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

And now here she was, the starlight building within her hands.

It was a useless gift, she’d decided as a child. It couldn’t do much at all beyond blinding people, as she’d done to her father’s men when they came after her and her mother and Randall, as had happened to the Oracle when the seer peered into her future and beheld only her blazing light, as she’d done to those asp-hole smugglers.

Only her father’s unfaltering Fae arrogance and snobbery had kept him from realizing it after her Oracle visit. The male was incapable of imagining anyone but pure Fae being blessed by fate.

Blessed—as if this gift made her something special. It didn’t. It was an old power and nothing more. She had no interest in the throne or crown or palace that could come with it. None.

But Ruhn … He might have claimed otherwise, but the first time he’d told her about his Ordeal, when he’d won the sword from its ancient resting place in Avallen, she’d seen how his face had glowed with pride that he’d been able to draw the sword from its sheath.

So she’d let him have it, the title and the sword. Had tried to open Ruhn’s eyes to their father’s true nature as often as she could, even if it made her father resent her further.

She would have kept this burning, shining secret inside her until her dying day. But she’d realized what she had to do for her city. This world.

The dregs of the light flowed out of her chest, all of it now cupped between her palms.

She’d never done it before—wholly removed the star itself. She’d only glowed and blinded, never summoned its burning core from inside her. Her knees wobbled, and she gritted her teeth against the strain of holding the light in place.

At least she’d spoken to Hunt one last time. She hadn’t expected him to be able to pick up. Had thought the phone would go right to audiomail where she could say everything she wanted. The words she still hadn’t said aloud to him.

She didn’t let herself think of it as she took the final step to the Gate’s quartz archway.

She was Starborn, and the Horn lay within her, repaired and now filled with her light.

This had to work.

The quartz of the Gate was a conduit. A prism. Able to take light and power and refract them. She closed her eyes, remembering the rainbows this Gate had been adorned with on the last day of Danika’s life, when they’d come here together. Made their wishes.

This had to work. A final wish.

“Close,” Bryce whispered, shaking.

And she thrust her starlight into the Gate’s clear stone.





88

Hunt had no words in his head, his heart, as Bryce shoved her burning starlight into the Gate.

White light blasted from the Gate’s clear stone.

It filled the square, shooting outward for blocks. Demons caught in its path screamed as they were blinded, then fled. Like they remembered whom it had once belonged to. How the Starborn Prince had battled their hordes with it.

The Starborn line had bred true—twice.

Ruhn’s face drained of color as he remained kneeling and beheld his sister, the blazing Gate. What she’d declared to the world. What she’d revealed herself to be.

His rival. A threat to all he stood to inherit.

Hunt knew what the Fae did to settle disputes to the throne.

Bryce possessed the light of a star, such as hadn’t been witnessed since the First Wars. Jesiba looked like she’d seen a ghost. Fury gaped at the screen. When the flare dimmed, Hunt’s breath caught in his throat.

The void within the Heart Gate was gone. She’d channeled her light through the Horn somehow—and sealed the portal.

In the stunned silence of the conference room, they watched Bryce pant, leaning against one side of the Gate before sliding to the slate tiles. The crystal archway still shone. A temporary haven that would make any demons think twice before approaching, fearful of a Starborn descendant.

But the rest of the Gates in the city remained open.

A phone rang—an outgoing call, linked to the room’s speakers. Hunt scanned the room for the culprit and found the Autumn King with his phone in his hands. But the male was apparently too lost in the rage crinkling his face to care that the call was audible to everyone. Declan Emmet showed no sign of even trying to make the call private as Ember Quinlan picked up the phone and said, “Who is—”

“You’ve known she was Starborn Fae all these years and lied to me about it,” the king bit out.

Ember didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been waiting for this call for more than twenty years.”

“You bitch—”

A low, agonized laugh. “Who do you think ended your goons all those years ago? Not me and Randall. They had her in their grasp—by the neck. And they had us at gunpoint.” Another laugh. “She realized what they were going to do to me. To Randall. And she fucking blinded them.”

What blinds an Oracle?

Light. Light the way the Starborn had possessed it.

Bryce still sat against the archway, breathing hard. Like summoning that star, wielding the Horn, had taken everything out of her.

Ruhn murmured, more to himself than anyone, “Those books claimed there were multiple Starborn in the First Wars. I told her, and she …” He blinked slowly. “She already knew.”

“She lied because she loves you,” Hunt ground out. “So you could keep your title.”