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

So he encased it with iron. With black steel.

Pollux smiled at him. Slid a hand around the Hind’s blood-splattered throat and kissed under her ear. “Do you like the way my lover looks, princeling?”

Something lethal snapped free at that hand on her neck. The way it squeezed, and the slight glimmer of pain in Lidia’s eyes—

He’d hurt her. Pollux had hurt her, again and again, and she’d voluntarily submitted so she could keep feeding the rebels intel. She’d endured a monster like Pollux for this.

“Maybe we’ll put on a show for you before the end,” Pollux said, and licked up the column of Lidia’s neck, lapping up the blood splattered there.

Ruhn bared his teeth in a silent snarl. He’d kill him. Slowly and thoroughly, punishing him for every touch, every hand he’d put on Lidia in pain and torment.

He had no idea where that landed him. Why he wanted and needed that steel-clad wall between him and Lidia, even as his blood howled to murder Pollux. How he could abhor her and need her, be drawn to her, in the same breath.

Pollux laughed against her skin, then pulled away. Lidia smiled coolly. Like it all meant nothing, like she felt nothing at all.

But that voice against the walls of his mind shouted, Ruhn!

She banged against the black steel and stone, over and over. Her voice broke again, Ruhn!

Ruhn locked her out.

She’d taken countless lives—but she’d worked to save them, too. Did it change anything? He’d known Day was someone high up—he’d have been a fool to think anyone with that level of clearance with the Asteri would come without complications. But for it to be her … What the Hel did it even say about him, that he was capable of feeling what he did for someone like her?

His ally was his enemy. His enemy was his lover. He focused on the gore splattered on her.

Lidia had so much blood on her hands that there would never be any washing it away.

Bryce knew no one was coming to save them. Knew it was likely her fault. She could barely stand to feel Hunt’s fingers against hers as they walked down the long crystal hallway. Couldn’t stand the stickiness of the Harpy’s blood as it dried on her skin.

She’d never seen a hall so long. A wall of windows stretched along one side, overlooking the palace grounds and ancient city beyond. On the other side, busts of the Asteri in their various forms frowned down upon them from atop pedestals.

Their masters. Their overlords. The parasites who had lured them all into this world. Who had fed off them for fifteen thousand years.

Rigelus wouldn’t have told her so much if he planned to ever let her go again.

She wished she’d called her mom and Randall. Wished she could hear their voices one more time. Wished she’d made things right with Juniper. Wished she’d lain low and been normal and lived out a long, happy life with Hunt.

It wouldn’t have been normal, though. It would have been contented ignorance. And any children they had … their power would one day have also been siphoned off to fuel these cities and the monsters who ruled them.

The cycle had to stop somewhere. Other worlds had managed to overthrow them. Hel had managed to kick them out.

But Bryce knew she and Hunt and Ruhn wouldn’t be the ones to stop the cycle. That task would be left to others.

Cormac would continue to fight. Maybe Tharion and Hypaxia and Ithan would pick up the cause. Perhaps Fury, too.

Gods, did Jesiba know? She’d kept Parthos’s remaining books—knowing the Asteri would want to wipe out the narrative that contradicted their own sanctioned history. So Jesiba had to know what kind of beings ruled here, didn’t she?

The Hind led their group down the hall, Pollux at their backs. At the far, far end of the passage, Bryce could make out a small arch.

A quartz Gate.

Bryce’s blood chilled. Did Rigelus plan to have her open it as some sort of test before cracking wide the Rifts?

She’d do it. Rigelus had Hunt and Ruhn in his claws. She knew her mate and brother would tell her that their lives weren’t worth it, but … weren’t they?

The Hind turned a third of the way down the hall, toward a pair of colossal open doors.

Seven thrones towered on a dais at the far end of the cavernous, crystal space. All but one lay empty. And the center throne, the occupied one … it glowed, full of firstlight. Funneling it right into the being who sat atop it.

Something feral opened an eye in Bryce’s soul. And snarled.

“I suppose you’re pleased to have added yet another angel to your kill list with the death of the Harpy,” the Bright Hand of the Asteri drawled to Bryce, stare sweeping over the blood caked on her. “I do hope you’re ready to pay for it.”





76

Hunt stared at his severed wings, mounted on the wall high above the Asteri’s thrones.

Shahar’s pristine white wings were displayed above his, still glowing after all these centuries, right in the center of the array. Isaiah’s were to the left of Hunt’s. So many wings. So many Fallen. All preserved here.

He’d known the Asteri had kept them. But seeing them …

It was proof of his failure. Proof that he should never have come here, that they should have told Ophion and Tharion and Cormac to fuck off—

“I did you a favor, killing the Harpy,” Bryce said to Rigelus, who watched her with lifeless eyes. At least the five others weren’t here. “She was a drag.”