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

by Sarah J. Maas

It had never been like that with anyone. Sex had been good, yeah, but this … He was fairly certain his soul lay in splinters around them.

Ruhn smirked. “Team Fuck-You.” Bryce grinned. Hunt said, “All right, Team Fuck-You.”

“She’s probably in the dungeons,” Hunt said. He added, as if reading Ruhn’s worry, “She’s alive, I’m sure of it. The Hind will be dispatched to work on her—they’re not going to kill her right away. Not when she’s got so much valuable information.” Ruhn’s stomach churned. He couldn’t get the sound of Day’s panicked voice out of his mind. His very blood roared to go to her, find her.

Bryce had no idea why anyone would want to live in the Eternal City. Not simply because it lay in the shadow of the crystal palace of the Asteri, but because it was … old. Dusty. Worn. No skyscrapers, no neon lights, no music blasting from passing cars. It seemed to have been trapped in time, stuck in another century, its masters unwilling to bring it forward.

Cormac’s gloved hand. Prince to prince. She marveled at it. Then they were gone, and Bryce struggled to get down a breath. “I feel like I can’t breathe, either,” Ruhn said, noticing. “Knowing that Day’s in there.” He added, “And knowing that you’re about to go in there, too.”

He chuckled, holding her tightly. “Team Fuck-You forever.”

brother’s violet-blue eyes.

“Light it up, Athalar.” Hunt pressed a hand to her heart, his lightning a subtle flare that was sucked into the scar.

seventy feet long and fifteen feet wide. Likely fourteen feet, to be a multiple of seven. The holy number. Bryce scanned the hall. The only thing in it was a set of crystal pipes shooting upward into the ceiling, with plaques beneath them, and small black screens beside the plaques. Seven pipes. The crystal floor glowed at her feet as she approached the nearest plaque. Hesperus. The Evening Star. Brows rising, Bryce strode to the next pipe and plaque. Polaris. The North Star. Plaque after plaque, pipe after pipe, Bryce read the individual names of each Asteri. Eosphoros. Octartis. Austrus. She nearly tripped at the penultimate. Sirius. The Asteri the Prince of the Pit had devoured. She knew what the last plaque would say before she reached it. Rigelus. The Bright Hand.

The crystal at her feet flared, and Bryce had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, as firstlight, pure and iridescent, ruptured. She squeezed her eyes shut, dropping into a crouch. But nothing happened. At least, not to her. The firstlight faded enough that Bryce cracked open her eyes to see it shooting up six of the pipes. The little black screens beside each plaque flared to life, filled with readings. Only Sirius’s pipe remained unlit. Out of commission. She went rigid as she read the Bright Hand’s screen: Rigelus Power Level: 65%. She whirled to the next plaque. The screen beside it said, Austrus Power Level: 76%. “Holy gods,” Bryce whispered. The Asteri fed on firstlight. The Asteri … needed firstlight. She looked at her feet, where light flowed in veins through the crystal before funneling into the pipes. The quartz. A conduit of power. Exactly like the Gates in Crescent City. They’d built their entire palace out of it. To fuel and harness the firstlight that poured in.

This area was seven levels below the throne room, where the Asteri sat on crystal thrones. Did those thrones fill them with power?

In plain sight, they fueled up like batteries, sucking in this firstlight. Nausea constricted her throat. All the Drops people made, the secondlight the dead handed over … All the power of the people of Midgard, the power the people gave them … it was gobbled up by the Asteri and used against its citizens. To control them. Even the Vanir rebels who were killed fighting had their souls fed to the very beasts they were trying to overthrow. They were all just food for the Asteri. A never-ending supply of power. Bryce began shaking. The veins of light wending beneath her feet, glowing and vibrant … She traced them down as far as she could see through the clear stone, into a brilliantly shining mass. A core of firstlight. Powering the entire palace and the monsters that ruled it.

Did the Asteri even possess holy stars in their chests, or was it firstlight, stolen from the people? Firstlight that they mandated be given over in the Drop to fuel cities and technology … and the overlords who ruled this world. Secondlight that was ripped from the dead, squeezing every last drop of power from the people. Cut off the firstlight, destroy this funnel of power, get people to stop handing over their power through the Drop in those centers that funneled off their energy, stop the dead from becoming secondlight … And they could destroy the Asteri.

Dawn. Midnight. Midday. She had no idea what any of the names meant, or what lay behind the door. But one in the center snared her eye: Dusk. She slipped inside.

Braziers of firstlight glowed in the corners of the room, dimly illuminating the space. A round table occupied the middle. Seven seats around it. Her blood chilled. A small metal machine sat in the center of the table. A projection device. But Bryce’s attention snagged on the stone walls, covered in paper. Star-maps—of constellations and solar systems, marked up with scribbled notations and pinned with red dots. Her mouth dried out as she approached the one nearest. A solar system she didn’t recognize, with five planets orbiting a massive sun. One planet in the habitable zone had been pinned and labeled. Rentharr. Conq. A.E. 14000. A.E. She didn’t know that dating system. But she could guess what Conq. meant. Conquered … by the Asteri? She’d never heard of a planet called Rentharr. Scribbled beside it was a brief note: A bellicose, aquatic people. Primordial land life. Little supply. Terminated A.E. 14007. “Oh gods,” Bryce breathed, and went to the next star-map. Iphraxia. Conq. A.E. 680. Lost A.E. 720. She read the note beside it and her blood iced over. Denizens learned of our methods too quickly. We lost many to their unified front. Evacuated. Somewhere out in the cosmos, a planet had managed to kick out the Asteri. Map to map, Bryce read the notes. Names of places that weren’t known in Midgard. Worlds that the Asteri had conquered, with notations about their use of firstlight and how they either lost or controlled those worlds. Fed on them until there was nothing left....

She shut away her questions, instead demanding, “Why do you want me here?” “To reopen the Rifts.” Her blood froze. “I can’t.” “Can’t you?” The cold voice slithered through the intercom. “You are Starborn, and have the Horn bound to your body and power. Your ancestors wielded the Horn and another Fae object that allowed them to enter this world. Stolen, of course, from their original masters—our people. Our people, who built fearsome warriors in that world to be their army. All of them prototypes for the angels in this one. And all of them traitors to their creators, joining the Fae to overthrow my brothers and sisters a thousand years before we arrived on Midgard. They slew my siblings.” Her head spun. “I don’t understand.” “Midgard is a base. We opened the doors to other worlds to lure their citizens here—so many powerful beings, all so eager to conquer new planets. Not realizing we were their conquerors. But we also opened the doors so we might conquer those other worlds as well. The Fae—Queen Theia and her two foolish daughters—realized that, though too late. Her people were already here, but she and the princesses discovered where my siblings had hidden the access points in their world.” Rage rippled through his every word. “Your Starborn ancestors shut the gates to stop us from invading their realm once more and reminding them who their true masters are. And in the process, they shut the gates to all other worlds, including those to Hel, their stalwart allies. And so ...

“Why do you think we allowed you to live this spring? You are the key to opening the doors between worlds again. You will undo the actions of one ignorant princess fifteen thousand years ago.” “Not a chance.”

Her quest for the truth began with her bloodhound gift. Not a gift of the body’s strength, but of magic, such as the shifters should not have. She could scent other shifters with strange powers.” Like Sofie. And Baxian. Danika had found him through researching his bloodline, but had she scented it, too? “It prompted her to investigate her own bloodline’s history, all the way back to the shifters’ arrival in this world, to learn where her gifts came from. And she eventually began to suspect the truth.” Bryce’s throat worked. “Look, I already did the whole villain monologuing thing with Micah this spring, so cut to the chase.” Rigelus chuckled again. “We shall get to that in a moment.” He went on, “Danika realized that the shifters are Fae.” Bryce blinked. “What?” “Not your kind of Fae, of course—your breed dwelled in a lovely, verdant land, rich with magic. If it’s of any interest to you, your Starborn bloodline specifically hailed from a small isle a few miles from the mainland. And while the mainland had all manner of climes, the isle existed in beautiful, near-permanent twilight. But only a select few in the entirety of your world could shift from their humanoid forms to animal ones. The Midgard shifters were Fae from a different planet. All the Fae in that world shared their form with an animal. The mer descended from them, too. Perhaps they once shared a world with your breed of Fae, but they had been alone on their planet for long enough to develop their own gifts.” “...

“Yes. The shifters easily and swiftly forgot what they had once been. They gladly gave themselves to us and did our bidding. Led our armies. And still do.” The Prime had said something similar. The wolves had lost what they had once been. Danika had known that. Danika had known the shifters had once been Fae. Were still Fae—but a different kind. “And Project Thurr? Why was Danika so interested in that?” “Thurr was the last time someone got as far as Danika did in learning about us. It didn’t end well for them. I suppose she wanted to learn from their mistakes before acting.” “She was going to tell everyone what you were.” “Perhaps, but she knew she had to do it slowly. She started with Ophion. But her research into the bloodlines and the origins of the shifters, her belief that they’d once been a different type of Fae, from a different Fae world,

gather, Danika was very intrigued by Sofie and her powers. But Sofie, you see, had a theory, too. About energy. What her thunderbird gifts sensed while using firstlight.

So we did a little tugging. Pointed Micah toward synth. Toward Danika.” “No.” The word was a whisper. “You think Micah acted alone? He was a brash, arrogant male. All it took was some nudging, and he killed her for us. Had no idea it was on our behalf, but it played out as we planned: he was eventually caught and killed for disturbing our peace. I thank you for that.”

“Rigelus has a special interest in you lot. He asked me to sniff around.” He made a show of smelling Hunt. “Maybe it’s because your scent is wrong, angel.” Athalar growled, “What the fuck does that mean?” Mordoc angled his head with mocking assessment. “Not like any other angel I’ve scented.”

Something golden and swift as the wind barreled into her side and sent the Harpy sprawling. Bryce shouted, but all the noise, all the thoughts in Ruhn’s head eddied away as a familiar, lovely scent hit him. As he beheld the female who leapt to her feet, now a wall between him and the Harpy. The Hind.

Ruhn couldn’t move from the floor as the Hind unsheathed her own slim blade. As her beckoning scent floated to him. A scent that was somehow entwined with his own. It was very faint, like a shadow, so vague that he doubted anyone else would realize the underlying scent belonged to him. And her scent had been familiar from the start because Hypaxia was her half-sister, he realized. Family ties didn’t lie. He’d been wrong about her being in House of Sky and Breath—the Hind could claim total allegiance to Earth and Blood. “I knew it. I always knew it,” the Harpy seethed, wings rustling. “Traitorous bitch.” It couldn’t be. It … it couldn’t be. Bryce and Hunt were frozen with shock. Ruhn whispered, “Day?” Lidia Cervos looked over a shoulder. And she said with quiet calm in a voice he knew like his own heartbeat, a voice he had never once heard her use as the Hind, “Night.”

“We have to make it appear real,” she said to Bryce, to Ruhn, voice pleading, utterly desperate. “The information lines can’t be broken.” Her voice cracked. “Do you understand?” Bryce did, apparently. She smirked.

Ruhn could have sworn the Hind whispered something in Bryce’s ear before Pollux grabbed Bryce

Bryce said nothing. Just held his hand—for the last time, he realized as the elevator shot up through the crystal palace. He was holding his mate’s hand for the last time.

Ruhn bared his teeth in a silent snarl. He’d kill him. Slowly and thoroughly, punishing him for every touch, every hand he’d put on Lidia in pain and torment. He had no idea where that landed him. Why he wanted and needed that steel-clad wall between him and Lidia, even as his blood howled to murder Pollux. How he could abhor her and need her, be drawn to her, in the same breath.

Their masters. Their overlords. The parasites who had lured them all into this world. Who had fed off them for fifteen thousand years.

The Hind led their group down the hall, Pollux at their backs. At the far, far end of the passage, Bryce could make out a small arch. A quartz Gate. Bryce’s blood chilled. Did Rigelus plan to have her open it as some sort of test before cracking wide the Rifts?

Along with the fact that if we destroy that core of firstlight beneath this palace—” “Silence,” Rigelus hissed, and the room shuddered with power. But Hunt’s mind reeled. The Asteri, the firstlight … Bryce caught his stare, her eyes brimming with rage and purpose. There was more, she seemed to say. So much more to be used against the Asteri.

“Your friend Aidas will be terribly disappointed to learn you couldn’t tell the difference between the real Prince of the Chasm and myself. He’s terribly vain in that way.” Hunt started, but Bryce seethed, “You pretended to be Aidas that night.” “Who else could break through the wards on your apartment? You didn’t even suspect anything when he encouraged you toward rebellious activities. Though I suppose credit for that goes to me—I played his rage about Theia and Pelias quite well, don’t you think?” Fuck. He’d anticipated their every move. Rigelus went on, “And you didn’t even look that hard into the Reapers I sent from this city to nudge you. The Bone Quarter was a testing ground for your true power, you see—since you seemed to have little awareness or interest in it all summer. You were to hone your powers, all so we might put them to good use. You played along beautifully.”

Rigelus sighed dramatically at their stunned silence. “This all seems very familiar, doesn’t it? A Starborn queen who allied with a Prince of Hel. Who trusted him deeply, and ultimately paid the price.” Hunt mastered himself enough to nod toward the seventh, always empty throne. “Hel got one on you in the end, though, I think.” Rigelus’s body glowed with ire, but his voice remained silky smooth. “I look forward to facing Apollion again. Mordoc suspected that the Star-Eater had been trying to get your attention these past weeks—to prod you along in his own way.”

“The star on your chest—do you know what it is?” “Let’s assume I know nothing,” Bryce said grimly. Rigelus inclined his head. “It’s a beacon to the world from which the Fae originally came. It sometimes glows when nearest the Fae who have undiluted bloodlines from that world. Prince Cormac, for example.” “It glowed for Hunt,” Bryce shot back. “It also glows for those who you choose as your loyal companions. Knights.” “So what?” Bryce demanded. “So that star will lead us back to that world. Through you. They overthrew our brethren who once ruled there—we have not forgotten. Our initial attempt at revenge was foiled by your ancestor who also bore that star on her chest. The Fae have still not atoned for the deaths of our brothers and sisters. Their home world was rich in magic. I crave more of it.”

Bryce turned to Hunt, and the terror and pain and grief on her gore-splattered face threatened to bring him to his knees. He slipped his chained hands around her head, pulling her close. Whispered in her ear. Her fingers bunched in his shirt, as if in silent confirmation. So Hunt pulled back. Stared into his mate’s beautiful face for the last time. He laughed softly, a sound of wonder at odds with the crystal throne room and the monsters in it. “I love you. I wish I’d said it more. But I love you, Quinlan, and …” His throat closed up, his eyes stinging. His lips brushed her brow. “Our love is stronger than time, greater than any distance. Our love spans across stars and worlds. I will find you again. I promise.”

Then Ruhn said into her mind, Grab the Starsword when you go. Ruhn— It’s yours. Take it. You’ll need it. You got the chains unhooked? Yes. She’d used the key the Hind had slipped her to unlock Hunt’s and Ruhn’s manacles while she held them. Good. I told Athalar the signal. You’re ready? No. Ruhn pressed his brow against hers. We need armies, Bryce. We need you to go to Hel through that Gate, and bring Hel’s armies back with you to fight these bastards. But if Apollion’s cost is too high … don’t come back to this world. Her brother pulled away. And Ruhn said, shining with pride, “Long live the queen.”

She flicked her wrists, chains falling to the floor as she grabbed the Starsword from Ruhn and whirled toward Rigelus. She plunged into her power in a blink. And before the Bright Hand could shout, she blasted him with starlight.

Rigelus was ten feet behind. Five. His hand stretched for her trailing hair. Lightning speared down the hall, shattering windows and statues in its wake. Bryce welcomed it into her heart, her back. Welcomed it into the tattoo there as Hunt’s power singed her very blood—and left it sparking. Lightning ruptured from her scar like a bullet passing through. Right into the archway of the Gate. She didn’t dare see if Hunt still stood after his flawless shot. Not as the air of the Gate’s arch turned black. Murky.

Bryce gave herself to the wind and darkness, and teleported for the Gate. Only to land ten feet ahead of Rigelus, as if her powers had hit a wall. Bryce could sense them now—a series of wards, like those Hypaxia had said the Under-King had used to entrap her and Ithan.

Bryce thrust her power out, willed the Gate to take her and her alone, and she was falling, falling, falling while standing still, suspended in the archway, sucked backward so that her hair trailed outward, toward Rigelus’s straining fingers— “NO!” he bellowed. It was the last sound Bryce heard as the darkness within the Gate swallowed her whole. She fell, slowly and without end—and sideways. Not a plunge down, but a yank across. The pressure in her ears threatened to pulp her brain, and she was screaming into wind and stars and emptiness, screaming to Hunt and Ruhn, left behind in that crystal palace. Screaming—

The halo kept spreading over his skull, worse than any gorsian shackle. His power writhed in its iron grip, no longer his to fully command. Just as his own life, his freedom, his future with Bryce … Gone. Hunt screamed again, and as darkness swept in to claim him, he wondered if that soul-scream, not the halo, was what Rigelus wanted. If the Asteri believed the sound of his suffering might carry through the Gate and into Hel itself, where Bryce could hear him. Then Hunt knew nothing at all.

Hel had grass. And mist. Those were Bryce’s first two thoughts as she landed—or appeared. One moment she was falling sideways, and then her right shoulder collided with a wall of green that turned out to be the ground.

The mists parted ahead, peeling back to reveal a gentle turquoise river perhaps fifty feet from where she knelt, flowing right past the … lawn. She was on someone’s clipped, immaculate lawn. And across the river, emerging from the mist … A city. Ancient and beautiful—like something on a Pangeran postcard. Indistinct shapes meandered through the mist on the other side of the river—the demons of Hel.

Something icy and sharp pressed against her throat. A cool male voice spoke above her, behind her, in a language she did not recognize. But the curt words and tone were clear enough: Don’t fucking move. Bryce lifted her hands and reached for her power. Only splintered shards remained. The male voice demanded something in that strange language, and Bryce stayed on her knees. He hissed, and then a strong hand clamped on her shoulder, hauling her up and twisting her to face him. She glimpsed black boots. Dark, scalelike armor over a tall, muscled body. Wings. Great, black wings. A demon’s wings. But the male face that stared through the mists, grave and lethal … it was beautiful, despite the fact that his hazel eyes held no mercy. He spoke again, in a soft voice that promised pain.

With scarred hands, the demon pulled a scrap of black cloth from a hidden pocket in his armor. Held it up to his face, feigning putting it on. A blindfold. Bryce breathed in, trying to calm herself as she nodded. The male’s hands were gentle but thorough as he fitted it tightly over her eyes. Then hands were at her knees and back, and the ground was gone—they were flying. Only the flap of his leathery wings and the sighing mist filled her ears. So different from the rippling hush of Hunt’s feathers in the wind.

Dark oak wood floors and furniture. Rich, velvet fabrics. A crackling fire. Books on the shelves lining one wall. A cart of liquor in crystal decanters beside the black marble fireplace. And through the archway beyond the winged male, a foyer and a dining room. Its style could have fit in with her father’s study. With Jesiba’s gallery. The male watched cautiously. She swallowed down her tears, straightening her shoulders. Cleared her throat. “Where am I? What level of Hel?” “Hel?” he said at last. “Hel, yes, Hel!” She gestured to the house. The complete opposite of what she’d expected. “What level? Pit? Chasm?” He shook his head, brow furrowing. The front door in the foyer opened, and multiple people rushed in, males and females, all speaking that strange language. Bryce beheld the first one and shot to her feet. The petite, dark-haired female with angular eyes like Fury’s drew up short. Her red-painted mouth dropped open, no doubt at the blood all over Bryce’s face and body. This female was … Fae. Clad in beautiful, yet thoroughly old-fashioned clothes. Like the stuff they wore on Avallen.

Bryce swallowed hard. She knew only one other language, and that one … Her heart thundered. Bryce said in the ancient language of the Fae, of the Starborn, “Is this world Hel? I need to see Prince Aidas.” The petite, dark-haired female staggered back, a hand to her mouth. The others gaped. As if the small female’s shock was a rare occurrence. The female eyed the Starsword then. Looked to the first winged male—Bryce’s captor. Nodded to the dark-hilted knife at his side. The male drew it, and Bryce flinched. Flinched, but—“What the fuck?” The knife could have been the twin of the Starsword: black hilted and bladed. It was its twin. The Starsword began to hum within its sheath, glittering white light leaking from where leather met the dark hilt. The dagger— The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer. Alpha and Omega. “Gwydion,” the dark-haired female whispered, indicating the Starsword. The broader male sucked in a breath.

Then she replied in the old tongue, “No one has spoken that language in this world for fifteen thousand years.” Bryce rubbed at her face. Had she traveled in time, somehow? Or did Hel occupy a different time and— “Please,” she said. “I need to find Prince Aidas.” “I do not know who that is.” “Apollion, then. Surely you know the Prince of the Pit.” “I do not know of such people. This world is not Hel.” Bryce slowly shook her head. “I … Then where am I?” She surveyed the silent others, the winged males and the other Fae female, who stared coolly. “What world is this?”

The winged, dark-haired male who stepped in behind her … Bryce gasped. “Ruhn?” The male blinked. His eyes were the same shade of violet blue as Ruhn’s. His short hair the same gleaming black. This male’s skin was browner, but the face, the posture … It was her brother’s. His ears were pointed, too, though he also possessed those leathery wings like the two other males.

Starsword and the knife, the blades still gleaming with their opposite lights.