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

Ruhn arched a brow. “Not to sound totally callous, but why? There were only seven of them. It wouldn’t have made a difference in the rebellion.”

“Maybe not for Ophion as a whole, but it would have made a difference for their families.” She didn’t look at him. “Partners, children, parents—all hoping for their safe return.”

“There had to be more to it than that,” he pushed. “There was way more than that on the line for you.”

She opened the door, and didn’t speak again until they’d stepped into the hallway. “I guess I hoped that … that if my sons were ever in a similar situation, someone would do the same for them.”

His heart twisted at the words, her truth. “Your path was difficult, Lidia—Hel, I don’t think I could have endured any of it. But what you did was incredible. Don’t lose sight of that.”

“I could have saved more,” she said softly, eyes on the floor as they strode down the empty hall. “I should have saved more.”



* * *



Lidia had no idea what to make of the encounter with the former rebel this morning.

Maybe Urd had sent him to her, to remind her that her choices and sacrifices had, in fact, made some difference in the world. Even if they had gutted her.

The Ocean Queen hadn’t given her a choice in leaving the ship, both all those years ago and now. But here, on this cheerless Fae island … here, at least, were some people who’d benefitted from that impossible position.

Flynn and Declan hadn’t yet arrived in the archives, and as the silence became unbearable while she and Ruhn started their search, the only scents the musty catalog cards and Ruhn’s inviting, reassuring smell, Lidia found herself calling down the line of the card catalog, “I’m going to go hunt for some coffee. Want to join me?”

Ruhn looked over, and gods, he was handsome. She’d never really let herself think about the sheer beauty of him. Even with his tattoos in ribbons, proof of what Pollux had done—

His blue eyes flickered, as if noting the direction of her thoughts. “Sure, let’s go.”

Even the way he spoke, the timbre of his voice … she could luxuriate in that all day. And when he’d touched her last night, licked her—

Did he have any idea how close she’d come to begging him to strip her naked, to lick her from head to toe and spend a long while between her legs?

“What’s that look about?” Ruhn asked, voice low, thick. She noted every shifting muscle in his shoulders, his arms, his powerful thighs as he walked toward her. The way the sunlight gleamed on his long dark hair, turning it into a silken cascade of night. That buzzed side of his head seemed to be begging for her fingers to slide over the velvet-soft hair while she nipped at his pointed ear—

She began walking as he reached her, because the alternative was to wrap herself around him. “Brain fog. I need a cup of coffee.”

She’d slept poorly again last night. At first, it had been thanks to the memory of what they’d done in the hallway, but then her thoughts had shifted to Brann and Actaeon, to that last conversation with them, and she’d wished that she could find herself on that mental bridge, her friend Night sitting in his armchair beside her.

Not just to have someone to talk to, but to have him to talk to. About … everything.

Ruhn fell into step beside her. “Who would have thought the Hind had a caffeine addiction?”

His half smile did something funny to her knees. But he said nothing more as they explored the back hallway of the archives, opening and closing doors. A closet crammed with half-rotted brooms and mops, another closest adorned with trays of various quartz crystals—no doubt some sort of scholarly recording device needed for this technology-free island—and a few empty cells with chipped desks that must have once been private studies.

“Morven really needs to invest in a new break room,” Ruhn said as they finally beheld the kitchen. “This can’t be good for employee morale.”

Lidia took in the dark, dusty space, the wooden counter against the wall littered with mouse droppings, the cobwebs spun under the row of cabinetry. “This is like some bad medieval cliché,” she said, approaching the filth-crusted cauldron in the darkened hearth. “Is this … gruel?”

Ruhn stepped up beside her, and his scent had her going molten between her legs. “I don’t know why everyone thought Avallen would be some fairy-tale paradise. I’ve been telling Bryce for years that it’s horrible here.”

Lidia turned from the days-old goop in the cauldron and began opening cabinets. A mouse had made a home in a box of stale crackers, but at least there was a sealed jar of tea bags. “I should have known there would be no coffee.” She peered around for a kettle and found Ruhn standing with one by the ancient sink, pumping water into it.

“Your sister,” Lidia said, “was right to wonder what was going on with this place. Do you think Morven’s hiding anything?”

“You’re the super spy-breaker,” Ruhn said, going to the hearth and tossing a few logs into the ashes. “You tell me.”

The muscles in his forearm shifted as he grabbed some kindling and flint and lit the fire with a sort of efficiency that shouldn’t have made her mouth water. He glanced over a shoulder, those blazingly blue eyes curious, and she realized he’d asked her a question, and she’d just been … staring at him. At his arms.