “Precisely,” Apollion answered for Aidas with an approving nod. “The Northern Rift, the Southern Rift—both lie atop a tremendous knot of ley lines. And while those under Avallen are not as strong, the island is unique as a thin place thanks to the presence of black salt—which ties it to Hel.”

“The mists are a result of the ley lines’ power,” Aidas said. “They’re an indication of a thin place. Hoping to find a ley line strong enough to help her transfer and hide Theia’s power, Helena sent a fleet of Fae with earth magic to scour every misty place they could find on Midgard. When they told her of a place wreathed in mists so thick they could not pierce them, Helena went to investigate. The mists parted for her—as if they had been waiting. She found the small network of caves on Avallen … and the black salt beneath the surface.” Aidas smiled darkly. “She returned to the Eternal City and convinced Pelias that only such a place would be a worthy burial location for him. He was vain and arrogant enough to believe her. So they established the Fae kingdom on Avallen, and she carved his royal tomb into the rock. She spun lies about wanting future generations to worship him, to have to be born with the right blood to have the privilege of attaining his sword, which would be buried with him.” Aidas gestured toward the Starsword, sheathed down Bryce’s back. “Helena knew Pelias would never part with his trophy, not until he died. And when he did, she at last drew upon the raw power of Avallen’s ley lines to take the star her mother had imbued in the Starsword and hide it.”

“Helena planted that prophecy, seeded it in Fae lore. She knew that despite her mother’s fears, the sword and knife are needed to destroy the Asteri.

Theia’s power, when whole, is the only thing that can unite and activate the true power of those blades and stop the Asteri’s tyranny.” Bryce’s mouth dried out. A real path to ending the Asteri, at last. “So where is it?” Bryce asked. “Where’s the last part of Theia’s power?” “I don’t know,” Aidas said sadly. “Helena told no one, not even me.”

“So to unite the sword and knife, Bryce needs to find the starlight Helena took from the Starsword—the last third of Theia’s power—which is stashed somewhere on Avallen?” “Yes,” Aidas said simply. “But how do I make them open that portal to nowhere—and what the Hel does that mean, anyway?” Bryce griped.

“Did Helena know the Asteri were repelled from this place?” Aidas nodded. “Once she figured it out, it confirmed her decision to hide Theia’s power here.”

“But why did the mists open for Helena to get through in the first place?” “The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.”

“What blinds an Oracle?” Bryce whispered. “Theia’s star,” Aidas said softly. “I told you: The Oracle did not see that day … but I did. I saw you, so young and bright and brave, and the starlight Helena had told me to wait for. That third of Theia’s power, passed down through Helena’s line.”

“But what is Bryce supposed to do? Find that last piece of Theia’s power, use it on the blades, and open this portal to nowhere while praying we don’t all get locked in with the Asteri, too?”

“But there was one thing Theia and Helena did not anticipate: that you would bear the Horn, reborn, in your body. Another way to open doors between worlds.” “And what’s she supposed to do with that?” Hunt snarled. Aidas smiled slightly. “Fully open the Northern Rift, of course.”

We continued to rest our hopes on reopening the Northern Rift so that we could continue the fight against the Asteri.

“During the First Wars, as you call them,

Does this imply that the first wars were not actually the first wars ever?

“The lightning,” Thanatos said, waving an irritated hand. “Capable of killing almost anything. Even an Asteri.”

W Almost anything? What does it not kill?

Orion … master of Sirius.”

“Wait—my lightning can kill the Asteri?” Hope bloomed, bright and beautiful in his chest. “No,” Apollion said. “It is … diluted from my own. It could harm them, but not kill them. I believe your mother’s angelic blood tempered my power.”

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

“Okay,” Bryce said, “Helfire and starfire: a potent combination. But Helena left all this shit to help end this conflict. It sounds like you guys just want me to open a gods-damned door for you to come in and save the day instead.” “Is it so bad,” Thanatos purred, “to have us do your dirty work?” Bryce glowered at him. “This is my world. I want to fight for it.” “Then fight alongside us,” Thanatos challenged.

But haven’t I told you from the start to find me? That I will help you? That is what Apollion was attempting to do, too, in his misguided way: to ready you both for all this—to battle the Asteri.” “But how,” Hunt asked, fighting past that numbing, blissful chill in his chest, “did you kick the Asteri out of Hel the first time?” “They had trouble feeding off our magic,” Thanatos said, voice thick with disgust. “And found that our powers rivaled their own. They fled before we could kill them.”

“I am darkness itself,” Apollion said softly. “True darkness. The kind that exists in the bowels of a black hole.” Hunt’s bones quaked. The male wasn’t boasting.

Our lands and armies are elsewhere. They are ready.”

“The three of us,” Aidas amended. “Our four other brothers are currently engaged in other conflicts, helping other worlds.” “I didn’t realize you guys were, like, intergalactic saviors,” Bryce said.

What other conflicts?

“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.”

Urd had sent her there to see, even in the small fraction of their world that she’d witnessed, that Fae existed who were kind and brave. She might have had to betray Nesta and Azriel, trick them … but she knew that at their cores, they were good people. The Fae of Midgard were capable of more. Ruhn proved it. Flynn and Dec proved it. Even Sathia proved it, in the short time Bryce had known her.

“Do you think those gifts make you special?” Morven raged, shaking free of his stupor. A swarming nest of shadows teemed around him. “My son could do the same—and he was trash in the end. Just like you.”

A female cried out, and for a moment, Bryce thought it might have been Cthona, maybe Luna herself. But it was Sathia.

“I know every definition of pain thanks to you,” Ruhn spat, and yanked out the sword. His father collapsed face-first onto the stone floor.

Ruhn said into his mind, into all their minds, I lied about what the Oracle said to me.

The Oracle didn’t tell me that I would be a fair and just king. She told me that the royal bloodline would end with me.

Bryce had no words as Ruhn severed the Autumn King’s head.

Starsword in his hand. She lifted Truth-Teller in her own. “Knife.” And then she pointed to their friends, to the Fae and angel and mer and shifter behind them. “People.” “It wasn’t only about the Fae,” Ruhn said quietly. “It doesn’t have to be,” Bryce amended. “It can mean what we want it to.” She smiled slightly. “Our people,” she said to Ruhn, to the others. “The people of Midgard. United against the Asteri.”

It was a matter of a few strokes of Truth-Teller through Morven’s neck for Bryce to behead him.

“Hail Bryce, Queen of the Midgardian Fae.”