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

Bryce, who had used Danika’s sword during the attack on this city, and kept it ever since. Ithan glanced to the door.

He moved before he could second-guess the wisdom and morality of it, going right to the coat closet. Umbrellas, boxes of crap … nothing. The linen closet and the laundry closet didn’t reveal anything, either.

Which left … He winced as he entered her bedroom.

He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it the other night. Well, he’d been beaten to Hel and back, so that was excuse enough, but … the sword leaned against the chair beside her tall dresser, as if she’d left it there for decoration.

Ithan’s mouth dried out, but he stalked for the ancient blade. Gifted to Danika by the Prime—an act that had infuriated Sabine, who’d long expected to inherit the family weapon.

He could still hear Sabine raging in the weeks after Danika’s death, trying to find where Danika had left the sword. She’d practically torn that old apartment to pieces to find it. Ithan had thought it lost until he saw Bryce brandishing it this spring.

Breath tight in his chest, Ithan picked up the blade. It was light but perfectly balanced. He drew it from the sheath, the metal shining in the dim light.

Damn, it was gorgeous. Simple, yet impeccably made.

He blew out a long breath, chasing away the clinging cobwebs of memories—Danika carrying this sword everywhere, wielding it in practice, the blade somehow validation that even if Sabine sucked, with Danika, they had a bright future, with Danika, the wolves would become more—

He couldn’t help it. He took up a defensive stance and swung the blade.

Yeah, it was perfect. A remarkable feat of craftsmanship.

Ithan pivoted, feinting and then striking at an invisible opponent. Sabine would lose her shit if she knew he was messing around with the blade. Whatever.

Ithan struck again at the shadows, shuddering at the beautiful song of the sword slicing through the air. And … what the Hel: he’d had a weird fucking morning. He needed to burn off some tension.

Lunging and parrying, leaping and rolling, Ithan sparred against an invisible enemy.

Maybe he’d gone crazy. Maybe this was what happened to wolves without a pack.

The sword was an extension of his arm, he thought. He slid over the glass dining table, taking on two, three, ten opponents—

Holstrom blocks; Holstrom presses—

Moving through the apartment, Ithan leapt up onto the coffee table in front of the sectional, wood shuddering beneath him, the narration loud and precise in his head. Holstrom delivers the killing blow!

He swiped the sword down in a triumphant arc.

The front door opened.

Bryce stared at him. Standing on the coffee table with Danika’s sword.

“I forgot my work ID …?” Bryce started, brows so high they seemed capable of touching her hairline. Ithan prayed Solas would melt him into the floor and boil his blood into steam.

It seemed the sun god was listening. The coffee table groaned. Then cracked.

And collapsed entirely beneath him.

Ithan might have continued to lie there, hoping some Reaper would come suck the soul from his body, had Bryce not rushed over. Not to him—not to help him up. But to investigate something just beyond his line of sight.

“What the Hel is this?” she asked, kneeling.

Ithan managed to move his ass off the debris, lifting his head to see her crouching over a stack of papers. “Was there a drawer in the table?”

“No. There must have been a secret compartment.” Bryce flicked splinters of wood from the half-scattered pile. “This table was here when I moved in—all the furniture was Danika’s.” She lifted her gaze to him. “Why would she hide her old college papers in here?”

Ruhn held the Starsword to the grindstone. Black, iridescent sparks flew from the blade’s edge. Behind him in the otherwise empty Aux armory, Flynn and Declan cleaned their array of guns at a worktable.

He’d planned to meet them here this afternoon. Had intended to hone the sword, clean and inspect his guns, and then cap the day off with a City Head meeting to discuss the new Archangel.

A normal day, in other words. Except for the colossal, life-threatening shit that had just gone down. Incredibly, the Prince of the Chasm was the least of his problems.

“Out with it,” Flynn said without halting work on his handgun.

“What?” Ruhn asked, pulling the blade away.

Declan answered, “Whatever has kept you standing there in silence for ten minutes, not even complaining about Flynn’s shitty playlist.”

“Asshole,” Flynn said to Dec, nodding toward where his phone blasted heavy metal. “This stuff is poetry.”

“They’ve done studies where plants wither up and die when exposed to this music,” Declan countered. “Which is precisely how I feel right now.”

Flynn chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re brooding about one of three things: horrible daddy, baby sister, or pretty fiancée.”

“None of them, dickhead,” Ruhn said, slumping into the chair across the table from them. He glanced to the doors, listening. When he was assured no one occupied the hall beyond, he said, “My lunch hour began with finding the Prince of the Chasm in feline form at Bryce’s apartment, where he revealed that Cormac is an Ophion rebel, and it ended with learning that Cormac is on the hunt for a missing kid and the kid’s spy sister. Who happens to be Cormac’s girlfriend. And he’s basically threatened to tell my father about my mind-speaking gifts if I don’t meet him at some bar to hear his pitch for how I can be of use to Ophion.”

His friends gaped. Declan said carefully, “Is everyone … alive?”

“Yes,” Ruhn said, sighing. “I was sworn to secrecy, but …”

“So long as you didn’t swear a blood oath, who cares?” Flynn said, gun forgotten on the table beside him.

“Trust me, Cormac tried. I refused.”

“Good,” Dec said. “Tell us everything.”

They were the only two people in the world Ruhn would trust with this knowledge. Bryce—and Hunt—would kick his ass for saying anything, but too fucking bad. They had each other to vent to. So Ruhn opened his mouth and explained.

“And … that’s where I’m at,” Ruhn finished, toying with the ring through his lip.

Flynn rubbed his hands together. “This should be exciting.” He was totally serious. Ruhn gawked at him.

But Declan was eyeing him thoughtfully. “I once hacked into an imperial military database and saw the uncensored footage from the battlefields and camps.” Even Flynn’s smile vanished. Declan went on, red hair gleaming in the firstlights, “It made me sick. I dreamed about it for weeks afterward.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ruhn asked.

“Because there was nothing to be done about it. It seemed that way, at least.” Declan nodded, as if to himself. “Whatever you need, I’m in.”

“That easy, huh?” Ruhn said, brows lifting.

“That easy,” Dec answered.