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

Nausea roiled her gut, but she said, “Okay.”

Hunt kissed her cheek. “Take your time, Quinlan. I’ll be with the others.” Then he was gone.

Bryce stared at the photo again. She pulled out her phone from her bathrobe and dialed. Unsurprisingly, Juniper’s phone went to audiomail. It was five thirty in the morning, but—she knew Juniper would have picked up before.

“Hey, this is Juniper Andromeda. Leave a message!”

Bryce’s throat closed up at her friend’s lovely, cheerful voice. She took a breath as the audiomail beeped. “Hey, June. It’s me. Look, I know I fucked up, and … I’m so sorry. I wanted to help, but I didn’t think it through, and everything you said to me was absolutely right. I know you might not even listen to this, but I wanted you to know that I love you. I miss you so much. You’ve been a rock for me for so long, and I should have been that for you, but I wasn’t. I just … I love you. I always have, and always will. Bye.”

She rubbed at her aching throat as she finished. Then removed the photo from the frame, folded it, and slipped it inside her phone case.





69

Ruhn found Cormac sitting alone in an Old Square dive bar, face stony as he watched the late-night news show, a glossy-haired celebrity laughing her way through some interview—a shameless promo for her recent movie.

“What are you doing here?” the Avallen Prince asked him as Ruhn slid onto the stool beside him.

“Flynn was notified of your location. Thought I’d see why you were up so late. Considering our appointment tomorrow.”

Cormac studied him sidelong, then drained his beer. “I wanted some quiet.”

“And you came to a dive in the Old Square for that?” Ruhn indicated the blasting music, the wasted patrons around them. The sylph puking green liquid into the trash can by the pool table in the back.

His cousin said nothing.

Ruhn sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“Does it matter to you?” Cormac signaled for another beer.

“It matters to me when we’re relying on you tomorrow.” When Day and Bryce were relying on the prince to be alert and ready.

“This isn’t my first big … appointment.” Ruhn glanced at the male—the immaculate blond hair, the unfailingly arrogant angle of his chin.

Cormac caught him looking and said, “I don’t know how your father never managed to do it.”

“Do what?” Ruhn leaned his forearms on the oak bar.

“Break you. The kindness in you.”

“He tried,” Ruhn choked out.

“My father did, too. And won.” Cormac snorted, taking his fresh beer from the bartender. “I wouldn’t have bothered to check on you.”

“Yet you expended a lot of time and risk on finding … her.”

The prince shrugged. “Perhaps, but deep down, I am what I’ve always been. The male who would have gladly killed you and your friends.”

Ruhn tugged on his lip ring. “You’re telling me this right before we head off?”

“I suppose I’m telling you this to … to apologize.”

Ruhn tried not to gape. “Cormac—”

His cousin blankly watched the TV. “I was jealous of you. Then and now. For your friends. For the fact that you have them. That you don’t let your father … corrupt what is best in you. But had I been forced to marry your sister …” His mouth twisted to the side. “I think, with time, she might have undone the damage my father did to my soul.”

“Bryce has that effect on people.”

“She will be a good princess. As you are a good prince.”

“I’m starting to get disturbed by all this niceness.”

Cormac drank again. “I’m always pensive the night before an appointment.”

For a glimmer, Ruhn could see the male his cousin might have become—might yet become. Serious, yes, but fair. Someone who understood the cost of a life. A good king.

“When all this shit is done,” Ruhn said hoarsely, tucking even thoughts of Day aside as he settled himself more comfortably on the stool, “I want us to start over.”

“Us?”

“You and me. Prince to prince. Future king to future king. Screw the past, and screw that shit with the Starsword. Screw our fathers. We don’t let them decide who we get to be.” Ruhn extended his hand. “We’ll carve our own paths.”

Cormac smiled almost sadly. Then took Ruhn’s hand, clasping firmly. “It’d be an honor.”

The barracks were dim. No one lounged in the common area, from what Hunt could tell down the hall as he entered his room.

Good. No one but the cameras to see him come and go.

He’d left Quinlan sleeping, and hadn’t told anyone where he was going.

His room was cold and soulless as he shut the door behind him. Just as he’d been when he’d first met Quinlan. He’d displayed no traces of his life, put no art on the walls, done absolutely nothing to declare that this space was his. Perhaps because he’d known it truly wasn’t.

Hunt strode to his desk, setting his empty duffel on it. He made quick work of loading up the extra knives and guns he’d kept in here, not wanting to be noticed checking out a stock of weapons from the armory. Thank the gods Micah had never bothered with enforcing the sign-out rules. Hunt had enough here to … well, to sneak into the crystal palace, he supposed.