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

“I think the world could easily believe you killed an Archangel. But a widdle nobody half-human like me? That’s the thing they don’t want leaking out.”

“I guess. But … I just have a hard time believing any of this. That Pollux and Baxian being here isn’t a sign of shit about to go down. That Celestina might actually be a decent person. I’ve got more than two hundred years of history telling me to be wary. I can’t deprogram myself.” Hunt shut his eyes.

A moment later, soft fingers tangled in his hair, idly brushing the strands. He nearly purred, but kept perfectly still as Bryce said, “We’ll keep our guards up. But I think … I think we might need to start believing in our good luck.”

“Ithan Holstrom’s arrival is the exact opposite of that.”

Bryce nudged him with a shoulder. “He’s not so bad.”

He cracked open an eye. “You’ve come around quickly on him.”

“I don’t have time to hold grudges.”

“You’re immortal now. I’d say you do.”

She opened her mouth, but a bland male voice echoed through the park: The Gates will be closing in ten minutes. Anyone not in line will not be granted access.

She scowled. “I could have lived without them using the Gates to broadcast announcements all day.”

“You’re the one to blame for it, you know,” he said, mouth kicking up at one corner.

Bryce sighed, but didn’t argue.

It was true. Since she’d used the crystal Gates to contact Danika, it had awoken public interest in them, and revived awareness that they could be used to speak throughout the city. They were now mostly used to make announcements, ranging from the opening and closing times at the tourist sites to the occasional recording of an imperial announcement from Rigelus himself. Hunt hated those the most. This is Rigelus, Bright Hand of the Asteri. We honor the fallen dead in beautiful Lunathion, and thank those who fought for their service.

And we watch all of them like hawks, Hunt always thought when he heard the droning voice that disguised the ancient being within the teenage Fae body.

The Gate announcer fell quiet again, the gentle lapping of the Istros and whispering palm trees overhead filling the air once more.

Bryce’s gaze drifted across the river, to the mists swirling on its opposite shore. She smiled sadly. “Do you think Lehabah is over there?”

“I hope so.” He’d never stop being grateful for what the fire sprite had done.

“I miss her,” she said quietly.

Hunt slid an arm around her, tucking her into his side. Savoring her warmth and offering his own. “Me too.”

Bryce leaned her head against his shoulder. “I know Pollux is a monster; and you have every reason in the world to want to kill him. But please don’t do anything to make the Governor punish you. I couldn’t …” Her voice caught, and Hunt’s chest strained with it. “Watching Micah cut off your wings … I can’t see that again, Hunt. Or any other horror she might invent for you.”

He ran a hand over her silken hair. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Not for this. Just … be cautious.”

“I will.”

She ate more of her ice cream, but didn’t move. So Hunt did the same, careful not to drip into her hair.

When they’d eaten it all, when the sun was near-vanished and the first stars had appeared, Bryce straightened. “We should go home. Ithan and Syrinx need dinner.”

“I’d suggest not telling Holstrom that you group him with your pet.”

Bryce chuckled, pulling away, and it was all Hunt could do to not reach for her.

He’d decided to Hel with it all when Bryce stiffened, her attention fixed on something beyond his wings. Hunt whirled, hand going to the knife at his thigh.

He swore. This was not an opponent he could fight against. No one could.

“Let’s go,” Hunt murmured, folding a wing around her as the black boat neared the quay. A Reaper stood atop it. Clothed and veiled in billowing black that hid all indication of whether the Reaper was male or female, old or young. Such things did not matter to Reapers.

Hunt’s blood chilled to ice as the oarless, rudderless boat drifted right to the quay, utterly at odds with the elegant banners and flowers adorning every part of this city. The boat halted as if invisible hands tied it to the concrete walkway.

The Reaper stepped out, moving so fluidly it was as if it walked on air. Bryce trembled beside him. The city around them had gone quiet. Even the insects had ceased their humming. No wind stirred the palms lining the quay. The banners hanging from the lampposts had ceased their flapping. The ornate flower wreaths seemed to wither and brown.

But a phantom breeze fluttered the Reaper’s robes and trailing veil as it aimed for the small park beyond the quay and the streets past that. It did not look their way, did not halt.

Reapers did not need to halt for anything, not even death. The Vanir might call themselves immortal, but they could die from trauma or sickness. Even the Asteri were killable. The Reapers, however …

You could not kill what was already dead. The Reaper drifted by, silence rippling in its wake, and vanished into the city.

Bryce braced her hands on her knees. “Ugh, ugh, ughhh.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Hunt murmured. Reapers dwelled on every eternal isle in the world: the Bone Quarter here, the Catacombs in the Eternal City, the Summerlands in Avallen … Each of the sacred, sleeping domains guarded by a fierce monarch. Hunt had never met the Under-King of Lunathion—and hoped he never would.

He had as little as possible to do with the Under-King’s Reapers, too. Half-lifes, people called them. Humans and Vanir who had once been alive, who had faced death and offered their souls to the Under-King as his private guards and servants instead. The cost: to live forever, unaging and unkillable, but never again to be able to sleep, eat, fuck. Vanir did not mess with them.

“Let’s go,” Bryce said, shaking off her shiver. “I need more ice cream.”

Hunt chuckled. “Fair enough.” He was about to turn them from the river when the roar of a wave skimmer’s engine sounded. He turned toward it on training and instinct, and halted when he marked the red-haired male atop it. The muscled arm that waved toward them. Not a friendly wave, but a frantic one.

“Tharion?” Bryce asked, seeing the direction of Hunt’s focus as the mer male gunned for them, leaving roiling waves in his wake.

It was the work of a moment to reach them, and Tharion cut the engine and drifted for the quay, keeping well away from the black boat tied nearby.

“Where the fuck have you been this summer?” Hunt asked, crossing his arms.

But Tharion said breathlessly to Bryce, “We need to talk.”

“How did you even find us?” Bryce asked as they rode the elevator in her apartment building minutes later.

“Spy-master, remember?” Tharion grinned. “I’ve got eyes everywhere.” He followed Bryce and Hunt into the apartment.