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

The door to the dry dock room whooshed open, ushering in a scent of bubbling streams and water lilies. Tharion kept his attention on the engine, the wrench clenched in his hand.

“I heard you were here,” said a lilting female voice, and Tharion plastered a smile on his face as he looked over a shoulder at the River Queen’s daughter.

She wore her usual diaphanous pale blue gown, offsetting the warm brown of her skin. River pearls and shards of abalone gleamed in her thick black curls, cascading well past her slim shoulders to the small of her back. She glided toward him on bare feet, the chill water coating the floor seemingly not bothering her at all. She always moved like that: as if she were floating underwater. She had no mer form—was only a fraction mer, actually. She was some kind of elemental humanoid, as at home in the open air as she was beneath the surface. Part woman, part river.

Tharion held up his wrench, a strip of river weed tangled around the tip. “Repairs.”

“Why do you still insist on doing them yourself?”

“Gives me a tangible task.” He leaned against the wave skimmer on the lift behind him, the water beading its sides cool against his hot skin.

“Is your work for my mother so unfulfilling that you need such things?”

Tharion offered a charming smile. “I like to pretend I know what I’m doing around machines,” he deflected.

She gave him a light laugh in return, coming closer. Tharion kept himself perfectly still, refusing to shy from the hand she laid on his bare chest. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“Your mother’s been keeping me busy.” Take it up with her.

A small, shy smile. “I’d hoped we could …” She blushed, and Tharion caught the meaning.

They hadn’t done that in years. Why now? Water-spirits were capricious—he’d figured she’d gotten him, had him, lost interest, and moved on. Even if the vows between them still bound them together irreparably.

Tharion covered her small hand with his own, brushing his thumb over the velvety skin. “It’s late, and I have an early start.”

“And yet you’re here, toiling on this … machine.” She took after her mother when it came to technology. Had barely mastered the concept of a computer, despite lessons with Tharion. He wondered if she even knew the name for the machine behind him.

“I need it for tomorrow’s work.” A lie.

“More than you need me?”

Yes. Definitely yes.

But Tharion gave another one of those grins. “Another time, I promise.”

“I heard you went into the city today.”

“I’m always in the city.”

She eyed him, and he noted the jealous, wary gleam.

“Who did you see?”

“Some friends.”

“Which ones?”

How many interrogations had begun like this and ended in her crying to her mother? The last one had been only a few days ago. Afterward, he’d wound up on that boat in the Haldren Sea, hunting for Sofie Renast’s remains.

He said carefully, “Bryce Quinlan, Ruhn Danaan, Ithan Holstrom, and Hunt Athalar.” No need to mention Aidas or Prince Cormac. They weren’t his friends.

“Bryce Quinlan—the girl from this spring? With the star?”

He wasn’t surprised she only asked about the female. “Yeah.” Another wary look that Tharion pretended not to notice as he said casually, “She and Athalar are dating now, you know. A nice ending after everything that went down.”

The River Queen’s daughter relaxed visibly, shoulders slumping. “How sweet.”

“I’d like to introduce you sometime.” A blatant lie.

“I shall ask Mother.”

He said, “I’m going to see them again tomorrow. You could join me.” It was reckless, but … he’d spent ten years now avoiding her, dodging the truth. Maybe they could change it up a bit.

“Oh, Mother will need more time than that to prepare.”

He bowed his head, the picture of understanding. “Just let me know when. It’ll be a double date.”

“What’s that?”

Television didn’t exist down here. Or at least in the River Queen’s royal chambers. So popular culture, anything modern … they weren’t even on her radar.

Not that theirs could be considered a true betrothal. It was more like indentured servitude.

“Two couples going out to a meal together. You know, a date … times two.”

“Ah.” A pretty smile. “I’d like that.”

So would Athalar. Tharion would never hear the end of it. He glanced at the clock. “I do have an early start, and this engine is a mess …”

It was as close to a dismissal as he’d ever dare make. He did have a few rights: she could seek him out for sex—as she’d done—but he could say no without repercussions; and his duties as Captain of Intelligence were more important than seeing to her needs. He prayed she’d consider fixing a wave skimmer one of those duties.

Ogenas be thanked, she did. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

And then she was gone, the scent of water lilies with her. As the doors slid open to let her through, Tharion glimpsed her four mer guards waiting on the other side—the River Queen’s daughter never went anywhere alone. The broad-chested males would have fought to the death for the chance to share her bed. He knew they detested him for having and rejecting that access.

He’d happily yield his position. If only the River Queen would let him.

Alone again, Tharion sighed, leaning his forehead against the wave skimmer.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. It could be weeks or years until she and her mother would start pushing for the wedding. And then for children. And he’d be locked in a cage, here below the surface, until even his Vanir life expired. Old and dreamless and forgotten.

A fate worse than death.

But if this thing with Sofie and Emile Renast was indeed playing out in a big way … he’d use it as his temporary escape. He didn’t give a shit about the rebellion, not really. But his queen had given him a task, so he’d milk this investigation for all it was worth. Perhaps see what the intel Sofie had gathered could gain him.

Until his own stupid choices finally called in a debt.

“And here’s the common room,” Hunt said through his teeth to Baxian as he shouldered open the door to the barracks hangout area. “As you already know.”

“Always nice to hear from a local,” Baxian said, black wings folded in tightly as he noted the dim space: the little kitchenette to the left of the door, the sagging chairs and couches before the large TV, the door to the bathrooms straight ahead. “This is only for triarii?”

“All yours tonight,” Hunt said, checking his phone. After ten. He’d been on his way out at seven when Celestina had called, asking him to give Baxian a tour of the Comitium. Considering the sheer size of the place … it had taken this long. Especially because Baxian had oh-so-many questions.

The bastard knew he was keeping Hunt here. Away from Bryce and that sweet, sumptuous mouth. Which was precisely why Hunt had opted to grin and bear it: he wouldn’t give the shithead the satisfaction of knowing how much he was pissing him off. Or turning his balls blue.