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

“Because I passed out next to you,” Ithan said, grinning now.

Bryce smiled, and damn if it didn’t do something to Hunt’s heart. A smile of pain and joy and loss and longing—and hope. But she cleared her throat, peering at the clock. “I need to get into the shower. I’ll be late for work.” With a swish of her hips, she padded down the hallway.

Syrinx scratched at Hunt’s calf, and Hunt hissed, “Absolutely not. You had one breakfast already.” Probably two, if Bryce had fed him before going to meet her parents. Syrinx flopped down beside his steel bowl and let out a whine. Hunt tried to ignore him.

He found Ithan watching him carefully. “What?” Hunt said, not bothering to sound pleasant.

Ithan only sipped from his mug again. “Nothing.”

Hunt gulped a mouthful of coffee. Glanced down the hall to make sure Bryce was indeed in her room. His voice dropped to a low growl. “Allow me to repeat what I said to you last night. You bring trouble in here, to Bryce, and I will fucking gut you.”

Ithan’s mouth twitched upward. “I’m shaking, Athalar.”

Hunt didn’t smile back. “Are you suddenly cool with her because she’s a princess? Because of the Horn and the Starborn shit?”

Ithan’s nose crinkled with the beginnings of a snarl. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“Then why the fuck did you bother to defend her in that article? You had to know there’d be consequences with Sabine. You practically called Sabine out.”

“Danika showed up for her. My brother and the rest of the Pack of Devils showed up for her this spring. If they’re not holding a grudge, then how can I?”

“So you needed permission from your dead brother to be nice to her?”

Ithan’s snarl rattled the cabinets. “Bryce was my best friend, you know. She had Danika, yeah, but I only had her. You’ve known Bryce for what—a few months? We were friends for five years. So don’t fucking talk about me, my brother, or her as if you know anything about us. You don’t know shit, Umbra Mortis.”

“I know you were a dick to her for two years. I watched you stand by while Amelie Ravenscroft tormented her. Grow the fuck up.”

Ithan bared his teeth. Hunt bared his own right back.

Syrinx hopped to his feet and whined, demanding more food.

Hunt couldn’t help his exasperated laugh. “Fine, fine,” he said to the chimera, reaching for his container of kibble.

Ithan’s eyes burned him like a brand. Hunt had seen that same take-no-shit face during televised sunball games. “Connor was in love with her for those five years, you know.” The wolf headed over to the couch and plopped onto the cushions. “Five years, and by the end of it, he’d only managed to get her to agree to go on a date with him.”

Hunt kept his face unreadable as Syrinx devoured his second—potentially third—breakfast. “So?”

Ithan turned on the morning news before propping his feet on the coffee table and interlacing his hands behind his head. “You’re at month five, bro. Good luck to you.”

The Fae Archives hummed with activity—loud enough that Bryce had grown accustomed to keeping in her earbuds all day, even with the door to her tiny office on Sublevel Alpha shut.

It wasn’t that it was loud, exactly—the archives had the usual hush of any library. But so many people visited or studied or worked in the cavernous atrium and surrounding stacks that there was a constant, underlying roar. The scuff of footsteps, the waterfall fountain pouring from the atrium’s ceiling, the clack of keyboards blending with the crinkle of turning pages, the whispers of patrons and tourists mingling with the occasional giggle or snap of a camera.

It grated on her.

Gone were the solitary days in the gallery. The days of blasting her music through the sound system.

Lehabah was gone, too.

No incessant chatter about the latest episode of Fangs and Bangs. No whining about wanting to go outside. No dramatic monologues about Bryce’s cruelty.

Bryce stared at the dark computer screen on her glass desk. She reached out a foot to stroke Syrinx’s coat, but her toes only met air. Right—she’d left the chimera home to watch over Ithan.

She wondered if Syrinx even remembered Lehabah.

Bryce had visited the Black Dock during the days after the attack, searching for a tiny onyx boat among the mass of Sailings. None had appeared.

Lehabah had no remains anyway. The fire sprite had been snuffed out like a candle the moment a hundred thousand gallons of water had come crashing down upon her.

Bryce had gone over it, again and again. Usually during her dance classes with Madame Kyrah, amid her panting and sweating. She always arrived at the same conclusion: there was nothing she might have done to stop Lehabah’s death.

Bryce understood it, could rationally talk about it, and yet … The thoughts still circled, as if dancing right along with her: You might have found a way. Revealed yourself as Starborn earlier. Told Lehabah to run while you faced Micah.

She’d talked about it with Hunt, too. And he’d pointed out that all of those options would have resulted in Bryce’s own death, but … Bryce couldn’t get past the question: Why was Lele’s life any less valuable than Bryce’s? Her Starborn Princess status meant nothing. If it came down to it, Lele had been the better person, who had suffered for decades in bondage. The fire sprite should be free. Alive, and free, and enjoying herself.