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

Declan said to her, Ruhn, and Cormac, “It took so long because once it compiled all the footage I had to go through all the shots with Danika.” He smirked at Bryce. “Did you ever work?”

Bryce scowled. “Only on Tuesdays.”

Declan snorted, and Bryce braced herself for the sight of Danika, of Lehabah, of the old gallery library as he clicked play. Her heart twanged at the familiar corn-silk blond hair with its vibrant dyed streaks, braided down Danika’s back. At the black leather jacket with the words Through love, all is possible stamped on it. Had the flash drive already been sewn into it?

“This is from two months before she died,” Declan said quietly.

There was Bryce, in a tight green dress and four-inch heels, talking with Lehabah about Fangs and Bangs.

Danika was lounging at the desk, boots propped up, hands tucked behind her head, smirking at Bryce’s regular argument that porn with a plot did not equal award-winning television. Lehabah was countering that sex didn’t cheapen a show, and her voice—

Ruhn’s hand slid across Bryce’s back, squeezing her shoulder.

On the screen, Bryce motioned to Lehabah to follow her upstairs, and the two of them left. She had no memory of this day, this moment. She’d probably gone to grab something and hadn’t wanted to leave Lehabah alone with Danika, who was prone to riling the sprite into the hottest of blue flames.

A second passed, then two, then three—

Danika moved. Swift and focused, like she’d been using the time lounging at the table to pinpoint where she needed to go. She headed straight to a lower shelf and pulled off a book. Glancing at the stairs, she flipped it open and began snapping photos with her phone of the inside. Page after page after page.

Then it was back on the shelf. Danika returned to her chair and lounged, pretending to be half-asleep when Bryce and Lehabah returned, still arguing about the stupid show.

Bryce leaned in toward the screen. “What book was that?”

“I clarified the image.” Declan pulled up a frame of the book right before Danika’s black-sparkle-painted nails grabbed it: Wolves Through Time: Lineage of the Shifters.

“You can see her finger going to some text here,” Declan went on, clicking to another frame. Danika had opened the book, skimming over the text with a finger. Tapping something right near the top of the page.

As if it were exactly what she’d been looking for.

Bryce, Declan, and Ruhn studied the still frame of the book in Danika’s hands. Cormac had departed upon getting a call that he would not—or could not—explain. The book was leather-bound and old, but the title indicated that it had been written after the arrival of the Vanir.

“It’s not a published book,” Declan said. “Or at least it predates our current publishing system. But as far as I can tell, no other libraries on Midgard have it. I think it must be a manuscript of some sort, perhaps a vanity project that got bound.”

“Any chance there’s a copy at the Fae Archives?” Ruhn asked her.

“Maybe,” Bryce said, “but Jesiba might still have this one at the storage unit.” She pulled out her phone and dialed quickly.

Jesiba answered on the second ring. “Yes, Quinlan?”

“You had a book at the old gallery. Wolves Through Time. What is it?”

A pause. Ruhn and Dec picked up every word with their Fae hearing.

“So you did look into the footage. Curious, wasn’t it?”

“Just … please tell me. What is it?”

“A history of wolf genealogy.”

“Why did you have it?”

“I like knowing the history of my enemies.”

“Danika wasn’t your enemy.”

“Who said I was talking about Danika?”

“Sabine, then.”

A soft laugh. “You are so very young.”

“I need that book.”

“I don’t take demands, even from Starborn Princesses. I’ve given you enough.” Jesiba hung up.

“That was helpful,” Declan groused.

But twenty minutes later, Marrin buzzed to say that a messenger had dropped off a package from Miss Roga.

“I’m disturbed and impressed,” Ruhn murmured as Bryce opened the nondescript package and pulled the leather tome free. “We owe Jesiba a drink.”

“Danika snapped photos of the beginning pages,” Declan said, now reviewing the footage on his phone. “Maybe only the first three, actually. But I think the page she tapped was the third.”

Bryce opened the book, the hair on her arms rising. “It’s a family tree. Going back … Does this go all the way back to when the Northern Rift opened?” Fifteen thousand years ago.

Ruhn peered over her shoulder as Bryce skimmed. “Gunthar Fendyr is the latest—and last—name here.”

Bryce swallowed. “He was the Prime’s father.” She flipped to the third page, the one Danika had been most interested in.

“Niklaus Fendyr and Faris Hvellen. The first of the Fendyr line.” She chewed on her lip. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Declan tapped away on the computer. “Nothing comes up.”

“Try their kids,” Bryce suggested, giving him the names.

“Nothing.”

They went through generation after generation until Dec said, “There. Katra Fendyr. From here … Yeah, there’s an actual historical record and mentions of Katra from there on out. Starting five thousand years ago.” He ran a finger up the tree, along the generations, counting silently. “But nothing on any of these Fendyrs before her.”