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

Searching for something. Or someone.

Hunt made sure no one was on the street behind the temple as Bryce, Ruhn, and Hypaxia entered. The Under-King had been very specific—only those four people were permitted to come. Ithan and Cormac hadn’t been happy to stay behind.

Beyond the temple’s courtyard—not a priestess in sight—the open doors to the inner sanctum beckoned, shadows and smoke within.

Bryce checked that the rifle across her back was in place, the handgun ready at her hip. Ruhn, on her left, carried the Starsword. She’d argued that it was impolite to arrive at a meeting bearing a weapon designed to kill Reapers, but the others overruled her. Ruhn would stay within arm’s reach at all times, in case she needed to draw the blade. Lightning crackled around Hunt as they stepped into the gloom.

Not trusting how long it could last—or whether she could even contain it within herself—she hadn’t asked him to transfer a charge to her. If it was needed, he could power her up in seconds.

A pyre smoked atop a black stone altar in the center of the temple. A stone throne on a dais loomed at the rear of the space. No statues ever adorned Urd’s Temple—no depiction of the goddess had ever been made. Fate took too many forms to capture in one figure.

But someone was sitting on the throne.

“Punctual,” the Under-King intoned, his bony fingers clicking on the stone arm of the throne. “I appreciate that.”

“You desecrate that throne,” Ruhn warned. “Get your rotting carcass off it.”

The Under-King rose, black robes drifting on a phantom wind. “I thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.”

Bryce feigned yawning, earning an alarmed look from Ruhn, who’d blanched at the sight of the Under-King descending from the dais. Hunt, at least, didn’t seem surprised. He’d grown accustomed to her antics, she supposed.

Hypaxia monitored every movement from the Under-King, wind stirring her hair. She had a score to settle after last night, it seemed.

“So,” Hunt drawled, “here to finish our business?”

The Under-King drifted to the black altar, his horrific face contorting with pleasure as he breathed in the smoldering bones atop it. “I wished to inform you that the Reapers you so hatefully accused me of sending after you were in fact not Apollion’s at all. I’ve discovered that they hailed from the Eternal City.”

Bryce stiffened. “Reapers can cross oceans?”

“Reapers once crossed worlds. I don’t see how some water might deter them.”

“Why come here to attack us?” Hunt demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“And why tell us this at all?” Bryce went on.

“Because I do not appreciate my territory being infringed upon.”

“Bullshit,” Ruhn said. Hypaxia trailed a few steps behind him. “You told them the horrible truth about what happens after death, and yet you’re willing to let them live now because you’re pissed that someone stepped on your toes?”

His eyes—his dead, milky eyes—fixed on Bryce. “You are officially a princess now, I hear. I suspect you will learn a great deal of equally unpleasant truths.”

“You’re hedging,” Ruhn growled.

But Bryce asked, “Did Jesiba speak to you?”

“Who?”

“Jesiba Roga. Antiquities dealer. She has—had—a few Death Marks. She must know you. She knows everyone.”

The Under-King’s eyes glowed. “I do not know her by that name, but yes. I know of her.” His gaze drifted behind her, to Hypaxia at last. “You did well last night. Few could have worked their way through that labyrinth of spells. The House of Flame and Shadow will welcome you.”

The breeze around Hypaxia rose to a chill wind, but she didn’t deign to speak. Bryce made a note to herself to never get on the queen’s bad side.

Hunt cut in, “You summoned us here to give us this convenient update about those Reapers, and now you want to play nice? I don’t buy it.”

The Under-King only smiled, revealing those too-large brown teeth.

Bryce said, “What does this sequence mean?” She rattled off what had been on Sofie’s arm.

The Under-King blinked. “I don’t know.” He smiled again, wider. “But perhaps you should ask them.” He pointed behind her to the doorway. The world beyond.

Where Pippa Spetsos was marching into the courtyard of the temple, flanked by Lightfall soldiers.

Hunt’s lightning flared. “You tipped off Ophion,” he snarled, even as he began calculating the fastest route out of the temple.

Ruhn, already at the inner sanctum doors, slammed them shut and barred them. Locking them in with the Under-King.

Pippa’s voice came through the doors. “Come play, Vanir scum. We’ll show you what happens when you turn on us.”

Hypaxia’s face paled. “You were … working with the rebels?”

“Emphasis on were,” Bryce muttered. Not that it made a difference right now.

The Under-King’s figure began to fade away. An illusion. A projection. Hunt didn’t bother to wonder how he had done it, had made the details seem so real. “War means death. Death means souls—and more secondlight. Who am I to turn away from a feeding trough? Commander Spetsos’s first act upon arriving in Crescent City was to kneel before me. When she mentioned the enemies in their ranks, I took it upon myself to inform her of our … altercation. We made a deal that is in both of our best interests.”