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

He zipped the duffel, his gaze catching on the helmet on his desk. The skull painted on its front stared at him, unholy Hel in its black pits for eyes. The face of the Umbra Mortis.

Hunt picked up the helmet and set it on his head, the world shading into hues of red and black through the visor. He didn’t let himself second-guess it as he stalked out of his room and into the night.

Celestina was standing at the elevator bay.

Hunt drew up short. Did she know? Had someone tipped her off? The duffel of weapons burned against his hip. He reached to pull off the helmet.

“Leave it,” she said, and though her words were firm, her expression was contemplative. “I’ve always wondered what it looked like.”

Hunt lowered his hand. “Everything all right?”

“I’m not the one sneaking in at five in the morning.”

Hunt shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” The Archangel remained in front of the elevator bay, blocking his access. Hunt asked, “How are things with Ephraim?”

Her wings snapped shut. A clear warning. Whether it was to keep his mouth shut about Hypaxia or something else, he didn’t know. Celestina only said, “He departs tomorrow. I shall visit his keep next month if there is not … a change in my situation by then.”

If she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

“Your silence speaks volumes about your dismay, Athalar.” Power crackled in her voice. “I go to the mating bed willingly.”

Hunt nodded, even as disgust and rage curled through him. The Asteri had ordered this, done this. They’d make Celestina keep going to Ephraim until she was pregnant with the child they wanted her to bear. Another little Archangel for them to mold into a monster. Would Celestina fight to keep her child free from their influence? Or would Ephraim hand the kid over to the Asteri and the secretive training centers they had for young Archangels? Hunt didn’t want to know.

Celestina asked, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

He blew out a breath through his nose. “Is it pathetic to say it’s because of the prince stuff?”

She offered him a pitying wince. “I thought that might come up.”

Hunt tapped the side of his helmet. “I … weirdly missed it. And I wanted to clear out the last of my stuff from the room before it became a public spectacle.” It was partially true.

She smiled softly. “I haven’t had the chance to ask, but will you be leaving us?”

“I honestly have no idea. Bryce and I are giving the Autumn King a few days to cool down before asking him to define my royal duties. The thought of having to act fancy and take meetings with a bunch of assholes makes me want to puke.”

Another quiet laugh. “But?”

“But I love Bryce. If doing that shit is what will allow us to be together, then I’ll grin and bear it.”

“Does she want to do such things?”

“Hel no. But … we don’t really get much say. The Autumn King forced her hand. And now we’re pretty much stuck with things as they are.”

“Are you? The Umbra Mortis and the Starborn Princess don’t seem the types to accept things as they are. You proved that with your surprise at the party.”

Was there an edge to her voice? A gleam of suspicion?

They’d trusted Hypaxia not to say a word of their activities to her lover, had believed the witch when she said Celestina didn’t know, but … the gods knew he talked when Bryce fucked the Hel out of him. Mistakes happened. Especially with a gorgeous set of tits involved.

But he made himself shrug again. “We’re trying to get a better picture of the battle ahead before deciding where to start fighting the royal nonsense.”

Her mouth quirked to one side. “Well, I hope that if you need an ally, you’ll come to me.”

Was that code for something? He scanned her face but could pick up nothing beyond reserved concern. He had to get out of here. So Hunt bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“A prince doesn’t need to bow to a Governor, you know.” She walked over to the landing veranda doors, opening them for him. All right. He’d fly home.

Hunt stalked into the night, that bag of weapons a millstone hanging off his shoulder. He spread his wings. “Old habits.”

“Indeed,” she said, and a shiver went down his spine.

He didn’t look back as he launched skyward.

Hunt slowly sailed over the city. Dawn remained a whisper on the horizon, and only a few delivery trucks rumbled along to bakeries and coffee shops. He had the skies to himself.

Hunt tugged off his helmet, tucking it into the crook of his elbow, and breathed in the open, clean breeze off the Istros. In a few hours, they’d leave for Pangera—Tharion had already reached out to Commander Sendes and arranged for transport across the ocean.

By tomorrow morning, they’d reach the Eternal City.

Tomorrow morning, he’d again wear this helmet. And pray that he and his mate walked away alive.





70

Tharion had commanded plenty of raids for the River Queen. He’d gone in solo, led teams small and large, and usually emerged unscathed. But riding shotgun beside Prince Cormac in the open-air jeep as they approached the security checkpoint down the cypress-lined road, he had the distinct feeling that he might not get so lucky today.

The imperial uniform they each wore lay heavy and smothering in the sun, but at least the hot day would disguise any glimmer of nervous sweat on them.