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

Flynn’s chair scraped the ground, but Ithan didn’t take his eyes from Sigrid as the Fae male stalked over and hissed, “What the fuck is wrong with you two? Go snarl at each other somewhere it won’t be noticed by everyone in the gods-damned Meat Market.”

Ithan bared his teeth at Sigrid. She bared hers right back.

He said to Flynn, still not breaking Sigrid’s stare, “She wants to go confront the salt dealer about his association with the Astronomer. The satyr who got in all that trouble last year.”

Flynn sighed at the wooden ceiling. “Now’s not the time to go on a self-righteous warpath, sweetheart.”

Sigrid looked away from Ithan at last, though the wolf part of him knew she wasn’t conceding in their battle of wills. No, it was because she’d found another opponent to face. “Don’t speak to me like I’m some common female,” Sigrid raged at Flynn, who held up his hands. She whipped her head back to Ithan, “It’s within my rights—”

“You have no rights,” a male voice said. Marc. The leopard shifter had stalked up behind them with preternatural grace. Though he was in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the male still had an air of sleek professionalism. “Since you technically don’t even exist. You’re a ghost, for all intents and purposes.”

Sigrid slowly turned, lip curling. “Did I ask for your opinion, cat?”

Normally, Ithan would have been glad to engage in some inter-shifter rivalry. But Marc was a good male—her disdain was utterly misplaced. Declan sauntered up beside his boyfriend and slung an arm around his broad shoulders. “I think it’s past someone’s bedtime.”

Sigrid growled. But the sprites drifted from her shoulders to float in front of her face as Sasa said carefully, “Siggy, we are here to … do other things. Perhaps we could come back another time.”

Ithan almost laughed at the nickname. Someone as intense as the female before him had no business being called Siggy.

“The next time they let us out of the house,” Sigrid said, bristling. “In days or weeks.”

“I’ll remind you,” Declan drawled, “that you’re currently Sabine’s primary enemy.”

“Let her come find me,” Sigrid said without an ounce of fear. “I’ve a score to settle.”

“Luna spare me,” Flynn muttered. Ithan could have sworn he caught the sprites nodding their agreement as they resettled themselves on Sigrid’s shoulders. The Fae lord turned to Declan and Marc. “Anything?”

The couple shook their heads. “No. It really does seem like the Asteri put a lock on the information. Nothing’s getting in or out.” Silence fell, heavy and tense.

It was Sigrid who said, “So what now?”

Only two days out of the tank and she was already assuming the mantle of leader, whether she knew it or not. A true Alpha, expecting to be answered … and obeyed.

“We keep trying to find out what’s going on,” Declan said with a one-shouldered shrug.

Flynn blew out an exasperated breath and plopped onto his chair again. “We’re no closer than we were two days ago: Ruhn and Athalar are being held as traitors. That’s all we know.” That was all Marc’s inside source at the Eternal City had been able to glean. Nothing else.

Declan sank into a seat and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Honestly? We’re lucky we aren’t in those dungeons, too.”

“We have to break them out,” Flynn said, crossing his muscled arms. Rithi, on his left shoulder, made an identical gesture.

“Urd knows what shape they’re in,” Declan said bleakly. “We’d need medwitches on hand, probably.”

“You’ve got healing magic,” Flynn countered.

“Yeah,” Dec said, shaking his head, “but the kind of injuries they’d have … I’d need to be working alongside a team of trained professionals.”

The thought of what those injuries might be to require such a team of medwitches made them all fall silent again. A heavy, miserable sort of quiet.

“And,” Declan challenged, head lifting, “where would we even go once we rescued them? There’s no one on Midgard who could hide or harbor us.”

“What about that mer ship?” Flynn mused. “The one that picked them up at Ydra. It outran the Omega-boats. Seems pretty damned good at hiding from the Asteri, too.”

“Flynn,” Marc warned with a glance at the teeming market. All those listening ears.

Ithan kept his voice low. “Tharion could get us onto that ship.”

He expected Flynn to roll his eyes at the mention of helping Ketos, but the male glanced to the second level. “He can’t set foot beyond this market.”

None of them had seen or heard from the mer male since he’d left for Pangera. But they’d learned of his whereabouts thanks to a neon-green piece of paper taped to a lamppost, advertising an upcoming match in the Viper Queen’s fighting pit with Tharion as the main event. It was clear enough what had happened: the male had defected from the Blue Court and run straight here.

Ithan countered, “Then we ask Tharion how to get a message to them.”

Declan shook his head. “And what then? We all live under the ocean forever?”

Ithan shifted on his feet. The wolf in him would go insane. No ability to run freely, to respond to the moon calling his name—