House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

Lightning and starlight ricocheted between them.

His wings were a wall of gray above them, his wings were—glowing. They filled with iridescent light. He filled with light. Bryce reached a hand toward his blazing wings. Her own fingers, her hand, her arm—they radiated the same light. As if they had become filled with power, as if her light had leaked into him, and his into her—

Falling through time and space and light and shadow—

Hunt’s eyes remained wild, but—no lightning danced around them. No trace of that primal fury. Just a glowing, iridescent handprint on his chest, a remnant of starlight. It faded with each breath.

“Once upon a time, before Luna hunted the heavens and Solas warmed Cthona’s body, before Ogenas blanketed Midgard with water and Urd twined our fates together, there lived a young witch in a cottage deep in the woods. She was beautiful, and kind, and beloved by her mother. Her mother had done her best to raise her, with her only companions being the denizens of the forest itself: birds and beasts and the babbling brooks …” Her voice, lovely and fair and steady, flowed through him like music. Her hand brushed through his hair again and he reined in his purr. “She grew older, strong and proud. But a wandering prince passed by her clearing one day when her mother was gone, beheld her beauty, and wanted her desperately to be his bride.” “I thought this was supposed to be a comforting story,” Ruhn muttered. She laughed softly, tugging on a strand of his hair. “Listen.” Ruhn figured to Hel with it and shifted, laying his head on her lap. The fire did not burn him, and the thigh beneath was firm with muscle, yet supple. And that scent … Day went on, “She had no interest in princes, or in ruling a kingdom, or in any of the jewels he offered. What she wanted was a true heart to love her, to run wild with her through the forest. But the prince would not be denied. He chased her through the wood, his hounds following.” Ruhn’s body relaxed, limb by limb. He breathed in her scent, her voice, her warmth. “As she ran, she pleaded with the forest she loved so dearly to help her. So it did...

“The forest turned the witch into a monster before she hit the earth. A beast of claws and fangs and bloodlust. She ripped the prince and hounds who pursued her into shreds.”

It contained an analysis of dragon fire, dating back five thousand years. It was in a language Bryce didn’t know, but a translation had been included. Jesiba had scribbled Good luck at the top. Well, now she knew why the Astronomer kept Ariadne in a ring. Not for light—but for protection. Among its many uses, the ancient scholar had written, dragon fire is one of the few substances proven to harm the Princes of Hel. It can burn even the Prince of the Pit’s dark hide. Yeah, Ariadne was valuable. And if Apollion was readying his armies … Bryce had no intention of letting the dragon return to the Astronomer’s clutches.

Hunt emerged from the Archangel’s office five minutes later with a stack of preliminary reports on demon activity at the Northern Rift. She wanted his expertise in examining the types of demons caught, as well as an analysis on whether the breeds and frequency meant Hel was planning something.

“That one. The tail—just out of the shot here.” Hunt pointed to the picture, face stony. “It’s a deathstalker.” Even the burbling fountain beyond them seemed to quiet at the name. “What’s that?” “Lethal assassins bred by the Prince of the Pit. He keeps them as pets.”

want you in Avallen because it is a safehold. Even the Asteri cannot pierce its mists without permission, so old is the magic that guards it.”

“And who was the Hind’s father?” “A rich and powerful stag shifter in Pangera. My mother never told me the details of how they came to breed. Why she agreed to it. But the Hind inherited her father’s powers, not the witch gifts, and thus she was sent at age three to live with him.”

“Aren’t the witches already powerful?” “Not as we once were. For generations now, mighty bloodlines have run dry, magic withering. Like they are … siphoned into nothing. My mother’s coven has no interest in discovering why. They only want us to become even more subservient to the Asteri.”

Stars erupted in Bryce’s mind. Supernovas.

It leapt, claws out, and Bryce teleported back ten feet. It leapt again and she moved, body shaking against the strain. Another ten feet back.

“Deathstalkers. Personal pets of the Prince of the Pit. They were seen in Nena four days ago. They somehow crossed the border.”

But Bryce … by some miracle, she didn’t have a scratch on her. It wasn’t possible. Hunt knew how fast the deathstalkers were. Even Fae couldn’t outrun them. They’d been bred that way by Apollion himself.

“Those were fucking deathstalkers.” “And I dealt with them.” “I wouldn’t be so dismissive,” he growled. “The Prince of the Pit will send hordes of them through the Northern Rift if he ever gets it fully open, rather than shoving one or two through at a time for fun. They hunt down whoever they’re ordered to stalk. They’re assassins. You get marked by them for execution, and you are dead.”

Her eyes shone like stars.

Her fingers curled against the nape of his neck. He loosened his grip, pulling back to scan her face. Starlight and fire sparked there.

The sparkling black dress hugged every luscious curve before loosening around the knee, spilling into a train of solid night. The plunging neckline stopped below her breasts, framing the star between them, drawing the eye to the remarkable scar. Black gloves flowed up to her elbows, and her satin-clad fingers toyed with one of the diamond chandelier earrings sparkling against the column of her neck. She’d left her hair down, a diamond comb pinning back one side, the silken mass of hair draping over her opposite shoulder. In her other hand she clutched the stem of a silver mask. Full, bloodred lips smiled

Power to power. Female to female. Governor to … Princess wasn’t the right word for the expression that came across Bryce’s face, the shift of her posture. Another word formed on his tongue, but Hunt didn’t let it take root, didn’t let himself think of all the deadly implications that the other word would entail.

And it occurred to Hunt, as both females nodded, that Bryce had somehow earned their trust—had become someone who people trusted unfailingly. A more-than-princess, indeed.

“A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center. “It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave. “It is in that place of balance where I’ll focus my power.” She motioned to the circle. “No matter what you see or hear, stay on this side of the candles.”

and there were indeed stars around them—no, it was her, she was glowing like a star—

He could never get enough of this—this connection, this sex, this power flowing between them. He needed it more than he needed food, water—needed this sharing of magic, this twining of souls; he’d never stop craving it— Then he was falling, amid black wind and lightning and stars. He came through all of it, roaring his pleasure to the skies. Because those were skies above them. And city lights. Booming bass from a nearby party. Hunt stilled, gaping down at Bryce. At the surface beneath her—the apartment building’s roof. Bryce grinned sheepishly. “Oops.”

The star she’d drawn glowed a faint blue, illuminating the trees around them.

Light ruptured from the star, blinding and white,

Her body shimmered with pale blue light.

The Under-King extended a bony hand. Light rippled where it met the edge of the star.

The Under-King lifted a bony hand, and an eerie, greenish light wreathed his fingers.

She stood on a vast, dusty plain before an azure, cloudless sky. Distant dry mountains studded the horizon, but she was surrounded only by rock and sand and emptiness. “Princess.” The voice was like Hel embodied: dark and icy and smooth. “Prince.” Her voice shook. Apollion, Prince of the Pit, had chosen to appear in a golden-haired, golden-skinned body. Handsome in the way that ancient statues were handsome, in the way that Pollux was handsome. His black eyes, however, gave him away. No whites anywhere. Only unending darkness. The Star-Eater himself. She asked, trying to master her shaking, “Where are we?” “Parthos. Or what remains of it.”

“Aidas would be angry with me for speaking with you. That’s why I picked this moment, when he is conveniently occupied.” “With what?” “Raising Hel’s armies. Readying them.” Her breath hitched. “To invade Midgard?” “It’s been long in the making.” “I’m going to make a request on behalf of my planet and say please stay in your own world.” Another twitch of his mouth. “You do not trust us. Good. Theia did. It was her downfall.” “The Starborn Queen?” “Yes. Aidas’s great love.” Bryce started. “His what?” Apollion waved a broad hand to the ruined world around them. “Why do you think I slew Pelias? Why do you think I went on to devour Sirius? All for him. My foolish, lovesick brother. In such a rage over Theia’s death at Pelias’s hands. His folly lost us that phase of the war.”

Aidas, Prince of the Chasm, was the lover of Theia, the first Starborn Queen, even though they were enemies?” “They were not enemies. We were her allies. She and some of her Fae forces allied with us—against the Asteri.”

he spoke true, and Hel hadn’t been their enemy back then … Whatever side Theia had ruled, she’d been … against the Asteri. And Pelias had killed her—fighting for the Asteri.

“Orion was bred to be receptive to our kind. Why do you think he is so adept at hunting us? But that is of no matter. This night, I might appear to you—as more than a vision.” He reached out a hand, and Bryce flinched as it touched her. Truly touched her, ice so cold it ached. “Hel is nearly ready to finish this war.” She took a step back. “I know what you’re going to ask, and my answer is no.” “Use the Horn. The power Athalar gives you can activate it.” His eyes danced with storms. “Open the doors to Hel.” “Absolutely fucking not.” Apollion chuckled, low and lethal. “What a disappointment.” The plain that had been Parthos began to fade into nothing. “Come find me in Hel when you learn the truth.”

Hunt’s lightning flared at his fingertips, and Bryce set her feet apart. “Ready?” he asked. Tharion roused himself enough to turn over, propping his head on a fist. Bryce scowled at him, but the mer only waggled his brows in encouragement. She faced Hunt again, right as the angel hurled his lightning at her like a spear. It zinged against her chest, a direct hit, and then she was glowing, power singing, soaring— Two feet in front of the windows. She’d no sooner thought the command than she appeared across the space. Exactly two feet from the windows. Back to a foot before Hunt. She appeared before him, so suddenly that he staggered back. Ruhn. She moved again, slower this time. But her brother yelped. Declan braced himself, like he thought he’d be next, so Bryce thought, A foot behind Hunt.

Hunt’s is the best form of it.” “Damn right it is,” Hunt growled, earning a smack on the arm from Bryce. “Do you think the power will … stay in me if I don’t use it?” she asked Dec. “I don’t think so,” Dec said. “Your power came from the Gate—with a shit-ton of firstlight mixed in. So your magic—beyond the light, I mean—needs to be powered up. It relies on firstlight, or any other form of energy it can get. You’re literally a Gate: you can take in power and offer it. But it seems the similarity ends there. The Gates can store power indefinitely, while yours clearly peters out after a while.” He faced Hunt. “And your power, Athalar, as pure energy, is able to draw from her, like she did from the Gate. Bryce, when you draw from a source, it’s the same way the Gates zap power from people using them to communicate.” Bryce blinked. “So I’m like some magical leech?” Declan laughed. “I think only of certain kinds of magic. Forms of pure energy. Throw in the Horn, which relies on a blast of power to activate it …”

thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.”

wished to inform you that the Reapers you so hatefully accused me of sending after you were in fact not Apollion’s at all. I’ve discovered that they hailed from the Eternal City.” Bryce stiffened. “Reapers can cross oceans?” “Reapers once crossed worlds. I don’t see how some water might deter them.”

But Bryce asked, “Did Jesiba speak to you?” “Who?” “Jesiba Roga. Antiquities dealer. She has—had—a few Death Marks. She must know you. She knows everyone.” The Under-King’s eyes glowed. “I do not know her by that name, but yes. I know of her.”

Bryce grabbed Hunt’s hand. Pushed it on her chest. “Level me up, Athalar.”

Her star began glowing beneath his fingers, as if in greedy anticipation. Another barrage of bullets clanged against the door. His lightning flowed into her like a river, and he could have sworn he heard a beautiful sort of music between their souls

Baxian peeled back the collar of his battle-suit, revealing brown, muscled flesh. And a tattoo scrawled over the angel’s heart in familiar handwriting. Through love, all is possible. She knew that handwriting. “Why,” she asked carefully, voice shaking, “do you have Danika’s handwriting tattooed on you?” Baxian’s dark eyes became pained. Empty. “Because Danika was my mate.”

“I wasn’t at the gathering. She sought me out while she was there.” “Why?” “Because she was researching shifter ancestry. Mine is … unique.” “You shift into a dog,” Bryce raged. “What’s unique about that?” Even Hunt gave her a disapproving frown. She didn’t care. She was sick of these surprises about Danika, about all the things she’d never known— “She wanted to know about my shifter ancestry. Really old shifter ancestry that manifested in me after years of lying dormant. She was examining the most ancient bloodlines in our world and saw a name on an early ancestor’s family tree that could be traced all the way to the last living descendant: me.” “What the Hel could you even tell her if it was that ancient?” Hunt asked. “Ultimately, nothing. But once we knew we were mates, once we’d sealed it … She started to open up about what she was looking into.” “Was it about the synth?” Bryce asked. “No.” Baxian clenched his jaw. “I think the synth was a cover for something else. Her death was because of the research she was doing.” Through love, all is possible. One last clue from Danika. To look where she’d stamped the phrase—right on this male. So Bryce said, “Why did she care about any of this?” “She wanted to know where we came from. The shifters, the Fae. All of us. She wanted to know what we’d once been. If it might inform our future.” Baxian’s throat worked. “She was also … She told me she wanted to find an alternative to Sabine.” “She was the alternative to Sabine,” Bryce sn...

“She loved you, Bryce. You were the most important person in the world to her. You were—” “Shut up. Just … shut the fuck up,” Bryce whispered. “I don’t want to hear it.” “Don’t you?” he challenged. “Don’t you want to know all of it? Isn’t that why you’ve been digging around? You want to know—need to know what Danika knew. What she was up to, what she kept secret.” Her face hardened into stone. She said flatly, “Fine. Let’s start with this one, if you knew her so well. How did Danika meet Sofie Renast? You ever hear that name in all your secret little conversations? What did Danika want from her?” Baxian bristled. “Danika learned about Sofie’s existence while investigating thunderbird lineage as part of her research into shifters and our origins. She traced the bloodlines—and then confirmed it by tracking her down and scenting her. Being Danika, she didn’t let Sofie walk away without answering some questions.” Bryce stilled. “What kind of questions?” Hunt put a hand on her shoulder. Baxian shook his head. “I don’t know. And I don’t know how they pivoted to working together on the Ophion stuff. But I think Danika had some theories about thunderbirds beyond the lineage thing. About their power in particular.” Bryce frowned. “Do you know why Sofie Renast might have felt the need to carve a series of numbers and letters on herself while she drowned a few weeks ago?” “Solas,” Baxian murmured. And then he recited the sequence from Sofie’s body, down to the last numeral. “Was that...

But the door to the study opened again, and the Prime stood there, a hand on the jamb to support himself. “The mystic,” the Prime said, panting slightly, as if the walk from his desk to the door had winded him. “What did she look like?” “Brown hair. Medium brown, I think. Pale skin.” A common enough description. “And her scent? Was it like snow and embers?” Ithan stilled. The ground seemed to sway. “How do you know that?” The old wolf bowed his silvery head. “Because Sabine is not the only Fendyr heir.”

She laughed, harsh and hollow. “No. My fate is bound to his.” “Your fate is bound to mine.” The words echoed into the darkness.

He bucked, like his cock had a mind of its own, like it needed to be in her, or it was going to fucking erupt right there—

nothing had ever felt so good, so real as their souls twining here

They kept moving, one orgasm rolling into the next, and he had no fucking idea how it was even possible, but he was still hard, still going, and he needed more and more and more of her— He erupted again, hauling her with him. Their breaths echoed against each other like crashing waves, and she was shaking as she held him. He lowered himself so his head rested upon her chest. Her heartbeat thundered into his ear, and even the melody of that was beautiful.