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

Bryce walked over to him. Took his hand. “We need those suits piloted by the Fallen, or they’ll be used against us by the Asteri. We need the Asteri and their forces entirely occupied.”

But Hunt’s heart twisted. “Bryce.”

“It will be their choice whether to return, to pilot those suits. I’ll give them that choice, when I raise them. And I’ll be with you for every moment of it.” She nodded to Isaiah and Naomi. “They’ll command the Fallen. You don’t need to shoulder that burden anymore. I’ll need you with me—in the Asteri’s palace.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. Celestina could have struck, he supposed, but she remained kneeling.

And just as he had that day when Hunt had given Sandriel her due, Isaiah suddenly knelt before him. Naomi joined him on her knees.

“I’m not an Archangel,” Hunt blurted. “And I haven’t agreed to lead you two. So get up.”

It was Celestina who said, “Perhaps the age of Archangels is over.”

“You sound happy about it.”

“I would be, if it were to come to pass,” Celestina said, and got to her feet. “I told you once: Shahar was my friend. I might not have had the courage to fight alongside her then …” Her chin lifted. “But I do now.”

He was having none of it. “And what are you going to do during all this?”

Bryce answered before Celestina could reply. “She’s going to Ephraim’s fortress.” At Hunt’s surprised look, echoed by Celestina, Bryce explained, “He’s the closest Archangel to the Eternal City. We need him occupied. If Ephraim joins the fight, it will complicate everything.”

Celestina nodded gravely. “I will make sure he does not come within a hundred miles of the capital.”

“How?” Hunt demanded. “Tie him up?”

“I will do whatever is necessary to end this,” Celestina said, chin high.

Hunt pointed to the Rift. “We’re going to open the Rift to Hel. You didn’t seem too keen on that a moment ago.”

Celestina glanced between Hunt and Bryce. “It goes against everything I’ve worked for, but … it does seem that all you two have done has been in the best interest of the innocents of Midgard. I don’t believe that you would open the Rift if it would jeopardize the most vulnerable.”

“Yeah?” Hunt snapped. “And where the fuck were you when Asphodel Meadows was blasted into nothing?”

That brought a measure of ice to Bryce’s stare. True grief filled Celestina’s eyes.

“It was the final straw, Hunt,” Isaiah said. “Why we—she—disobeyed the Asteri. They gave no warning. The ships pulled into the Istros, and they said it was for our protection. I didn’t even know the ships could send aerial missiles that far.”

Naomi’s lashes were pearled with tears that quickly turned to ice as she added, “It was the most cowardly, unforgivable … We don’t stand for that. None of us. Not Celestina, and certainly not the 33rd.”

Hunt looked back to Bryce, and found only pain and cold resolve staring back at him. She was right. They had enough enemies. Ones who had to pay.

And he might not have trusted one word out of an Archangel’s mouth, but if Isaiah and Naomi believed Celestina, that meant something. Isaiah, who had suffered under Archangels as much as Hunt had, was here, helping Celestina, knowing she had betrayed his friend. Isaiah wasn’t some spineless asshole—he was good and smart and brave.

And Isaiah was here.

So Hunt said, “All right. Let’s ring Hel’s doorbell.”



* * *



Hunt had enough lightning left to blast Bryce again. It passed through her and into the Gate—into the heart of the Northern Rift.

Her will, blazing with that undiluted starlight, changed its location once more.

Celestina, Isaiah, and Naomi held back a step, all glowing with power, readying for the worst.

Impenetrable darkness spread within the archway, broken only by two glowing blue eyes.

Prince Aidas stood there, impeccably dressed in his jet-black clothes, not one golden hair on his head out of place. He surveyed the icy terrain, the sun now setting after a brief window of daylight.

Bryce swung her arm out in a grand, sweeping gesture as the Prince of the Chasm stepped through the Northern Rift. “Welcome back to Midgard,” she said. “Hope you have a pleasant stay.”





80


“So,” Jesiba said, drumming her fingers on her desk, “the pup goes to pitch a deworming medicine to a bunch of wolves and comes home Prime.”

Ithan ignored the jab. “I need you to get me in with the Under-King,” he said. He’d showered in the barracks at the Den and changed into nondescript Aux clothes, then swiftly checked on Perry and the others before running back to the House of Flame and Shadow. He was Prime, yes, and all that entailed, but—

“Why?”

“I need to see my brother. And considering that it was a fucking disaster the last two times I tangled with the dead … I’m not going to make mistakes this time. I need the Under-King’s help.” Ithan paced her office.

“Again: Why?”

He looked straight at her. “Because Connor is trying to reach me.” He’d heard that howl from the Bone Quarter and known whose it was. Who was calling to him.