House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City, #2)

The Helhound tucked in his wings. “The Asteri don’t have any of their palace blueprints on the interweb. Even their library cataloging system is secret. Anything digitized is highly encrypted.”

“And if we had someone who could hack into anything?” Bryce asked.

Baxian again smiled bitterly. “Then I guess you’d have a chance at finding out what was in that room.”

“This is a totally nonsensical way of numbering rooms,” Declan muttered, typing away on the sectional couch in Ruhn’s house. Bryce had run there with Hunt after leaving Baxian in the alley the tunnel had led to, a few blocks from Urd’s Temple. She was still reeling.

She’d turned on her phone to find several missed calls from Tharion. The Viper Queen had given him a heads-up about Ophion—only a few minutes too late. Flynn had nearly thrown a fit when Ruhn had explained what had happened.

At least no word had emerged about their connection to the rebel attack on Urd’s Temple, as the news was calling it. Pollux, Mordoc, and the Hind were hailed as heroes for stopping Pippa’s forces from desecrating the sacred space. The only failure: Pippa had escaped.

Bryce would deal with that later. Would deal with a lot of other shit later.

Declan scratched his head. “You realize that what we’re doing right now amounts to treason.”

“We owe you big-time,” Hunt said, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

“Pay me in booze,” Declan said. “It’ll be a comfort while I worry about when the dreadwolves will show up at my door.”

“Here,” Ruhn said, handing the male a glass of whiskey. “This’ll start you off.” Her brother dropped onto the cushions beside her. Across the couch, Hypaxia sat next to Ithan, quiet and watchful.

Bryce had let Hunt explain what they’d learned from Baxian. And let Ruhn explain the whole truth to the witch-queen and the sprites, who had draped themselves around Flynn’s shoulders where he sat on Declan’s other side.

But it was to Ithan that Bryce’s attention kept returning. And as Declan focused, Bryce said quietly to the wolf, “Did you know about Danika and Baxian?” His face had revealed nothing.

“Of course not,” Ithan said. “I thought she and Thorne …” He shook his head. “I have no idea what to make of it. I never once scented anything on her.”

“Me neither. Maybe she was able to hide it with her bloodhound gift somehow.” She cleared her throat. “It wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

“Really? It would have mattered to me,” Ithan countered. “To everyone. Not only is Baxian not a wolf, he’s …”

“An asshole,” Hunt supplied without looking up from his phone.

“Yeah,” Ithan said. “I mean, I get that he just saved your hides, but … still.”

“Does it matter now?” Flynn asked. “I mean, no offense, but Danika’s gone.”

Bryce gave him a flat look. “Really? I had no idea.”

Flynn flipped her off, and the sprites ooohed at his shoulder.

Bryce rolled her eyes. Exactly what Flynn needed: his own flock of cheerleaders trailing him at all hours. She said to Flynn, “Hey, remember that time you set a dragon free and were dumb enough to think she’d follow your orders?”

“Hey, remember that time you wanted to marry me and wrote Lady Bryce Flynn in all your notebooks?”

Hunt choked.

Bryce countered with, “Hey, remember when you pestered me for years to hook up with you, but I have something called standards—”

“This is highly unusual behavior for royals,” Hypaxia observed.

“You have no idea,” Ruhn muttered, earning a smile from the queen.

Noting the way her brother’s face lit up, then dimmed … Did he know? About Hypaxia and Celestina? She had no idea what else might dampen his expression.

“Where’s Tharion?” Hunt asked, surveying the house. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’s upstairs,” Ruhn said. They could fill Tharion in later, she supposed. And Cormac, once he’d finished with whatever his father wanted.

Declan suddenly cursed, frowning. Then he said, “There’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” Bryce said.

“There’s no way in Hel I can ever hack into this archival system. It’s ironclad. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s gorgeous, actually.”

“All right, tone down the fanboying,” Ruhn grumbled. “What’s the good news?”

“Their camera system in the Eternal Palace is not ironclad.”

“So what the fuck does that get us?” Hunt asked.

“At the very least, I can confirm whether Sofie Renast ever gained access to that room.”

“And where that room might be,” Bryce murmured. Ithan and Hypaxia both nodded. “All right. Do it.”

“Settle in,” Declan warned. “We’re in for a long night.”

Ithan was dispatched to get Tharion after an hour, and Bryce was rewarded with the sight of a sleep-tousled mer entering the living room wearing nothing but his jeans.

Tharion plopped onto the couch beside Hypaxia, slinging his arm around the queen’s shoulders and saying, “Hi, Pax.”

Hypaxia waved off the mer. “Sleeping all afternoon?”

“Life of a playboy,” Tharion said. Apparently, they’d become fast friends during the Summit. Bryce might have wondered if there was more between them, had she not found the witch with the Archangel the night before. She wondered if Tharion knew.

Wondered if it rankled her brother that the witch and the mer had stayed in touch since the Summit, and he’d had only silence from her. Ruhn didn’t so much as frown.

Around midnight, Declan said, “Well, holy shit. There she is.”

Hunt nearly trampled Ruhn as they hurried over. Bryce, of course, made it to Declan’s side first, and swore. Hunt shoved Ruhn out of the way with an elbow and claimed the seat next to his mate. Ithan, Tharion, Hypaxia, and Flynn—sprites in tow—pressed in around them.

“She looks so young,” Hunt murmured.

“She was,” Ruhn said. Dec had pulled up the photo from Sofie’s old university ID and had the program search for any faces that resembled hers in the footage.

Bryce had tried to call Cormac, but the prince hadn’t answered his phone.

So they kept silent as Declan played the footage of the wood-and-marble subterranean library. From the camera mounted on the ceiling, they could see Sofie Renast, clad in some sort of white uniform that could only belong to one of the archivists, stalk by the ancient shelves.

“Door Seven-Eta-Dot-Three-Alpha-Omega,” Declan said, pointing to a wooden door beyond the shelf. “You can make out the writing faintly beside it.”

They could. Sofie slipped inside the room, using some sort of ID card to bypass the modern lock, then shut the carved door behind her.

“Fifteen minutes pass,” Declan said, zooming ahead. “And then she’s out again.” Sofie walked from the room the same way she had entered it: calmly.

“She doesn’t have anything on her,” Hunt observed.

“I can’t make out anything under her clothes, either,” Ruhn agreed.

“Neither did the computer,” Declan said. “She carried nothing in, nothing out. But her face is white as death.” Just as Baxian claimed Sandriel’s had been.

“When is this dated?” Bryce asked. Hunt squeezed her knee, like he needed to touch her, remind himself she was here and safe with him.