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

Hunt just said, “Fancy trick.”

Bryce said nothing. Ruhn tried not to remember how delighted she’d once been whenever he’d demonstrated how his shadows and starlight worked—both halves of his power working as one.

Ruhn said to her, “I asked you to come. Not him.”

Bryce linked her arm through Athalar’s, the portrait they painted laughable: Bryce in her fancy work dress and heels, the angel in his black battle-suit. “We’re joined at the hip now, unfortunately for you. Best, best friends.”

“The best,” Hunt echoed, his grin unfading.

Luna shoot him dead. This would not end well.

Bryce nodded to the tour group still trailing their leader through the temple. “This place might not have any cameras, but they do.”

“They’re focused on their guide,” Ruhn said. “And the noise they’re making will mask any conversation we have.” The shadows could only hide him from sight, not sound.

Through thin ripples in the shadows, they could make out a young couple edging around the statue, so busy snapping photos they didn’t note the denser bit of darkness in the far corner. But Ruhn fell silent, and Bryce and Athalar followed suit.

As they waited for the couple to pass, the tour guide went on, “We’ll dive more into the architectural wonders of the inner sanctum in a minute, but let’s direct our attention to the statue. The quiver, of course, is real gold, the arrows pure silver with tips of diamond.”

Someone let out an appreciative whistle. “Indeed,” the tour guide agreed. “They were donated by the Archangel Micah, who is a patron and investor in various charities, foundations, and innovative companies.” The tour guide went on, “Unfortunately, two years ago, the third of Luna’s treasures was stolen from this temple. Can anyone tell me what it was?”

“The Horn,” someone said. “It was all over the news.”

“It was a terrible theft. An artifact that cannot be replaced easily.”

The couple moved on, and Ruhn uncrossed his arms.

Hunt said, “All right, Danaan. Get to the point. Why’d you ask Bryce to come?”

Ruhn gestured to where the tourists were snapping photos of the goddess’s hand. Specifically, the fingers that now curled around air, where a cracked ivory hunting horn had once lain.

“Because I was tasked by the Autumn King to find Luna’s Horn.”

Athalar angled his head, but Bryce snorted. “Is that why you asked about it last night?”

They were interrupted again by the tour guide saying, as she moved toward the rear of the room, “If you’ll follow me, we’ve been granted special permission to see the chamber where the stag sacrifices are prepared to be burned in Luna’s honor.” Through the murky shadows, Bryce could make out a small door opening in the wall.

When they’d filtered out, Hunt asked, eyes narrowing, “What is the Horn, exactly?”

“A bunch of fairy-tale bullcrap,” Bryce muttered. “You really dragged me here for this? To what—help you impress your daddy?”

Growling, Ruhn pulled out his phone, making sure the shadows held around them, and brought up the photos he’d snapped in the Fae Archives last night.

But he didn’t share them, not before he said to Athalar, “Luna’s Horn was a weapon wielded by Pelias, the first Starborn Prince, during the First Wars. The Fae forged it in their home world, named it for the goddess in their new one, and used it to battle the demon hordes once they made the Crossing. Pelias wielded the Horn until he died.” Ruhn put a hand on his chest. “My ancestor—whose power flows in my veins. I don’t know how it worked, how Pelias used it with his magic, but the Horn became enough of a nuisance for the demon princes that they did everything they could to retrieve it from him.”

Ruhn held out his phone, the picture of the illuminated manuscript glaringly bright in the thick shadows. The illustration of the carved horn lifted to the lips of a helmeted Fae male was as pristine as it had been when inked millennia ago. Above the figure gleamed an eight-pointed star, the emblem of the Starborn.

Bryce went wholly still. The stillness of the Fae, like a stag halting in a wood.

Ruhn went on, “The Star-Eater himself bred a new horror just to hunt the Horn, using some blood he managed to spill from Prince Pelias on a battlefield and his own terrible essence. A beast twisted out of the collision of light and darkness.” Ruhn swiped on his phone, and the next illustration appeared. The reason he’d had her come here—had taken this gamble.

Bryce recoiled at the grotesque, pale body, the clear teeth bared in a roar.

“You recognize it,” Ruhn said softly.

Bryce shook herself, as if to bring herself back to reality, and rubbed her thigh absently. “That’s the demon I found attacking the angel in the alley on that night.”

Hunt gave her a sharp look. “The one that attacked you, too?”

Bryce gave a small, affirmative nod. “What is it?”

“It dwells in the darkest depths of the Pit,” Ruhn answered. “So lightless that the Star-Eater named it the kristallos, for its clear blood and teeth.”

Athalar said, “I’ve never heard of it.”

Bryce contemplated the drawing. “It … There was never a mention of a fucking demon in the research I did on the Horn.” She met his gaze. “No one put this together two years ago?”