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

He’d been in Sandriel’s possession when the Hind had signed on—recruited by the Archangel herself to serve as her spy-master. Lidia had been so young: barely into her twenties. She’d just made the Drop, and had no apparent deep well of magic, other than her swiftness as a deer shifter and her love of cruelty. Her appointment to such a high position had been a blaring alarm to stay the fuck away from her—she was a Vanir who’d cross any line, if she pleased Sandriel so greatly. Pollux had courted her almost immediately.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hunt asked, stabbing the elevator button. He blocked any thought of Ophion, of Emile, of their activities from his mind. He was nothing but the Umbra Mortis, loyal to the empire.

“You’re friends with Ruhn Danaan, are you not?”

Burning fucking Solas. Hunt kept his face neutral. “I wouldn’t say he’s a friend, but yeah. We hang out.”

“And Ithan Holstrom?”

Hunt shrugged. Calm—stay calm. “He’s a decent guy.”

“And what of Tharion Ketos?”

Hunt made himself blow out a loud sigh. It served to loosen the growing tightness in his chest. “Isn’t it a little early for interrogating?”

Fuck, had she gone after Bryce already? Was one of her goons—Mordoc, even—at the apartment while she cornered Hunt here, at the elevator?

The Hind smiled without showing her teeth. “I woke up refreshed this morning.”

“I didn’t realize fucking Pollux is so boring that you could sleep through it.”

She snickered, to his surprise. “Sandriel might have done so much more with you, if she’d only had the vision for it.”

“Too bad she liked gambling more than torturing me.” He could only thank the gods that Sandriel had gotten so buried in her debts that she’d had to sell him to Micah to pay them off.

“Too bad she’s dead.” Those golden eyes gleamed. Yeah, the Hind knew who was responsible for that death.

The elevator opened, and Hunt stepped in, the Hind following him. “So why the questions about my friends?” How much time would he have to warn them? Or would all of them fleeing the city confirm that they were guilty?

“I thought they were merely people you hung out with.”

“Semantics.”

Her small, bland smile raked down Hunt’s temper. “An unusual group, even in a city as progressive as Lunathion. An angel, a wolf, a Fae Prince, a mer, and a half-human whore.” Hunt growled at the last word, rage shaking him from his dread. “It sounds like the start to a bad joke.”

“You want to ask me something, Lidia, then fucking say it. Don’t waste my time.” The elevator opened into the hall of the training floor, bringing the scent of sweat.

“I’m merely observing an anomaly. Wondering what might be so … compelling that so many people of power, from different species and Houses, are hanging out at Bryce Quinlan’s apartment.”

“She’s got one Hel of a video-gaming system.”

The Hind chuckled, the sound laced with menace. “I’ll find out, you know. I always do.”

“I look forward to it,” Hunt said, stalking toward the doors. A dark figure loomed ahead of them—Baxian. His eyes were on the Hind. Stony, and yet seeking.

She stopped short. The Hind stopped short.

Baxian said, “Lidia.”

The Hind replied flatly, “Baxian.”

“I was looking for you.” He inclined his head to Hunt in dismissal. He’d take over from here.

“Is it to explain why you vanished into the night with Hunt Athalar?” she asked, folding her hands behind her back in a perfect imperial stance. A good little soldier.

Hunt passed Baxian. “Not a word,” Hunt said so softly it was barely more than a breath. Baxian nodded subtly.

Hunt had barely pushed open the doors to the training area when he heard Baxian say carefully to the Hind, as if remembering who she was, “I don’t answer to you.”

Her voice was smooth as silk. “Not to me, or Ephraim, but you still answer to the Asteri.” Her true masters. “Whose will is mine.”

Hunt’s stomach churned. She was right.

And he’d do well to remember it before it was too late.





38

“This is a dumb fucking idea.”

“You really love to say that, Legs.”

Bryce peered at the two-story iron doors in the back alley of the Old Square, the surface embossed with stars and planets and all matter of heavenly objects. “There’s a reason no one comes to the mystics anymore.” Hel, she’d suggested it while working on Danika’s case this spring, but Hunt had convinced her not to come.

The mystics are some dark, fucked-up shit, he’d said.

Bryce glowered at Tharion and Ithan, standing behind her in the alley. “I mean it. What’s behind those doors is not for the faint of heart. Jesiba knows this guy, but even she doesn’t mess with him.”

Ithan countered, “I can’t think of another alternative. The Oracle only sees the future, not present. I need to know what’s going on with Connor.”

Tharion drawled, “If you can’t stomach it, Legs, then sit out here on the curb.”

She sighed through her nose, trying again. “Only lowlifes use the mystics these days.”