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

by Sarah J. Maas

A rare benefit of being able to switch between human and Vanir identities—and of being a rare human who’d made the Drop.

They had no idea that Sofie also carried with her, hidden in her head, information that could very well be the final piece of this war against the Asteri. The blow that could end it.

That the trench’s bottom was another fifteen miles deeper than the seafloor before them sent a shiver along Tharion’s tiger-striped forearms. The wraith’s shoebox-sized Helhole had been bespelled against the pressure. And Viktoria, not needing food or water, would live forever. Trapped. Alone. No light, nothing but silence, not even the comfort of her own voice.

“The late Queen Hecuba had two daughters, from different sires. Hypaxia’s sire, Hecuba’s coven learned afterward, was a powerful necromancer from the House of Flame and Shadow. Hypaxia seems to have inherited his gifts alongside her mother’s.” Ruhn blinked. Slowly. Hypaxia could raise and speak to the dead. All right. He could live with that. “Cool.” Flames danced along his father’s hair, dancing over his shoulders. “Her older sister, however, was sired by a shape-shifting male. A stag.” “So?” Cormac snorted. “Hypaxia’s half sister is better known as the Hind.”

“You do remember that Bryce and Athalar are together?” Ruhn said. “Try to get between them, and you’ll get a refresher course on why he was called the Umbra Mortis.”

“Last my spies reported, she still does not bear his scent. So I can only assume they have not consummated their relationship.”

“Males will always try to control the females who scare them. Marriage and breeding are their go-to methods.”

Roaring erupted in Hunt’s head. Sandriel’s triarii. The actual scum of the universe. They were coming here. To be part of this group. In this city. A knock sounded on the door, and Hunt twisted as Celestina said, “Come in.” Lightning crackled at Hunt’s fingertips. The door opened, and in swaggered Pollux Antonius and Baxian Argos. The Hammer and the Helhound.

Danika Fendyr had known Sofie Renast.

Cormac Donnall stood in the doorway, shadows fading from his shoulders. “Hello, Agent Silverbow,” Aidas crooned, then vanished.

“Mind if I join?” Her voice was lovely, fair and cool—yet no light shone in her amber eyes.

“Hello, princeling. Pup.”

Ruhn’s blood chilled as the Harpy slid into the seat to his left. An assortment of knives glinted on the belt at her slim waist. But Ruhn peered up again at the beautiful female, whose face he knew well thanks to the news and TV, though he’d never seen it in person. Her golden hair glinted in the dim lights as she sat on his right and signaled the bartender with an elegant hand. “I thought we’d play a round of cards,” the Hind said.

Ithan drew another card and said mildly, “You’ve got some nerve, coming to our city and trying to start shit.” The Hind replied with equal calm, “So do you, lusting after the female your brother loved.” Ruhn blinked. Ithan’s eyes turned dangerously dark. “You’re full of shit.”

Bryce pulled out her phone and did a quick search. A moment later, she was dialing. “I’d like to speak to Director Gorgyn, please.” Bryce tapped her feet again as the CCB receptionist spoke. She clenched her fingers into fists before she answered, “Tell him that Her Royal Highness Princess Bryce Danaan is calling.”

It means that he’s going ballistic in the way that only mates can when the other is threatened. It’s what happened then, and what’s happening now. You’re true mates—the way Fae are mates, in your bodies and souls. That’s what was different about your scent the other day. Your scents have merged. As they do between Fae mates.

But Flynn, stupid, arrogant asshole that he was, got to his feet and grinned cheerfully down at the curvy female on the coffee table. “Good thing a dragon now owes me a debt.”

“Cthona spare me,” Cormac muttered, managing to lift his head. “I don’t need all that.” “Yes, you do,” Tharion and Ruhn said together.

The queen seemed to note the details of his house as she was escorted to the sectional. His disgusting, beer-soaked house. Solas, a half-smoked mirthroot blunt sat in the ashtray on the coffee table a mere foot from Hypaxia. Ruhn said to Ithan, Get that fucking mirthroot out of here. Ithan lunged for it. Not right now! When she’s not looking. Ithan caught himself with that sunball player’s grace and relaxed against the cushions as Hypaxia sat, nestled between Flynn and Declan. If Ithan had to pick one word to describe the queen’s expression, it would have been baffled. Utterly baffled. Ruhn rubbed his neck, approaching the couch. “So, ah. Good to see you.” Hypaxia smiled in that wise, knowing way. Fucking Hel, she was lovely. But her voice darkened as she said, “I’d like to have a word with you. Alone.” Ithan rose, subtly swiping the mirthroot from the table. “Room’s yours. We’ll be upstairs.”

Ithan tried not to appear too grateful. He’d spent years thinking Ruhn was a dick, mostly thanks to Bryce and Danika constantly dissing him, but … this guy had let him into his house, trusted him with his secrets, and now seemed intent on helping him. He wondered if the Fae knew how lucky they were.

Ithan’s throat tightened. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it—people having his back. Caring if he lived or died. The Pack of Devils had been that for him, yes, but his sunball team, too. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since Connor’s death. Flynn’s eyes softened slightly, as if seeing something on Ithan’s face, and Ithan straightened, clearing his throat. But Flynn said, “We got you, wolf.” “Why?” The question slipped out before Ithan could wonder whether he should ask. But there were probably dozens of Fae who’d spent years trying to squeeze into the trio that was Ruhn, Flynn, and Declan. Why they’d brought Ithan into their little circle was beyond him. Flynn and Dec swapped glances. The latter shrugged. “Why not?” “I’m a wolf. You’re Fae.” “So old-fashioned.” Flynn winked. “I had you pegged as more progressive than that.” “I don’t want your pity,” Ithan said. Declan drew back. “Who the fuck said anything about pity?” Flynn put up his hands. “We’re only friends with you because we want good sunball tickets.” Ithan looked between the males. Then burst out laughing.

There they were. Celestina’s dress had been tugged down, baring one full, round breast. Gleaming as if someone had been licking it. But it wasn’t Ephraim who stood before the Archangel, positioned between the female and Hunt. It wasn’t Ephraim whose own clothes were askew, hair mussed, lips swollen. It was Hypaxia.

“I wanted to see you tonight. I spent the entire time watching the clock.” Her breathing hitched. “Why?” “So I could do this.” Ruhn lifted her chin and kissed her. The mouth beneath the fire was soft, and warm, and opened for him. Flaming fingers twined through his hair, tugging him close, and Ruhn slid his arms around a slim, curving body, hands feeling her ample backside. Fuck yes.

“Hey, remember that time you set a dragon free and were dumb enough to think she’d follow your orders?” “Hey, remember that time you wanted to marry me and wrote Lady Bryce Flynn in all your notebooks?” Hunt choked. Bryce countered with, “Hey, remember when you pestered me for years to hook up with you, but I have something called standards—”

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.”

And this task … this task was his.

The male stepped forward, tucking in his wings. He smiled slightly and said in the Old Language, in a voice like glorious night, “Hello, Bryce Quinlan. My name is Rhysand.”