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

It had been easier in the Fae world, as exhaustion had been riding her so hard that she’d had no choice but to pass out. But here, even well protected by Baxian on watch, sleep remained elusive.

Bryce flipped onto her back, her starlight shifting with her, broadcasting every one of her movements like a lighthouse beacon. Fuck, how she’d sleep with that blazing in her eyes—

She stared miserably up at the ceiling, carved here to resemble the branches of a forest. Beautiful, remarkable work that had never been documented, never been revealed to the world at large. Only to the few Fae royal males who’d sought the Starsword.

That blade was currently lying to her left, a thrumming, pulsing presence made worse by Truth-Teller on her right, which pulsed in a counter-beat. Like the blades were talking.

Just fucking great. It was a regular old sleepover here. Bryce ignored the chattering blades as best she could, focusing instead on the caves, the carvings.

Females had never been allowed in here. Now two Fae females had entered. She hoped all the long-dead princes buried in the caves were thrashing in their sarcophagi.

Such fear of females—such hatred. Why? Because of Theia? Pelias had been the one to found the Starborn line here on Midgard. Had all the bans and restrictions stemmed from his fear of someone like her rising again?

Bryce supposed scholars and activists had spent centuries researching and debating it, so the likelihood of finding an answer herself, even knowing the truth about Theia, was slim to none. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow, though.

So she curled on her side, gazing at the carved river of stars that her starlight illuminated. The river of her lineage, meant to last through the millennia. Her bloodline, in its literal, starry form. Her bloodline, running straight through these caves. An inheritance of cruelty and pain.

She wished Danika were with her. If there was one person who might have understood the complexity of such a fucked-up inheritance, of having the future of a people weighing on her, it would have been Danika.

Danika, who’d wanted more for this world, for Bryce.

Light it up.

But maybe the Fae and their bloodline didn’t deserve Bryce’s light. Maybe they deserved to fall forever into darkness.



* * *



Flynn and Dec, the bastards, didn’t show up to breakfast. Leaving Ruhn and Lidia to dine alone again.

Ruhn had lain awake most of the night, hard and aching—then fretting about what Bryce and the others were facing in the Cave of Princes. Maybe he should have gone with them. Maybe staying here had been cowardly, even if they did need information from the archives. Flynn and Dec could have found it.

The dining room doors opened as they were finishing their meal, and Ruhn braced himself for his asshole cousins. But a tall Fae male walked in, glancing about before quietly shutting the door behind him. As if he didn’t want to be seen.

“Lidia Cervos.” The male’s voice shook.

Ruhn reached a hand toward the knife in his boot as the male approached the table. Lidia watched him, expression unreadable. Ruhn tried and failed to control his thundering heart. He opened his mouth. To order the stranger to announce himself, to demand he leave—

“I came to thank you,” the male said, and reached for his pocket. Ruhn drew his knife, but the male only pulled out a piece of paper. A small portrait of a female and three young children. All Fae.

But Lidia didn’t look. Like she couldn’t bear to.

The male said, “Ten years ago, you saved my life.”

Ruhn didn’t know what to do with his body. Lidia just stared at the floor.

The male went on, “My unit was up in the base at Kelun. It was the middle of the night when you burst in, and I thought we were all dead. But you told us that the Hammer was coming—that we had to run. All seven of us are alive today, with our families, because of you.”

Lidia nodded, but it seemed like a thank you, please stop motion. Not from any humility or embarrassment—it was pain on her lowered face. Like she couldn’t endure listening.

He extended the portrait of his family again.

“I thought you might like to see what your choice that night achieved.”

Still, Lidia didn’t look up. Ruhn couldn’t move. Couldn’t get a breath down.

The male went on, “There are a few of us from my unit still here, in secret. Prince Cormac convinced us all to join the cause. But we never told him, or anyone, who saved us. We didn’t want to jeopardize whatever you were doing. But when we heard through the rumor mill that you—the Hind, I mean—had defied the Asteri, some of us contacted each other again.”

The male at last noticed Lidia’s discomfort and said, “Perhaps it is too soon for you to acknowledge all you have done, the lives you saved, but … I wanted to tell you that we are grateful. We owe you a debt.”

“There is no debt,” Lidia said, finally meeting the male’s eyes. “You should go.”

Ruhn blinked at the dismissal, but Lidia clarified to the stranger, “I assume you have kept your activities and associations secret from Morven. Don’t risk his wrath now.”

The male nodded, understanding. “Thank you,” he said again, and was gone.

In the silence that followed, Ruhn asked, “You let them see who you really were?”

“It was either risk my identity being revealed to the world, or let them die,” Lidia said quietly as they headed for the door. “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d chosen the latter.”