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

by Sarah J. Maas

The Hind knelt before her undying masters and contemplated how it would feel to tear out their throats.

Lidia flicked her gaze to the panel of parasites seated on their crystal thrones.

She shut down every part of her that felt, that breathed.

“The black crown once again circling your brow is not a new torment from the Asteri. It has existed for millennia.”

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.

“She is the Horn, Azriel. It’s inked into her flesh.”

“You’re as much of a monster as they are,” Nesta accused. Bryce knew. She’d always known. “Love will do that to you.”

The strike had been for the rebellion, Hunt knew, but the escape—the escape had been entirely for Ruhn.

his head was spinning with it. The rage and guilt and that other thing. Flynn squeezed his shoulder. “Go sleep, Ruhn. I’ve got your girl.”

Such light and darkness—the power lay in the meeting of the two of them. She understood it now, how the darkness shaped the light.

Silene had claimed as much when she spoke of Theia and Aidas—their souls had found each other across worlds, because they were mates. They were each other’s homes. And for Bryce, home was—and always would be—

Lidia rasped, “Am I dead or alive?” His chest caved in. “Alive,” he whispered, hands beginning to shake.

Give him time, the Helhound’s look seemed to say. Be gentle with him

Hypaxia might have defected from being queen, but she was, first and foremost, a healer.

Lidia crossed her arms. “Well, I have faith that between her, Athalar, and Baxian, your sister will be fine.” “Tharion will be insulted.”

He said, voice near guttural, “Now I don’t fucking care who you are, so long as you’re mine.”

“I couldn’t stand it,” she whispered, putting her mouth to his brow. “I couldn’t …” She began shaking. He tightened his arms around her. “I’m here,” he said. “We made it.”

She flinched. It was barely more than a flicker, but he felt it. The slight tightening in her body. He halted, raised his head. Looked down at her. At the hands he’d pinned— That fucker. Ruhn let go immediately. He’d kill him. He’d rip Pollux limb from limb, feather by feather for putting that flinch there, for hurting her—

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

“The black crowns were collars in Hel,” Thanatos answered darkly.

“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.”

“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.”

Bryce didn’t know when she started crying, only that the next moment Ruhn was there, his arms around her, and they were both sobbing.

“We’ll do it together. You and me—we’ll end it together.” He brushed a strand of her hair behind a delicately pointed ear. “I’m with you. All of me. You and I, we’ll finish this.”

He squeezed her hand back. “Let’s light it up.”

“Sleep, Quinlan,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m with you no matter what.”

“We do this slow and smart,” Tharion warned, and helped her to her feet.