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

Which was why he had come here. To maintain the fiction that he was hunting for the kid. He figured he’d do some listening to the idle chatter while pretending, though. Pick up gossip from the city creeps.

His phone buzzed, and Tharion scanned the message on the screen before loosing a long breath. Hypaxia had written, I’m fine. Just some Flame and Shadow posturing.

He didn’t like that one bit. But what the Hel could he do about any of it?

“Lion’s head is in season,” said the gnome perched on a stool behind the baskets of fungi, drawing Tharion from his thoughts. “Morels finished their run, but I’ve got one last basket left.”

“Only browsing,” Tharion said, flashing a smile at the rosy-cheeked, red-capped male.

“Let me know if you have any questions,” the gnome said, and Tharion again tuned in to the tables behind him.

Fight last night was brutal. There was nothing left of that lion after—

I drank so much I can’t remember who the Hel I was fucking—

—that dragon finished with them. Only embers—

I need more coffee. They should give us the day off after a holiday, you know?

Tharion stilled. Slowly turned, pinpointing the speaker who’d snagged his attention.

Dragon.

Well, that was interesting. And … fortunate.

He’d been lounging on that bench while Legs trained, needing the company of others as a distraction from the shuddering earthquake of nerves after last night. He’d fucked the leopard shifter in the garden shadows. Had enjoyed every second of it, and from her two orgasms, she had, too.

He might have walked away from the River Queen’s daughter last night, but he hadn’t told her that. As far as the River Queen and her daughter knew, and judging by the former’s tone on the phone earlier when she’d called to ask about the hunt for Emile, they were still engaged. But if either of them found out …

If they found out, wouldn’t it be convenient to have a dragon to offer as an apology present? Wouldn’t a dragon be perfect in lieu of Emile?

“This place isn’t nearly as fun when you’re sober,” Flynn observed from behind him thirty minutes later as he approached in civilian clothes, precisely as Tharion had requested. The attire did little to hide the gun tucked down the back of his shorts.

Tharion hadn’t dared say much on the phone when he’d asked the Fae lord to meet him here. And while Flynn might act like an unworried frat boy, Tharion knew he was too smart to risk asking questions on an open phone line.

Tharion rose from a table in the midst of the food stalls, where he’d been sipping coffee and filing old emails, and began a casual walk through the market. Low enough that no one—not even the fennec-fox shifter working a row over—would be able to hear, he said, “I found something you might be interested in.”

Flynn feigned typing into his phone. “Yeah?”

Tharion muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Remember how your new best friend with the … fiery temperament went missing?”

“You found Ari?” Flynn’s voice had become dangerously solemn. A voice that few ever heard, Tharion knew. Unless they were about to die.

Tharion pointed toward the wooden walkway built above the market. Leading toward an ordinary door that he knew opened into a long hallway. Two blank-faced Fae guards armed with semiautomatic rifles stood before it. “I’ve got a wild guess about where she might be.”

Now he had to figure out how to get the dragon Beneath.

Tharion eyed the bare-bones wooden hallway as he and Flynn strode down the worn planks, aiming for a round door at its far end. It looked like the entry to a vault, solid iron that didn’t reflect the dim firstlights.

They’d been halted at the first door by the Viper Queen’s guards. Flynn had snarled at them, but the males had ignored him, their drug-hazed eyes unblinking as they radioed their leader. That Tharion knew of this door at all told her guards he was important enough to warrant a call.

And here they were. About to go into the Viper Queen’s nest.

The massive vault door swung open when they were about ten feet away, revealing ornate red carpets—definitely Traskian—over marble floors, three tall windows with heavy black velvet drapes held back with chains of gold, and low-slung couches designed for lounging.

The Viper Queen was sitting on one of them in a white jumpsuit, feet bare, toenails painted a purple so dark it was almost black. The same color as her lipstick. Her gold-tipped nails, however, glinted in the soft lights as she lifted a cigarette to her mouth and puffed away.

But beside her, sprawled on the couch …

He’d been right. The Viper Queen did like to collect valuable fighters.

“Ari,” Flynn said tightly, halting just beyond the door. Mirthroot hung heavy in the air, along with a secondary, cloying scent that Tharion could only assume was another drug.

The dragon, clad in black leggings and a tight black tank top, didn’t take her eyes off the massive TV mounted above the dark fireplace across the room. But she replied, “Tristan.”

“Good to see you,” Flynn said, voice taking on that dangerously low quality that so few lived to tell about. “Glad you’re in one piece.”

The Viper Queen chuckled, and Tharion braced himself. “The lion she fought last night can’t say the same. Even confined to her humanoid form, she is … formidable.”