House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) by Sarah J. Maas

Hunt held in his shock. He’d known there were occasional telepaths out there among the Fae, especially the ones who dwelled in Avallen. But he’d never had a conversation with one. Certainly not inside his head. Neat trick.

A gift from my mother’s kin—one I’ve kept quiet.

And you trust me with this secret?

Ruhn was silent for a moment. I can’t be seen talking to you. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll do what I can for you.

Another shock, as physical as his lightning zapping through him. Why would you help me?

Because you would have done everything in your power to keep Bryce from trading herself to Sandriel. I could see it on your face. Ruhn hesitated, then added, a shade uncertainly, And because I don’t think you’re quite as much of an asshole now.

The corner of Hunt’s mouth lifted. Likewise.

Is that a compliment? Another pause. How are you holding up, Athalar?

Fine. How is she?

Back at work, according to the eyes I have on her.

Good. He didn’t think he could endure any more talk of Bryce without completely falling apart, so he said, Did you know that medwitch was Queen Hypaxia?

No. I fucking didn’t.

Ruhn might have gone on, but the Asteri began to speak. As one, like they always did. Telepaths in their own regard. “You have converged to discuss matters pertaining to your region. We grant you our leave.” They looked to Hypaxia.

Impressively, the witch didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as tremble as the six Asteri looked upon her, the world watching with them, and said, “We formally recognize you as the heir of the late Queen Hecuba Enador, and with her passing, now anoint you Queen of the Valbaran Witches.”

Hypaxia bowed her head, her face grave. Jesiba’s face revealed nothing. Not even a hint of sorrow or anger for the heritage she’d walked away from. So Hunt dared a look at Ruhn, who was frowning.

The Asteri again surveyed the room, none more haughtily than Rigelus, the Bright Hand. That slim teenage boy’s body was a mockery of the monstrous power within. As one the Asteri continued, “You may begin. May the blessings of the gods and all the stars in the heavens shine upon you.”

Heads bowed further, in thanks for merely being allowed to exist in their presence.

“It is our hope that you discuss a way to end this inane war. Governor Sandriel will prove a valuable witness to its destruction.” A slow, horrible scan through the room followed. And Hunt knew their eyes were upon him as they said, “And there are others here who may also provide their testimony.”

There was only one testimony to provide: that the humans were wasteful and foolish, and the war was their fault, their fault, their fault, and must be ended. Must be avoided here at all costs. There was to be no sympathy for the human rebellion, no hearing of the humans’ plight. There was only the Vanir side, the good side, and no other.

Hunt held Rigelus’s dead stare on the central screen. A zap of icy wind through his body courtesy of Sandriel warned him to avert his eyes. He did not. He could have sworn the Head of the Asteri smiled. Hunt’s blood turned to ice, not just from Sandriel’s wind, and he lowered his eyes.

This empire had been built to last for eternity. In more than fifteen thousand years, it had not broken. This war would not be the thing that ended it.

The Asteri said together, “Farewell.” Another small smile from all of them—the worst being Rigelus’s, still directed at Hunt. The screens went dark.

Everyone in the room, the two Governors included, blew out a breath. Someone puked, by the sound and reek from the far corner. Sure enough, a leopard shifter bolted through the doors, a hand over his mouth.

Micah leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the wood table before him. For a moment, no one spoke. As if they all needed to reel themselves back in. Even Sandriel.

Then Micah straightened, his wings rustling, and declared in a deep, clear voice, “I hereby commence this Valbaran Summit. All hail the Asteri and the stars they possess.”

The room echoed the words, albeit half-heartedly. As if everyone remembered that even in this land across the sea from Pangera, so far from the muddy battlefields and the shining crystal palace in a city of seven hills, even here, there was no escaping.





74

Bryce tried not to dwell on the fact that Hunt and the world knew what and who she really was. At least the press hadn’t caught wind of it, for whatever small mercy that was.

As if being a bastard princess meant anything. As if it said anything about her as a person. The shock on Hunt’s face was precisely why she hadn’t told him.

She’d torn up Jesiba’s check, and with it the centuries of debts.

None of it mattered now anyway. Hunt was gone.

She knew he was alive. She’d seen the news footage of the Summit’s opening procession. Hunt had looked just as he had before everything went to shit. Another small mercy.

She’d barely noticed the others arriving: Jesiba, Tharion, her sire, her brother … No, she’d just kept her eyes on that spot in the crowd, those gray wings that had now regrown.

Pathetic. She was utterly pathetic.

She would have done it. Would have gladly traded places with Hunt, even knowing what Sandriel would do to her. What Pollux would do to her.

Maybe it made her an idiot, as Ruhn said. Naïve.

Maybe she was lucky to have walked out of the Comitium lobby still breathing.