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

Only to land ten feet ahead of Rigelus, as if her powers had hit a wall. Bryce could sense them now—a series of wards, like those Hypaxia had said the Under-King had used to entrap her and Ithan.

But Rigelus shouted in rage and surprise, as if shocked she’d even managed to get that far, and slung his power again.

Ten feet at a time, then. Bryce teleported, and another statue lost its head.

Again, and again, and again, Rigelus shot his power at her and Bryce leapt through space, ward to ward, zigging and zagging, glass and countless statues to the Asteri’s egos shattering, the Gate nearing—

Bryce leapt back—right behind Rigelus.

He whirled, and she blasted a wall of light into his face. He howled, and she teleported once more—

Bryce landed ten feet from the Gate’s gaping maw and kept running.

Rigelus roared as Bryce jumped into the awaiting darkness.

It caught her, sticky like a web. Time slowed to a glacial drip.

Rigelus was still roaring, lunging.

Bryce thrust her power out, willed the Gate to take her and her alone, and she was falling, falling, falling while standing still, suspended in the archway, sucked backward so that her hair trailed outward, toward Rigelus’s straining fingers—

“NO!” he bellowed.

It was the last sound Bryce heard as the darkness within the Gate swallowed her whole.

She fell, slowly and without end—and sideways. Not a plunge down, but a yank across. The pressure in her ears threatened to pulp her brain, and she was screaming into wind and stars and emptiness, screaming to Hunt and Ruhn, left behind in that crystal palace. Screaming—





77

Hunt could barely get a breath down around the stone gag. A gorsian stone, to match the ones clamped around his wrists and neck. The same kind contained Ruhn and Baxian as the two males were led toward the doors of the throne room by Rigelus and his underlings.

Not one flicker of lightning remained in Hunt’s body.

The Hind strode beside Rigelus, speaking softly as they walked past where Hunt was on his knees outside the doors. She didn’t so much as look at Ruhn. The prince only stared ahead.

Baxian was escorted over, bloodied and bruised from the fight with Pollux. Mordoc was recovering from his slit throat, hate simmering from him as he lay bleeding on the floor. Hunt gave the bloodhound a savage smile as a ribbon of Rigelus’s power hauled Hunt to his feet.

“A short stop before the dungeons, I think,” Rigelus announced, turning left—toward the shattered ruin along the hall. Toward the now-empty Gate.

Hunt was powerless to do anything but follow, Ruhn and Baxian with him. He’d been at the end of the hall when Bryce had made her spectacular run, teleporting as fast as the wind toward the black hole that had opened within the small Gate. No trace of the blackness or Bryce remained now.

Hunt could only pray that Bryce had reached Hel. That she’d locate Aidas and he’d protect her as they rallied Hel’s armies and brought them back through the Rift into Midgard. To save them.

Hunt doubted he’d be around to see it. Doubted Ruhn or Baxian would, either.

Rigelus halted before the Gate. “Get the angel on his knees.”

Bryce’s scent still lingered in the air of the empty space framed by the Gate. Hunt focused on that scent and that scent alone as Pollux shoved him to the floor before the Gate.

If this was it, he could die knowing Bryce had gotten away. She’d gone from one Hel to a literal one, but … she’d gotten away. Their last chance at salvation.

“Go ahead, Hammer,” Rigelus said, smiling at Hunt, cold death in his ageless eyes.

Hunt could feel Ruhn and Baxian watching in muted horror. Hunt bowed over his knees, waiting for the blow to his neck.

Bryce, Bryce, Bryce—

Pollux’s hands clamped onto either side of his face. Holding it upright, like he’d snap Hunt’s neck with his bare hands.

Pollux laughed softly.

Hunt knew why a moment later as Rigelus approached, a hand lifted and near-blinding with white light. “I don’t think I need one of the crones this time,” the Bright Hand said.

No. No. Anything but this.

Hunt thrashed, but Pollux held him firm, smile unfaltering.

Rigelus laid his glowing hand on Hunt’s brow and pain erupted through his skull, his muscles, his blood. As if the very marrow of his bones were being burned into mist.

The Asteri’s power slithered and spiderwebbed across Hunt’s brow, piercing into him with every spike of the halo’s thorns that Rigelus tattooed there.

Hunt screamed then. It echoed off the stones, off the Gate.

Beside him, Baxian started inhaling sharp, jagged breaths. Like the Helhound knew he was next.

The pain across Hunt’s brow became blinding, his vision splintering.

The halo kept spreading over his skull, worse than any gorsian shackle. His power writhed in its iron grip, no longer his to fully command. Just as his own life, his freedom, his future with Bryce … Gone.

Hunt screamed again, and as darkness swept in to claim him, he wondered if that soul-scream, not the halo, was what Rigelus wanted. If the Asteri believed the sound of his suffering might carry through the Gate and into Hel itself, where Bryce could hear him.

Then Hunt knew nothing at all.





78

Hel had grass. And mist.

Those were Bryce’s first two thoughts as she landed—or appeared. One moment she was falling sideways, and then her right shoulder collided with a wall of green that turned out to be the ground.