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October 28 - October 30, 2025
Rhysand snapped his fingers and three chairs appeared behind them. He sank gracefully onto one, crossing an ankle over a knee. The epitome of Fae beauty and arrogance. He glanced up at his companions. “Azriel.” He motioned lazily to the male. Then to the female. “Amren.”
HEY HEU
“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.”
Oh shit
Azriel murmured, “Cassian won’t be happy.” “Cassian will deal. Nesta will be able to sense this better than I can.”
CASS
Nesta jerked her chin at Bryce, haughty and aloof. “You can fight us, but you’ll lose.”
NESTA
“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.” “Tell me the fucking truth for
...more
Showing a masked queen, a crown upon her head, bearing instruments in her hand and standing before an adoring crowd.
Nesta rolled her eyes and said to the shadows, “You might as well come out now.” Bryce whirled on her knees, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there as Azriel landed from above them. His wings were spread so wide they nearly touched either side of the cavern, and the black dagger hung at his hip, its dark hilt gleaming faintly in the light of her star. And peeking above a broad shoulder, its matching dark hilt like shadow given form, was the Starsword.
Hey!
Bryce’s gaze lifted to the sword hilt peeking above the warrior’s shoulder. “With that?” Nesta just said, “Its name is Ataraxia.” “That’s an Old Language word.” Nesta nodded. Bryce murmured, “Inner Peace—that’s your sword’s name?”
“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.”
Ruhn’s swinging came to a gradual halt. And in silence, they hung there, chains clanking. Then Ruhn said, “How strong is your bite, Athalar?” Hunt stilled. “What the fuck do you mean?” “If I … swing into you …,” Ruhn said, gasping. “Can you bite off my hand?” Shock fired through Hunt like a bullet. From the other side of Ruhn, Baxian protested, “What?”
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.
“The River Queen and Viper Queen only want you. I would like one good reason why I shouldn’t hand you over—let them squabble over your carcass.” He scrambled for some way to disarm the moment, to win her, but came up empty. His unnaturally deep pool of luck had finally and officially run dry— “You hand him over,” a female voice drawled from the open doorway, “and you’ll have a third queen pissed at you.” Tharion’s stomach bottomed out. Bryce Quinlan swept through the doorway and winked at the Ocean Queen. “Tharion serves me.”
“I will not be addressed by a slave,” Morven seethed, nodding toward Hunt’s wrist, the mark barely visible past his black sleeve. Then he nodded to Hunt’s haloed brow. “Least of all a Fallen angel, disgraced by the world.” “Oh boy,” Bryce said, sighing at the ceiling. She whirled to their group. “Okay, let’s do a head count. If you’re disowned, disgraced, or both, raise your hand.” Tharion, Baxian, Lidia, Hunt, and Ruhn raised their hands. Bryce surveyed Flynn and Dec, both still in their usual black jeans and T-shirts, and sighed again. She gestured expansively, giving them the floor.
“What the Hel is going on?” Ithan demanded, rushing over to where she had a feed up on her computer, showing exploding bombs. Another impact hit, and Ithan motioned Hypaxia to get under the desk. But the former witch-queen did no such thing, instead asking, “Is that feed right above us?” “No,” Jesiba said, her voice so hoarse she almost sounded like a Reaper. “Omega-boats pulled into the Istros.” On the feed, buildings crumbled. “Their deck launchers just fired brimstone missiles into Asphodel Meadows.”
Oh god
“That’s the first wise decision you’ve made,” drawled a deep male voice from the tunnel behind them. And there was nowhere to run, nothing to do but stand and face the threat, as Morven stalked out of the mists. And behind him, flame simmering in his eyes, strode the Autumn King.
Shit
But the Autumn King beheld that concentrated seed of light at Bryce’s finger. His flames banked. Any amusement or rage leached from his expression as he murmured to Morven, “Run.” “Now that’s the first wise decision you’ve made,” Bryce mocked. A beam of slicing, burning light shot from her hand toward the ceiling. Then solid rock rained down upon them all.
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.
Holy shit
