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

But Ithan glanced ahead to what—who—stood in the center of the chamber, and his heart stumbled.

The Astronomer lifted a knobbly finger and pointed at Ithan.

“You’re dead, thief,” the old man snarled.



* * *



Tharion knew he’d dodged a bullet. Knew Bryce’s arrival had spared him from the Ocean Queen sending him right back to Lunathion.

A bounty on his head. Fuck.

But to be confined to this ship … was it any better than being held by the River Queen or the Viper Queen? Confined as a guest, the Ocean Queen had claimed. But he knew what she’d meant.

“Avallen has always given me the creeps,” Flynn was saying as they all squeezed around a table in their deck’s mess hall, discussing the next day’s arrival on the misty isle. At this hour of the evening, every table was crammed with people for dinner, their conversations and laughter so loud it made it nearly impossible for Tharion to hear his companions. “But Morven’s terrible. I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he’s a fucking snake. Him, and the Murder Twins.”

“Murder Twins?” Athalar asked with a mix of alarm and amusement from where he sat beside Bryce, an arm looped around her waist, his fingers idly toying with the ends of her hair. Tharion knew that even if they hadn’t been short on space around the table, the mates would have kept close together.

“A nickname we gave my distant cousins,” Ruhn said around a mouthful of bread. “After they joined Cormac in trying to kill us multiple times in the Cave of Princes.” The prince’s eyes flickered with regret as he spoke Cormac’s name.

Tharion blocked out the image that flashed—of Cormac’s final moments, of running while the Fae male immolated himself. His grip clenched around his fork, so tight his knuckles turned white.

But Ruhn went on, “They can read minds … whether you want them to or not.” He pointed with his half-eaten chunk of bread to Bryce. “They’re not going to ask for permission like that Night Court dude.”

Bryce grimaced. “Can anyone defend against their skills?”

“Yeah,” Ruhn said, “but you have to be vigilant at all times, even when you can’t see them near you. And they obey Morven unconditionally.”

Bryce examined her nails. “I love me some good old-fashioned goons.”

Tharion smiled, grip loosening on his fork.

But Ruhn shook his head. “They’re not your usual goons, and Morven’s not your usual sort of asshole. During my Ordeal—”

“I know,” Bryce said, scooping up some rice, grown in one of the ship’s many hydroponic gardens. “Big, bad uncle. You pissed him off, he sent you into the Cave of Princes to punish you, you showed him up …”

“He’s Cormac’s father,” Declan said carefully. “Don’t forget that he’s just lost a son and heir.”

Tharion stared down at his platter of rice and fish, though his appetite had vanished like seafoam on the sand.

“He was quick to disown him,” Lidia Cervos said from the far end of the table.

Tharion had nearly keeled over in shock when she’d sat down with them. But … where else would she sit in the packed hall?

He didn’t fail to note that Ruhn sat at the opposite end of the table.

Lidia added, “But I will echo the warning: King Morven only agrees to things that are advantageous to him. If you’re going to convince him not to immediately sell you out to the Asteri, you need to spin it the right way.”

“I’d planned to go right to the archives,” Bryce said. “No royal visit required.”

“The mists,” Ruhn said, “tell him everything. He’ll know we’ve arrived. It’ll infuriate him if you don’t … pay tribute.”

“So we play nice,” Athalar said, draining his glass of water. The other diners kept glancing toward their table—with awe, with dread, with curiosity. All of them pretended not to notice.

“And,” Ruhn added, wincing, “females aren’t permitted in the archives.”

Tharion rolled his eyes. “Please,” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bryce said, waving a dismissive hand. “The Autumn King made sure I was aware of their No Girls Allowed rules. But too bad for Morven: I’m going in.”

Hunt nudged her with a gray wing. “I’m assuming you have some plan up your sleeve that you’re going to spring on us at the worst possible moment.”

“I think you mean the coolest possible moment,” Bryce said, and Tharion, despite himself, smiled again.

“Note how she didn’t answer that,” Hunt said darkly to Baxian, who chuckled and said, “Danika was the same.”

An undercurrent of longing and sorrow flowed beneath the Helhound’s light tone. A male who’d lost his mate. It was, rumor claimed, worse than losing one’s soul. Tharion couldn’t decide whether he pitied the male for the loss, or envied him for being lucky enough to have found his mate in the first place. He wondered what Baxian would have preferred: to have never known Danika, or this, to have had their centuries together cut so brutally short.

Bryce reached across the table and squeezed the Helhound’s hand, love and pain on her face. Tharion turned his gaze from the matching expression Baxian gave her as he squeezed her hand back. A private, intimate moment of grieving.