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

The Horn had come from here. Had been brought by Theia and Pelias into Midgard. Perhaps it, too, had been forged by the Cauldron.

Bryce tucked away the knowledge, the questions it raised. “We don’t have anything like the Cauldron on Midgard. Solas is our sun god, Cthona his mate and the earth goddess. Luna is his sister, the moon; Ogenas, Cthona’s jealous sister in the seas. And Urd guides all—she’s the weaver of fate, of destiny.” Bryce added after a moment, “I think she’s the reason I’m here.”

“Urd,” Nesta murmured. “The Fae say the Cauldron holds our fates. Maybe it became this Urd.”

“I don’t know,” Bryce said. “I always wondered what happened to the gods of the original worlds, when their people crossed into Midgard. Did they follow them? Did I bring Urd or Luna or any of them with me?” She gestured to the caves. “Are they here, or am I alone, stranded in your world with no gods to call my own?”

They began walking again, the questions hanging there unanswered.

Bryce asked, because some small part of her had to know after what she’d seen of the Mask, “When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that.

But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.” He glanced sidelong at her. “What about your world?”

Bryce’s gut twisted. “It’s … complicated.”

With nothing else to do as they walked, she explained it: the Bone Quarter and other Quiet Realms, the Under-King and the Sailings. The black boats tipping or making it to shore. The Death Marks that could purchase passage. And then she explained the secondlight, the meat grinder of souls that churned their lingering energy into more food for the Asteri.

Her companions were silent when she finished. Not with contemplation, but with horror.

“So that is what awaits you?” Nesta asked at last. “To become … food?”

“Not me,” Bryce said quietly. “I, ah … I don’t know what’s coming for me.”

“Why?” Azriel asked.

“That friend I mentioned—the one who learned the truth about the Asteri? When she died, I worried that she might not be given the honor of making it to shore during her Sailing. I … couldn’t let her bear that final disrespect. I didn’t know then about the secondlight. So I bargained with the Under-King: my soul, my place in the Bone Quarter in exchange for hers.” Again, that horrified quiet. “So when I die, I won’t rest there. I don’t know where I’ll go.”

“It has to be a relief,” Nesta said, “to at least know you won’t go to the Bone Quarter. To be harvested.” She shuddered.

“Yeah,” Bryce agreed. “But what’s the alternative?”

“Do you still have a soul?” Nesta asked.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Bryce admitted. “It feels like I do. But what will live on when I die?” She blew out a breath. “And if I were to die in this world … what would happen to my soul? Would it find its way back to Midgard, or linger here?” The words sounded even more depressing out loud.

Something glaringly bright blinded her—her phone. Hunt’s face smiled up at her.

“Here,” Nesta said. Bryce wordlessly took the phone, blinking back her tears at the sight of Hunt. “You kept your word and winnowed us. So take it.”

Bryce knew it was for more than that, but she nodded her thanks all the same.

She flashed the screen at Nesta and Azriel. “That’s Hunt,” she said hoarsely. “My mate.”

Azriel peered at the picture. “He has wings.”

Bryce nodded, throat unbearably tight. “He’s an angel—a malakh.” But talking about him made the burning in her eyes worse, so she slid the phone into her pocket.

As they walked on, Nesta said, “When we stop again … can you show me how that contraption works?”

“The phone?” The word couldn’t be translated into their language, and it sounded outright silly in their accent.

But Nesta nodded, her eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead. “Trying to figure out what it does has been driving us all crazy.”



* * *



Tharion cornered the dragon in the pit’s bathroom. He could barely stand on his left leg thanks to a gash he’d taken in his thigh from the claws of the jaguar shifter he’d faced as the lunchtime entertainment. No prime time for him tonight, though—not with Ithan in the pit.

“Do not fucking kill Holstrom,” he warned Ariadne.

She tilted her head back, eyes flashing as they met his. “Oh? Who said I’m facing him?”

Tharion and the others had spent most of the last twenty-four hours debating who the Viper Queen would select to face Ithan. And now, with less than an hour left until the fight and no opponent announced … “Who else would the Vipe unleash on him? You’re the only one here who’s stronger. The only one worth a fight.”

“So flattering.”

“Don’t kill him,” Tharion snarled.

She batted her eyelashes. “Or what?”

Tharion clenched his teeth. “He’s a good male, and a valuable one to a lot of people, and if you kill him, you’ll be playing into the Vipe’s hands. Make the fight fast, and make it as painless as you can.”