House of Flame and Shadow (Crescent City #3) by Sarah J. Maas

Baxian nodded to Hunt’s face. “Any luck getting that shit removed?”

Hunt didn’t dare look at the wall of mirrors behind the Helhound. Hadn’t been able to stand the sight of his face with that halo once again marring his brow. He could have sworn its ink seared him every now and then. It had never done that before—but this halo, inked by Rigelus, felt different. Worse. Alive, somehow.

“No,” Hunt said. “Hypaxia Enador got rid of it the last time. So unless there’s a witch-queen hiding on this ship, I’ve gotta learn to live with it for the time being.”

“Rigelus is a fucking asshole. Always was.” Baxian wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Hunt angled his head. “What changed with you, really? Is this new Baxian Argos just the result of learning Danika was your mate?”

It was a potential minefield, to bring up his dead mate. To lose a mate was to lose half of your soul; to live without them was torture.

“I don’t want to talk about the past,” Baxian said, wings snapping in tight to his body, and Hunt let it drop.

“Then let’s talk about next steps,” Hunt said, folding his own wings with a lingering whisper of tightness. Another day and he’d be totally back to normal.

“What’s there to talk about? Big picture: the Asteri have to go.”

Hunt snorted. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He could only pray that Tharion was able to get Sendes to contact the Ocean Queen—and that she might be on the same page as them, too.

He surveyed the male he thought he’d known for so many years. “Is it too much to hope that some of Sandriel’s old triarii might also be secret anti-imperialists?”

“Don’t push your luck. Two’s already huge. Three, if we include you.”

Thankfully, he’d never been in her actual triarii—just had to put up with their shit while surviving the years he’d been shackled to Sandriel. Hunt ignored the familiar shiver of dread at the memory of those years and asked, “But you and Lidia never had any idea that you both were—”

“No. None. I thought she was no better than Pollux.” Baxian wiped more sweat from his brow, his breath steadying. “You think Lidia will make it?”

Hunt rubbed his jaw. “I hope so. We need her.”

“For what?”

Hunt gave his old enemy—now friend, he supposed—a slash of a smile. “To make these fuckers pay for what they’ve done.”



* * *



Tharion told himself to snap out of it. To focus on the fact that, against all odds, they’d succeeded in rescuing their friends from the Asteri dungeons—had even gone a step beyond and saved Lidia Cervos from certain death.

It didn’t matter, though. Holstrom had stayed behind. Holstrom, whose life Tharion had wrecked.

And not only Holstrom’s life, but the future of the wolves, too. That Fendyr heir was dead because of him. Technically because of Holstrom, but … none of it would have happened if it weren’t for Tharion’s own choices.

He hadn’t let anyone catch wind of the past day he’d spent since getting on this ship puking up his guts. Partially from the withdrawal to the Viper Queen’s venom, but also from sheer disgust at all he’d done, what he’d become.

Ariadne had been sold off, the gods knew where. To whom. And fine, she hadn’t been technically sold, because the Viper Queen hadn’t owned her, but … she’d left to avoid having to kill Holstrom. Or so the Viper Queen had let her believe, getting the advantageous trade while planning all along to put Sigrid in the ring against Ithan.

If there was a level below rock bottom, Tharion had found it.

He forced himself to stop grinding his teeth and concentrate on Sendes. She stood in the center of the bridge, taking a report from one of her soldiers.

None of the other technicians or officers on the bridge spoke to him. None even looked his way.

At least no one here called him a traitor. But they all knew he’d defected from the River Queen. And given how little she was liked on this ship, he knew it had more to do with the fact that he’d defected from the mer. From them.

He wanted to shout to this whole bridge that if he could, he’d defect from himself.

Sendes turned at last when she’d dismissed her soldier. “Sorry about that.”

Tharion waved her off. Considering how much they owed Sendes and this ship, she never needed to apologize to him for anything. “I feel like this is all I say these days, but I wanted to ask for a favor.”

She smiled faintly. “Go ahead.”

He braced himself. “If I wanted to get in touch with the Ocean Queen, arrange a meeting between her, me, and Hunt Athalar … could you facilitate it?”

Sendes’s throat bobbed. Not a good sign.

“If it’ll put you in a weird position,” Tharion amended, “don’t worry about it. But I told Athalar I’d ask you, and—”

“You’ll get your wish,” she said ruefully. “The Ocean Queen is coming here tomorrow.”

Tharion swallowed his surprise. “Okay,” he said carefully. “You sound … worried?”

Sendes tugged at the neck of her collar. “She wants to see you. All of you.”

His brows rose. “Then problem solved.”