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

Seven and seven and seven and seven—always that holy number. Always—

“It’s an ancient sword,” the Autumn King said at last, drawing Ruhn from his wandering thoughts, “from another world. Made from the metal of a fallen star—a meteorite. This sword exists beyond our planet’s laws. Perhaps the Reapers sensed that and shied away.”

The Reapers had learned precisely how outside the planet’s laws the sword was. It could fucking kill them.

Ruhn opened his mouth, but his father sniffed him again. Frowned. “And when were you going to tell me your sister was involved in this incident? She’s even more reckless than you.”

Ruhn stifled the spike of anger in his gut. “Only fit for breeding, right?”

“She should consider herself lucky I believe her valuable enough for that.”

“You should consider yourself lucky that she didn’t come in here to kick your ass for the betrothal to Cormac.”

His father stalked to the elegant wood liquor cabinet behind his desk and pulled out a crystal decanter of what looked and smelled like whiskey. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for days now.” He poured himself a glass, not bothering to offer Ruhn any, and knocked it back. “I suppose you convinced her not to.”

“She decided all on her own that you weren’t worth the effort.”

His father’s eyes simmered as he set the glass and decanter on the edge of his desk. “If that sword is acting up,” the Autumn King said, ignoring his barb, “I’d suggest keeping it far from your sister.”

Too late. “I offered it to her already. She didn’t want it. I don’t think she’s interested in your politics.”

But she had run into a sewer teeming with Reapers after him. Ruhn’s heart squeezed tight.

His father poured himself another glass of whiskey. The only sign that something about this conversation rattled him. But the Autumn King’s voice was bland as he said, “In ancient times, Starborn rivals would slit each other’s throats. Even those of the children. She is now more powerful than you and I are, as you like to remind me.”

Ruhn resisted the urge to ask whether that had played any part in his father’s slaying of the last Starborn heir. “Are you telling me to kill Bryce?”

His father sipped from the whiskey this time before replying, “If you had any backbone, you would have done it the moment you learned she was Starborn. Now what are you?” Another sip before he said mildly, “A second-rate prince who only possesses the sword because she allows you to have it.”

“Pitting us against each other won’t work.” But those words—second-rate prince—those gouged something deep in him. “Bryce and I are good.”

The Autumn King drained the glass. “Power attracts power. It is her fate to be tied to a powerful male to match her own strength. I would rather not learn what comes of her union with the Umbra Mortis.”

“So you betrothed her to Cormac to avoid that?”

“To consolidate that power for the Fae.”

Ruhn slowly picked up the Starsword. Refused to meet his father’s stare while he sheathed it down his back. “So this is what being king is all about? That old shit about keeping friends close and enemies closer?”

“It remains to be seen whether your sister is an enemy to the Fae.”

“I think the burden of that’s on you. Overstepping your authority doesn’t help.”

His father returned the crystal decanter to the cabinet. “I am a King of the Fae. My word is law. I cannot overstep my authority—it has no limits.”

“Maybe it should.” The words were out before Ruhn could think.

His father went still in a way that always promised pain. “And who will impose them?”

“The Governor.”

“That doe-eyed angel?” A mirthless laugh. “The Asteri knew what they were doing in appointing a lamb to rule a city of predators.”

“Maybe, but I bet the Asteri would agree that there are limits to your power.”

“Why don’t you ask them, then, Prince?” He smiled slowly, cruelly. “Maybe they’ll make you king instead.”

Ruhn knew his answer would mean his life or death. So he shrugged again, nonchalant as always, and aimed for the door. “Maybe they’ll find a way to make you live forever. I sure as fuck have no interest in the job.”

He didn’t dare to look back before he left.





26

Bryce leaned against the alley side of a brick building bordering the Black Dock, arms crossed and face stony. Hunt, gods bless him, stood at her side, mirroring her position. He’d come right over the moment she’d called him, sensing that her eerily calm voice meant something big had gone down.

She’d only managed to say something vague about Reapers before they’d found Cormac here, prowling for any hint of Emile.

Cormac lounged against the wall across the alley, focus on the quay beyond. Not even the vendors selling touristy crap came here. “Well?” the Avallen Prince asked, not taking his attention from the Black Dock.

“You can teleport,” Bryce said, voice low. That made Hunt’s eyes widen. He kept himself contained, though, solid and still as a statue, wings tucked in—but brimming with power. One blink, and Hunt would unleash lightning on the prince.

“What of it?” Cormac asked with no small hint of haughtiness.

“What did you do to the Reapers you teleported out?”

“Put them about half a mile up in the sky.” The Avallen Prince smiled darkly. “They weren’t happy.”

Hunt’s brows rose. But Bryce asked, “You can go that far? It’s that precise?”

“I need to know the spot. If it’s a trickier location—indoors, or a specific room—I need exact coordinates,” Cormac said. “My accuracy is within two feet.”

Well, that explained how he’d shown up at Ruhn’s house party. Dec’s tech had picked up Cormac teleporting around the house’s perimeter to calculate where he wanted to appear to make his grand entrance. Once he’d had them, he’d simply walked right out of a shadow in the doorway.

Hunt pointed to a dumpster halfway down the alley. “Teleport there.”

Cormac bowed mockingly. “Left side or right side?”

Hunt leveled a cool stare at him. “Left,” he challenged. Bryce suppressed a smile.

But Cormac bowed at the waist again—and vanished.

Within a blink, he reappeared where Hunt had indicated.

“Well, fuck,” Hunt muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, Cormac reappeared before them, right where he’d been standing.

Bryce pushed off the wall. “How the Hel do you do that?”

Cormac slicked back his blond hair. “You have to picture where you want to go. Then simply allow yourself to take that step. As if you’re folding two points on a piece of paper so that the two points can meet.”

“Like a wormhole,” Hunt mused, wings rustling.

Cormac waved a dismissive hand. “Wormhole, teleportation, yes. Whatever you want to call it.”

Bryce blew out an impressed breath. But it didn’t explain— “How’d you know where to find me and Ruhn?”