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

No one had seemed to notice the change he felt with every breath: the invisible tether, now stretched tight, linking whatever remained of his heart—that cold, dead thing—to the Viper Queen in Valbara. A constant reminder of his promise. His new life.

He tried not to think of it.

He’d been grateful for the wonders of the Depth Charger’s swift submersible-pod as it hurtled their group across the ocean. Sendes had told him when he contacted her that the city-ship was too slow to make it in time, but one of its makos—sleek little transport pods—could do it. So they’d boarded the pod at the coast, then spent their time either planning or sleeping, keeping themselves mostly separate from the mer who steered the ship.

Cormac waved with impressive casualness to the four guards—ordinary wolves, all of them—at the gate. Tharion kept his right hand within swift reach of the gun strapped to the side of his seat.

“Hail the Asteri.” Cormac spoke with such offhanded ease that Tharion knew he’d said it a thousand times. Perhaps in similar settings.

“Hail the Asteri,” the female guard who stepped forward said. She sniffed, marking what her eyes confirmed: a Fae male and a mer male, both in officer’s uniforms. She saluted, and Tharion nodded for her to stand down.

Cormac handed over their forged papers. “We’re to meet with Doctor Zelis. Have they radioed that he’s ready?”

The guard scanned the clipboard in her hands. The three others with her didn’t take their attention off the car, so Tharion gave them a glare he usually reserved for field agents who’d royally fucked up. The wolves, however, didn’t back down.

“There’s no appointment on here with Zelis,” the guard said.

Tharion drawled, “It wouldn’t be in writing.”

She studied him, and Tharion smirked. “Rigelus’s orders,” he added.

The female’s throat bobbed. To question the actions of an Asteri, or to risk letting two officers in who weren’t on the security roster …

Cormac pulled out his phone. “Shall I call him?” He showed her a contact page that merely read: Bright Hand.

The wolf paled a little. But she saluted again, waving them through.

“Thank you,” Cormac said, gunning the engine and driving through the gates before they’d finished lifting.

Tharion didn’t dare speak to Cormac. Not with the wolves so nearby. They just stared ahead at the dirt road winding through the forest. At the sprawling concrete compound that appeared around the next bend, where guards were already waving them through the barbed-wire fencing.

He had to keep an eye on the clock today. The spray of the water from the mako’s passage had extended the amount of time he could stay Above, but a familiar itching had started an hour ago. Another fucking headache to deal with: five more hours until he had to truly submerge. The coast was a two-hour drive from here. So … they’d better get this shit done within three. Two, to be safe.

Tharion nodded to the wolves in front of the lab and took in the enormous, low building. It hadn’t been built for beauty, but for function and storage.

Smokestacks billowed behind the lab, which seemed to be at least half a mile long and perhaps twice as wide. “Look at this place,” Tharion murmured as Cormac pulled up to the steel front doors. They opened as if by invisible hands—another guard must have pressed the security button to allow them in. Tharion whispered, “You think Pippa’s going to come?” How the Hel would she get in?

Cormac cut the engine and threw open his door, stepping crisply into the morning sun. “She’s already here.”

Tharion blinked, but followed Cormac’s military-precise motions as he climbed from the car. Cormac turned toward the open doors to the lab. “They’re in the trees.”

Declan had spent the previous day covertly planting information on rebel networks: the anti-Ophion rebels who’d destroyed the base on Ydra were making a move on this lab before Pippa and her agents could do so. She must have had Lightfall hauling ass to get here in time.

Tharion suppressed the urge to peer into the trees. “What about the dreadwolves?”

“This place reeks of humans, can’t you smell it?”

“No.”

Cormac stalked toward the open doors, black boots shining. “They’re using human labor. Carted in and out every dawn and dusk. Pippa would have timed their arrival with it, so their scents are hidden from the dreadwolves below.”

Solas. “So why wait for us to arrive, then?”

Cormac growled, “Because Pippa has a score to settle.”

Bryce had no idea why anyone would want to live in the Eternal City. Not simply because it lay in the shadow of the crystal palace of the Asteri, but because it was … old. Dusty. Worn. No skyscrapers, no neon lights, no music blasting from passing cars. It seemed to have been trapped in time, stuck in another century, its masters unwilling to bring it forward.

As she, Hunt, and Ruhn lurked in the shadows of an olive grove a mile to the west of the palace, she steadied her nerves by imagining the Asteri as a bunch of cranky old people, shouting for everyone to keep the noise down, complaining that the lights were too bright and the youngsters too whippersnappery.

It definitely helped. Just a little.

Bryce glanced at Hunt, who kept his attention on the olive grove, the skies. He’d worn his black battle-suit, along with the Umbra Mortis helmet, to her shock. A warrior going back into battle.