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

“I thought witches lived and died for their loyalty.”

“The loyalty of these witches began and ended with my mother. She raised me in isolation—from the world, but also from them. My tutors were … unconventional.”

It was the most they’d ever spoken to each other. Ruhn asked, “In what way?”

“They were dead.”

A chill went down his spine. “Right. Necromancer stuff, huh?”

“Enadors can raise the dead, yes. My mother summoned three ancient, wise spirits to teach me. One for battle and physical training, one for mathematics and sciences, and the other for history, reading, and languages. She oversaw my magical training herself—especially the healing.”

“And this freaked her coven out?”

“It estranged us. My only companions while growing up were the dead. When my mother passed, I found myself surrounded by strangers. And they found themselves with a queen whose unorthodox education unnerved them. Whose gifts of necromancy unnerved them further.”

“But you’re the last Enador. Who would they replace you with?”

“My sister.”

Ruhn blinked. “The Hind?”

“Lidia has no witch gifts, so she would be a figurehead. She’d wear the crown, but my mother’s general, Morganthia, would rule.”

“That’s insane.”

“Lidia was born first. She is the spitting image of my mother.” Hypaxia’s father must have passed along the genes for her darker coloring, then. “Even while I was growing up, I sometimes heard whispers from my mother’s coven wondering if … perhaps Lidia should not have been given away.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re more comfortable with a half-shifter than a half-necromancer. They fear the influence of the House of Flame and Shadow, though I have sworn no vows to any but Earth and Blood. But Lidia is Earth and Blood, through and through. Exactly as they are. They loved my mother, I have no doubt, but they have different plans for the future than she did. That became apparent by the end.”

“What sort of plans?”

“A closer bond with the Asteri. Even at the cost of our relative autonomy.”

“Ah.” That was a potential minefield. Especially considering the shit that he was doing for Ophion. Or had been doing for them—he had no idea where they stood now, after Ydra.

Hypaxia went on, “Your kindness is why I’ve come here. I know you to be a male of bravery and dedication. While I’m in this city for the Governors’ celebration, especially with Lidia in town, I fear my mother’s coven might make a move. They presented a unified front with me at the Summit, but the last few months have been strained.”

“And since we’re technically engaged, it won’t be seen as a declaration of your distrust if I send one of my people to look after you. It’ll be deemed some protective male bullshit.”

Her lips twitched. “Yes. Something like that.”

“All right. No problem.”

She swallowed, bowing her head. “Thank you.”

He dared to touch her hand, her skin velvety smooth. “We’ll take care of this. Don’t worry.”

She patted his hand in a Thanks, friend sort of way.

Ruhn cleared his throat, glancing at the ceiling—the distinctive, worrisome thumping coming from it. “Since you were raised by ghosts, I’m hoping you won’t mind having a bit of an unorthodox guard.”

Her brows rose.

Ruhn smiled. “How do you feel about sunball players?”

No one bothered them, but plenty of people stared as Tharion and Hunt meandered through the ornate water garden along the river in Moonwood, a hundred rainbows glimmering in the mists around them. Tharion loved this part of the city—though the Old Square’s grit still called to him.

“So what’s up?” Tharion said as Athalar paused beneath a towering elm, its leaves shimmering in the spray from a massive fountain of Ogenas lounging in an oyster shell.

The angel pulled his phone from a hidden pocket in his battle-suit. “I had a meeting with the Governor.” His fingers flew over the phone, presumably summoning whatever the information was. He handed it to Tharion. “She had me go over some of the latest demon reports from Nena. I wanted to pass them along to the Blue Court.”

Tharion took the phone and scrolled through the photos. “Anything interesting?”

“That one. The tail—just out of the shot here.” Hunt pointed to the picture, face stony. “It’s a deathstalker.”

Even the burbling fountain beyond them seemed to quiet at the name.

“What’s that?”

“Lethal assassins bred by the Prince of the Pit. He keeps them as pets.” Athalar’s wings rustled. Had a shadow passed over the sun? “I’ve only dealt with them once. I’ve got a scar down my back from it.”

If the encounter had left Athalar scarred … Cthona spare them all. “One was in Nena?”

“Three days ago.”

“Shit. Where did it go?”

“No idea. Report says there’s been no breach of Nena’s borders. Tell your people to be alert. Warn your queen, too.”

“I will.” Tharion glanced sidelong at the angel. Noticed that they weren’t near cameras or other people. “Any further updates?” Tharion asked carefully.