House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

A third, and Tharion attacked with brutal efficiency. The other beasts halted, tails lashing the water.

“Hang on!” Bryce shouted toward Tharion, who gripped the side of the wave skimmer as she hurtled them toward the Black Dock. The mist fell away behind them, and a wall of sunshine blinded Hunt.

They didn’t stop, though. Not when they hit the dock. Not when Tharion leapt from the water and shifted, grabbing a spare Blue Court aquatic uniform from the seat-hatch in the wave skimmer. The three of them hurried down the streets to Bryce’s apartment.

In the safety of her home, Bryce knelt on the floor, wet and bloody and panting. The slice along her spine was long but mercifully shallow, already clotting. It had missed the Horn tattoo by millimeters. Hunt had enough sanity remaining to avoid the white couch as Tharion said, “What happened? Any sign of Emile or Sofie?”

“No—we were stupid to even look for them in the Bone Quarter,” Hunt said, sitting at the dining table, trying to reel his mind back in. Bryce filled the mer in on the rest.

When she finished, Tharion dropped onto one of the counter stools, face white. “I know I should be disappointed that Emile and Sofie weren’t hiding in the Bone Quarter, but … that’s what awaits us in the end?”

Hunt opened his mouth, but Bryce asked, “Where’s Ruhn? He and Ithan should be back.”

Hunt narrowed his eyes. “Call them.”

Bryce did, but neither answered. Hunt fished out his phone, grateful he’d gotten the water-repellent spell Quinlan had needled him into purchasing. News alerts and messages filled the screen.

Hunt said a shade hoarsely, “Ephraim just got here. With the Hind.”

Tharion nodded grimly. “She brought her pack of dreadwolves with her.”

Bryce checked the clock on her phone again. “I need to find Ruhn.”





33

Ruhn said nothing as the Hind produced a deck of cards from the pocket of her imperial uniform.

Ithan played the role of confused jock, alternating ignorance with bored distraction as he watched the game above the bar. The Hind shuffled the deck, cards cracking like breaking bones.

On the table’s fourth side, the Harpy lounged in her seat and marked his every move. Her wings—a matte black, like they’d been built for stealth—spilled onto the floor. She wore the familiar battle-suit of the 45th—Sandriel’s former prized legion. The Harpy, along with the Hammer, had been one of its notoriously cruel leaders.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the Hind said, flexing and breaking the cards again. Her hands were deft, unfaltering. Unscarred. She wore a gold ring crowned with a square, clean-cut ruby. A subtle hint of wealth.

Ruhn forced himself to smirk. “I’m flattered I was so high on your priority list today.”

“You’re my half sister’s fiancé, are you not?” A lifeless smile. The opposite of Hypaxia’s warmth and wisdom. The Hind was only about twenty years older than her sister—forty-seven years old—far closer in age than most Vanir siblings. But they shared nothing in common, it seemed. “It would be rude not to introduce myself upon arrival. I already visited your father’s villa. He informed me that you were here.”

Cormac must have arrived right before the Hind, to feed the lie to the Autumn King. Thank the gods.

Ruhn snorted. “Nice to meet you. I’m busy.”

The Harpy’s skin was as pale as the belly of a fish, set off by her jet-black hair and eyes. She said, “You’re as impertinent as you appear, princeling.”

Ruhn flicked his lip ring with his tongue. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

The Harpy’s features contorted in anger. But the Hind said mildly, “We’ll play poker, I think. Isn’t that what you play on Tuesday nights?”

Ruhn repressed his shiver of fear. The standing game wasn’t a secret, but … how much did she know about him?

Ithan remained the portrait of boredom, gods bless him.

So Ruhn said to the Hind, “All right, you’re keeping tabs on me for your sister’s sake.” Was it mere coincidence she’d sought him out now? What had Mordoc told her about Ithan’s whereabouts this morning? Ruhn asked the Harpy, “But why the Hel are you here?”

The Harpy’s thin lips stretched into a grotesque smile. She reached a pale hand toward Ithan’s muscled shoulder as she said, “I wanted to survey the goods.”

Without looking at her, the wolf snatched her fingers, squeezing hard enough to show that he could break bone if he wished. Slowly, he turned, eyes brimming with hate. “You can look, but don’t touch.”

“You break it, you buy it,” the Harpy crooned, wriggling her fingers. She liked this—the edge of pain.

Ithan bared his teeth in a feral grin and released her hand. The pup had balls, Ruhn would give him that. Ithan looked at the TV again as he said, “Pass.”

The Harpy bristled, and Ruhn said, “He’s a little young for you.”

“And what about you?” A killer’s sharp smile.

Ruhn leaned back in his chair, swigging from his whiskey. “I’m engaged. I don’t fuck around.”

The Hind dealt the cards with a swift, sure grace. “Except with fauns, of course.”

Ruhn kept his face unmoved. How did she know about the female at the party? He met her golden eyes. A perfect match for the Hammer in beauty and temperament. She hadn’t been at the Summit this spring, thank the gods. The Harpy had been there, though, and Ruhn had done his damn best to stay away from her.