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

Ophion had sent their best unit here, despite their numerous recent losses. They needed Lightfall in Pangera—and yet they were expending resources on this hunt. So they likely weren’t seeking the boy out of the goodness of their hearts. Had Emile abandoned the boat here not because Sofie had told him to, but because he’d sensed someone on his tail? Had he fled to this city not only to find his sister at the arranged spot, but also to get free of the rebels?

Tharion retraced his steps back to the boat, scanning it again. He slung himself belowdecks, pulling aside blankets and garbage, skimming, scanning—

There. A marked-up map of the Valbaran coast. With these marshes circled. These marshes … and one other marking. Tharion winced. If Emile Renast had fled on foot from here to Crescent City …

He pulled out his phone and dialed one of his officers. Ordered them to get to the marshes. To start at the boat and work their way by land toward the city. And bring guns—not just for the beasts in the reeds, but for the rebels who might be following the kid.

And if they found Emile … He ordered the officer to track him for a while. See who he met up with. Who the boy might lead them to.

If the boy had even walked out of these marshes alive.





12

Hunt stretched out his legs, adjusting his wings so he didn’t crush them between his back and the wooden bench. Bryce sat beside him, pistachio ice cream melting down the sides of her cone, and Hunt tried not to stare as she licked away each dribbling green droplet.

Was this punishment for his fight with Pollux? To sit here and watch this?

Hunt focused instead on the scooter she’d apparently ridden at breakneck speed to the Comitium. She’d walked with him when they left, though, pushing it beside her all the way to the park. He cleared his throat and asked, “Something up with your bike?”

Bryce frowned. “It was making a weird noise earlier. Didn’t seem wise to get back on it.” She arched a brow. “Want to be a gentleman and carry it home for me?”

“I’d rather carry you, but sure.” The scooter would be heavy, but nothing he couldn’t deal with. He remembered his own ice cream—coffee—in time to lick away the melted bits. He tried not to note the way her eyes tracked each movement of his tongue. “What kind of noise was it making?”

“A kind of rasping sputter whenever I idled.” She twisted to where her beloved bike leaned against a banner-adorned lamppost. “It’s gonna have to go into the shop, poor thing.”

Hunt chuckled. “I can bring it up to the roof and check it out.”

“So romantic. When do the wedding invites go out for you two?”

He laughed again. “I’m shocked Randall didn’t make you learn how to fix your own bike.”

“Oh, he tried. But I was a legal adult by that point and didn’t have to listen.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Seriously, though—you know how to fix a bike?”

Hunt’s amusement slipped a notch. “Yeah. I, ah … know how to fix a lot of machines.”

“Does your lightning give you an affinity for knowing how they work, or something?”

“Yeah.” Hunt trained his gaze upon the Istros. The relentless sun was finally setting, casting the river in reds and golds and oranges. Far below the surface, little lights glowed, all that showed of the mighty, sprawling court beneath the water. He said quietly, “Sandriel took advantage of that—she often had me take apart Ophion’s mech-suits after battles, so I could learn how they worked and then sabotage them before discreetly sending the machines back to the front for the rebels to use unwittingly.” He couldn’t look at her, especially when she remained silent as he added, almost confessing, “I learned a lot about how machines work. How to make them not work. Especially at key moments. A lot of people likely died because of that. Because of me.”

He’d tried convincing himself that what he did was justified, that the suits themselves were monstrous: fifteen feet high and crafted of titanium, they were essentially exoskeletal armor that the human standing within could pilot as easily as moving their own body. Armed with seven-foot-long swords—some of them charged with firstlight—and massive guns, they could go head-to-maw with a wolf shifter and walk away intact. They were the human army’s most valuable asset—and only way of withstanding a Vanir attack.

Sandriel ordering him to take apart and mess with the suits had nothing to do with that, though. It had been about pure cruelty and sick amusement—stealing the suits, sabotaging them, and returning them with the humans none the wiser. It was about watching with glee as the pilots squared off against Vanir forces, only to find that their mech-suits failed them.

Bryce laid a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry she made you do that, Hunt.”

“So am I,” Hunt said, exhaling deeply, as if it could somehow cleanse his soul.

Bryce seemed to sense his need to shift the subject, because she suddenly asked, “What the Hel are we going to do about Pollux and Baxian?” She threw him a wry look, drawing him out of the past. “Aside from pummeling them into tenderized meat.”

Hunt snorted, silently thanking Urd for bringing Bryce into his life. “We can only hope Celestina keeps them in line.”

“You don’t sound so certain.”