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

“What mer court do you come from?” Bryce asked. Hunt walked at her side, silent and blazing with power.

Commander Sendes glanced over a shoulder, face still a little pale at the sight of Hunt. “This one.” Sendes gestured to the glass walkway around them, the behemoth of a ship that Bryce could now make out through it.

They hadn’t entered along the flat back of the ship as Bryce had thought, but rather at the tip of it. As if the ship had pierced the surface like a lance. And now, with a view of the rest of the ship expanding beyond—below—the glass passage, what she could see of it appeared to be shaped like some sort of squid as it shot into the gloom below. A squid as large as the Comitium, and made of glass and matte metal for stealth.

Sendes lifted her chin. “Welcome to the Depth Charger. One of the six city-ships of the Ocean Queen’s court Beneath.”





45

“All right, so you’ll be charged with breaking and entering, and probably theft. Tell me again how you think you’ve still got grounds to go after this old creep?” Declan’s boyfriend, Marc, leaned against the couch cushions, muscled arms crossed as he grilled Ithan.

Ithan blew out a breath. “When you put it like that, I can see what you mean about it being a tough case to win.”

Flynn and Declan, beside them, attempted to murder each other in a video game, both cursing under their breath. “It’s admirable,” Marc admitted. The leopard shifter frowned toward the small black box Ithan had taken from the Astronomer’s lair. “But you just waded knee-deep into shit.”

“It’s not right that she’s trapped in there. What choice did she even have as a kid?”

“No arguments from me against that,” Marc said. “But there’s a legal contract involved, so she’s technically owned by the Astronomer. She’s not a slave, but she might as well be, legally. And theft of slaves is a big fucking crime.”

“I know,” Ithan said. “But it feels wrong to leave her there.”

“So you took the fire sprites instead?” Marc arched a brow. “You wanna take a guess at how much they cost?” He nodded at the box in the center of the table. “What were you even thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ithan muttered, swigging from his beer. “I was pissed.”

Declan cut in, not tearing his attention from the screen and his shooting, “There were no cameras, though, right?”

“None that I saw.”

“So it all comes down to whether the girl in the tank tells on you,” Declan said, thumbs flying against the controller. Flynn swore at whatever Dec did to his avatar.

“You could return them,” Marc suggested. “Say you were drunk, apologize, and send them back.”

Ithan opened his mouth, but the box on the table rattled.

Rattled. Like the beings inside had heard. Even Declan and Flynn paused their game.

“Um,” Declan said, wincing.

“Hello?” Flynn said, eyeing the box.

It rattled again. They all flinched.

“Well, someone has an opinion,” Marc said, chuckling softly, and leaned forward.

“Careful,” Dec warned. Marc threw him a wry look and opened the black box.

Light, golden and red, erupted, washing over the walls and ceiling. Ithan shielded his eyes, but the light was immediately sucked back in, revealing four rings nestled in black velvet, the tiny glass bubbles atop them glowing.

The glow inside faded and faded, until …

Declan and Marc glanced at each other in horror.

“Solas,” Flynn swore, tossing aside his controller. “That old fuck should be crucified for this.”

“All right,” Marc murmured to Ithan. “I get why you took them.”

Ithan grunted in answer, and peered at the four female figures inside the rings. He’d never met Lehabah face-to-face, as Bryce had never let him into the library beneath the gallery, but he’d seen Bryce’s photos.

Three of the sprites were just like her—flames shaped into female bodies. Two were slim, one as sinfully curvy as Lehabah had been. The fourth globe was pure fire.

That fourth ring rattled. Ithan recoiled. That was clearly the one who’d shaken the box.

“So do we let them out?” Flynn asked, studying the box and the sprites trapped inside.

“Fuck yeah, we do,” Declan said, shooting to his feet.

Ithan stared at the sprites, especially the fourth, radiant one who seemed so … angry. He didn’t blame her. He murmured to his roommates, “You sure you’re cool with freeing a bunch of pissed-off fire sprites in your house?”

But Flynn waved him off. “We’ve got sprinklers and smoke alarms.”

“I’m not reassured,” Marc said.

“Got it,” Declan called, trotting from the kitchen with a hammer.

Marc rubbed his temples and leaned back against the cushions. “This cannot end well.”

“Ye of little faith,” Flynn said, catching the hammer as Declan tossed it to him.

Ithan winced. “Just … be careful.”

“I don’t think that word’s in either of their vocabularies,” Marc quipped, earning an elbow in the ribs from Declan as the male settled onto the couch beside him.

Flynn tugged the box toward him and said to the sprites, “Cover your heads.” The three visible ones crouched down. The fourth one remained a ball of flame, but shrank slightly.