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

“Yes,” Bryce said, and stepped out into the howling wind and brutal cold. Hunt and Aidas were huddled together, planning. Isaiah and Naomi stood a few feet away, chiming in, but keeping their distance, as if not quite comfortable with the idea that they were in the presence of a Prince of Hel. Celestina had flown off to Ephraim’s fortress in Ravilis moments ago, her white wings blindingly bright with the light off the snow. She’d keep him occupied, she’d promised again before leaving—with a final nod to Hunt that he hadn’t returned.

Beyond Hunt and the others, stretching into the distance, marched the armies of Hel. They covered all twenty-four and a half miles from the wall to the still-open Rift.

Unholy terrors—especially those pets that had been unleashed in Crescent City this spring. Bryce had never been more glad to have the Archesian amulet around her neck—though she wondered if it could hold off this many demons, should they choose to have a little snack.

From Hunt’s tense shoulders, she knew the horde was as unnerving for him as it was for her. Leathery-winged, horned humanoids that seemed to be grunt soldiers. Bone-white reptilian beasts that crawled on all fours—hounds of war. Skeletal beings with too-large jaws, stacked with needlelike teeth that gleamed with greenish slime. There were more—so many more: things that slithered, things that flew, things that surveyed Midgard with milky, sightless eyes and bayed at the anticipated bloodlust.

Hunt offered no commentary on the endless lines of nightmares. He’d spent a lifetime hunting down the very creatures now fighting for them—how many of Hel’s marching forces knew that, too? How many of them had crossed into Crescent City just a few months ago and gleefully unleashed pain and death?

But this time, true to the princes’ word, the beasts stayed in line. As for the soldiers, Bryce didn’t look too closely at the faces beneath their armor. At the spiky wings poking above the lines, the taloned hands gripping spears. But they did not speak, did not snarl. Their breath curled from beneath the visors of their helmets with each step through the frigid air. Each step deeper into Midgard.

All of Hel, ready to strike.

She had to trust that it would prove to be the right choice.

“Tell Lidia we’re coming,” Bryce said to Ruhn, still on the line. The thundering of their feet and hooves and claws shook the snowy earth. “And tell her we’re not coming alone.”





81


“This seems familiar,” Ithan muttered to Hypaxia as they stood on the Black Dock, each clutching a Death Mark in their hands. “You, me, the Under-King …”

“Our best friend,” Hypaxia said wryly, the mists from the Bone Quarter an impenetrable wall across the river. She gestured to the water. “Shall we?”

Ithan nodded, and they flicked their Death Marks into the river. They landed with a soft plunk, and ripples spread outward in only one direction—south. Toward the Bone Quarter. They vanished into the mist.

In the ensuing silence, Ithan dared say, “Jesiba said you and the Governor were, ah … together. How long?”

She threw him a pained wince. “A while. But not anymore.”

“Even while she was with Ephraim?”

“Her arrangement with Ephraim is a political contract. What she and I have … had …” She shook her head, the moonlight silvering her dark curls. “I’m sure Jesiba said I was naïve.”

“Maybe,” he hedged.

Hypaxia looked at where her Death Mark had disappeared under the surface. “Everyone told me, you know. That Archangels aren’t to be trusted. That they’ve got those secret training camps that indoctrinate them, that they’re puppets for the Asteri. But she spent all that time in Nena, and I thought it had removed her from their influence.” She chewed on her lip, then added, “Apparently it gave her incentive to do whatever it took to get her off that frozen bit of land.”

“We … we all make bad decisions.” He blew out a breath. “Gods, that sounded dumb.”

Hypaxia laughed quietly. “It’s appreciated nonetheless.” She sobered. “But when I learned what she’d done … Well. I miss my mother most days, but especially lately. Especially after everything with Celestina.” She indicated the mists across the way. “So I understand why you seek out your brother.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” he offered.

“Most people tell me I should be over her passing. But …” Her shoulders bowed. “I don’t know if there will ever come a day when I don’t feel like there’s a hole in my heart where she used to be.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his own chest aching. “I know the feeling.” He cleared his throat. “So you couldn’t, uh, raise your mom with your necromancy?”

“No,” Hypaxia said gravely. “She took steps to ensure that her soul did not fall into the clutches of the Under-King. And even if I could, she would resent me for using it for something so … selfish.”

“She’s your mom, though.”

“She was also my queen.” Hypaxia’s chin lifted. “And she would be ashamed to learn that I have defected from the witches and yielded my crown. So, no. I don’t want to see her. I couldn’t face her, even if I had the chance.”