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

“No,” Ariadne answered. She peered down at her tan wrist. The brand there. SPQM. A slave’s mark. The sprites also bore it. “He owns them, as he owns us. The mystic you spoke to, the wolf …” Her black eyes shifted toward red again. “He favors her. He will never let her go. Not until she grows old in that tank and dies.”

Centuries from now, possibly. Ithan’s gut twisted.

“Please don’t make us go back,” Rithi whispered, clinging to Malana.

“Hush,” Malana warned.

Marc studied them. “Look, ladies. You’re in a tough spot. You’re not only slaves, but stolen slaves.” A warning look at Ithan, who shrugged. He had no regrets. “Yet there are laws about your treatment. It’s archaic and nonsensical that anyone can be owned, but if you can prove severe maltreatment, it might allow for you to be … purchased by someone else.”

“Not freed?” Sasa whispered.

“Only your new owner could do that,” Marc said sadly.

“So buy them and be done with it.” Ariadne crossed her arms.

“What about you, sweetheart?” Flynn purred at the dragon, like the Fae male literally couldn’t help himself.

Her eyes burned crimson. “I’m beyond your pay grade, lordling.”

“Try me.”

But the dragon turned back to staring at the TV, still paused on the video game. Ithan swallowed and asked her, “It’s bad, then—what he does to the mystics?”

“He tortures them,” Ariadne said flatly, and Rithi whimpered her agreement. “The wolf female is … defiant. She did not lie about his punishments. I’ve sat on his hand for years and witnessed him send her into the darkest corners of Hel. He lets the demons and their princes taunt her. Terrify her. He thinks he’ll break her one day. I’m not so sure.”

Ithan’s stomach turned.

Ariadne went on, “She spoke true today about the necromancer, too.” Flynn, Marc, and Declan turned toward Ithan, brows high. “You want answers about your dead brother, then you should find one.”

Ithan nodded. The dragon belonged to the House of Flame and Shadow, even if the slave tattoo removed her from its protections. She’d have knowledge of a necromancer’s ability.

Declan announced, “Well, since we’re now harboring stolen slaves, we might as well make you ladies comfortable. Feel free to claim Ruhn’s room—second bedroom at the top of the stairs.”

The three sprites zoomed for the staircase, as if they were no more than three excited children. Ithan couldn’t help his smile. He’d done some good today, at least. Even if it would land him in a heap of trouble.

Ariadne slowly got to her feet. They rose with her.

Flynn, standing closest, said to the dragon, “You could run, you know. Shift into your other form and take off. We won’t tell anyone where you went.”

Her red eyes again dimmed to black. “Don’t you know what this does?” She lifted her arm to reveal the tattoo there. She laughed bitterly. “I can’t shift unless he allows it. And even if I manage it, anywhere I go, anywhere on Midgard, he can track me in that form.”

“You teleported,” Cormac said to Bryce an hour later as she and Hunt stood beside his cot in the city-ship’s hospital. The prince was pale, but alive. Every shard of the gorsian bullet had been removed. Another hour and he’d be back to normal.

Hunt didn’t particularly care. They’d only come to Cormac for answers.

Hunt was still recovering from the sex that had blasted him apart mind and body and soul, the sex that Bryce had known would bring him back from the brink, that had made his magic sing.

Had made their magics merge.

He didn’t know how to describe it—the feeling of her magic wending through him. Like he existed all at once and not at all, like he could craft whatever he wished from thin air and nothing would be denied to him. Did she live with this, day after day? That pure sense of … possibility? It had faded since they’d teleported, but he could still feel it there, in his chest, where her handprint had glowed. A slumbering little kernel of creation.

“How?” Bryce asked. She’d had no shame, not even a blush, striding in here—the two of them wearing navy-blue aquatic body armor they’d taken from the air lock to cover themselves. Ruhn had looked thoroughly uncomfortable, but Tharion had laughed at Hunt’s disheveled hair and whatever stupid happiness was on his face, and said, “Good work bringing our boy back, Legs.”

Bryce had gone right to Cormac and explained what had happened in the most Quinlan-like way Hunt could imagine: “Right at the end of banging Hunt’s brains out, right when we came together, we wound up in the air lock.”

Cormac studied her, then Hunt. “Your powers merged, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Bryce said. “We both went all glowy. Not in the way that he was glowing during his …” She frowned. “Rage-daze.” She waved a hand. “This was like … we glowed with my starlight. Then we teleported.”

“Hmm,” Cormac said. “I wonder if you need Athalar’s power for teleporting.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or not,” Bryce said.

Hunt lifted his brows. “In what way?”

“If my powers only work if my big, tough male helps me out—”