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

“Fuck you,” Bryce breathed. Nesta grunted her agreement. “Blank slate, my ass.” Bryce balled her hands into fists, a familiar, long-simmering rage building under her skin.

Yet the humans were not pleased at our arrival. A legion of armored humans lined the exterior of a walled city, built of pale stone. Bryce didn’t want to watch—but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

My mother had dealt with human uprisings before. She knew what to do.

Humans lay slaughtered, the sand beneath them bloody. Bryce trembled, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. So many dead—both soldiers and civilians. Adults and … Gods, she couldn’t stand the sight of the smallest bodies.

Azriel swore, low and dirty. Nesta was breathing jaggedly.

Yet Silene spoke on, voice unwavering, as if the memory of the merciless bloodshed didn’t faze her one bit.

City to city, we moved. Taking the land as we wished. Taking human slaves to build for us.

But some humans resisted, their city-states uniting as we Fae had once united against our masters.

Bryce didn’t let her heart lift at the bronze-armored legions in lines and phalanxes ranged against the glimmering armor of the Fae. She knew how this particular tale ended.

Knew it would be wiped from official history.

But had Aidas known what Theia—what Helena and Silene and the Fae—had done? He must have—he’d loved Theia, after all. And yet he still had the fucking nerve to talk about her as if she wasn’t a murdering piece of shit. To talk about Bryce having her light as if it was something good.

That star in her chest … it was the light of a butcher. Her ancestor.

Was this what she had been sent here to learn? That she wasn’t some brave savior’s scion, but a descendent of a morally corrupt bloodline?

It didn’t matter if that was what the star had wanted her to learn or not—she knew it now, and there’d never be any unlearning it.

There would never be any atoning for what her ancestors had done.

The thoughts sliced her heart like shards of glass, and Bryce might have walked out right then and there, might have told Silene’s memory to fuck off with her history lesson—but if this unbearable history could offer some hint about how to save Midgard’s future …

Bryce kept listening.





20


Standing at the edge of the ring, Ithan found he couldn’t move.

He was doing this. This ultimate disgrace, this betrayal of all that he was as a person, as a wolf—

Across the ring, Sigrid was so small. So thin and frail and new to this world. This reality. Had he freed her from the tank for this? Only to wind up here?

“Begin,” the Viper Queen intoned.

Flynn, Dec, and Tharion stood at the sidelines, barely containing their rage.

Tharion had been right. He’d been so fucking stupid to tangle with the Viper Queen like this, to think it’d be as easy as bloodying himself, maybe getting a few burns—

And now Ariadne had been traded away because of it, too. He barely knew the dragon, yet that was also his burden to carry.

“I said begin,” the Viper Queen snapped.

Ithan met Sigrid’s light brown gaze.

Alpha. Fendyr. Prime. That’s what he was taking on. All that he’d bowed to, stood for—

Ithan didn’t let himself think. Didn’t broadcast his moves. He launched himself at her before he could back away from this precipice.

He swung a punch for Sigrid’s face and she lunged aside with surprising speed. An Alpha’s speed.

Ithan struck again, and she ducked once more, all instinct.

Sigrid leapt—a swipe of claw-tipped hands.

Shock blasted through Ithan at the sight of those claws, so readily drawn. He stood rooted to the floor—a second too long.

She slashed across his ribs, sharp pain blasting like acid through him—

He bounced away to the sound of Flynn cursing. Ithan pushed a hand to his side. Warm blood leaked over his fingers.

Something sharpened in him. Steadied him. They were doing this: wolf to wolf. Alpha to … whatever he was. A wolf without a pack.

Ithan lunged again, reaching low—

His fist collided with Sigrid’s soft belly, but she didn’t go down. She twisted, elbow slamming directly into his nose. It wasn’t an elegant maneuver, but it was a smart one. Bone crunched, blood spurted, and then claws were raking at his face—

He staggered back again. She’d gone for his fucking eyes. Ithan tackled her, throwing her to the floor.

“Holstrom!” Tharion shouted, and he couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a reprimand, but there was no time to think about it as Sigrid’s claws punched through his shoulder. Ithan reared back, roaring, wrenching her claws free.

She brought her legs up and kicked. Ithan grabbed her ankles, but too slow. Her feet connected with his gut, and then he was soaring back, back—

He hit the other side of the ring with a thud that echoed through his very bones.



* * *



Mired in shame, Tharion watched the bloodbath unfold before him.

He deserved to be here, in this place, with the Viper Queen. He didn’t deserve to be freed, to be fought for.

Ariadne. Her name clanged through him. Sold—or traded, whatever the fuck that meant. Because of him. Because of what he’d said to her, apparently.

Everything he touched turned to shit.