House of Flame and Shadow (Crescent City, #3)

“So why can’t you just … eat the rest of them?” Bryce asked.

“It requires proximity,” Aidas said. “And the Asteri are well aware of my brother’s talents. They will avoid him at all costs.”

The princes flickered, like they were on a screen that had glitched.

“We’re running low on time,” Thanatos said. “The black salt is wearing off.”

Bryce focused on Apollion. “You guys have been telling me nonstop about having your armies ready to go.” She gestured to the temple, the dead city beyond. “This place looks pretty empty.”

Apollion’s eyes grew ever darker. “We have allowed you to see only a fraction of Hel. Our lands and armies are elsewhere. They are ready.”

“So if I open the Northern Rift with the Horn …,” Bryce said. Hunt cleared his throat in warning. “All seven of you and your armies will come through?”

“The three of us,” Aidas amended. “Our four other brothers are currently engaged in other conflicts, helping other worlds.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were, like, intergalactic saviors,” Bryce said.

Aidas’s mouth quirked upward. She could have sworn Apollion’s did, too.

“But yes,” Aidas went on, “opening the Northern Rift is the only way for our armies to fully and quickly enter Midgard.”

“After what happened this spring,” Hunt said to his mate, “you trust them not to fucking eat everyone?”

“Those were our pets,” Aidas insisted, “not our armies. And they have been severely punished for it. They will stay in line this time, and follow our orders on the battlefield.”

Bryce glanced to Hunt, but he couldn’t read the expression on her face. The princes flickered once more, the temple shimmering and paling. A tug pulled at Hunt’s gut, yanking him back toward the body he’d left in Avallen.

“I’ll think about it,” Bryce answered.

“This is no game, girl,” Thanatos snapped.

Bryce leveled a cool look at the Prince of the Ravine. “I’m sick and tired of people using girl as an insult.”

Thanatos opened his mouth to respond, but abruptly vanished—his connection had been severed.

Apollion said to Hunt, “Do not squander the gifts that have been given to you—by me, by my brother.” His gaze drifted to the halo on Hunt’s brow. “No true son of Hel can be caged.”

Then he was gone, too.

Son of Hel. Hunt’s very soul iced over at the thought.

Only Aidas remained, seeming to cling to the connection as he spoke to Bryce, his blue eyes intense on her face. “If you find that final piece of Theia’s power … if the cost of uniting the sword and knife is too much, Bryce Quinlan, then don’t do it. Choose life.” He glanced to Hunt. “Choose each other. I have lived with the alternative for millennia—the loss never gets easier to bear.”

Bryce reached a ghostly hand toward Aidas, but the Prince of the Chasm was gone.

And all of Hel with him.





62


Bryce opened her eyes to fire. Blazing, white-hot fire.

Hunt’s lightning instantly surrounded her, but it was too late.

The Autumn King and Morven stood in the chamber, somehow having caught up with them. Shadows wreathed the latter, but her father raged with flame.

And in the center of the room, surrounded by fire that even Tharion’s water could not extinguish, stood her friends.

Bryce gave herself one breath to take in the sight: Tharion, Baxian, Sathia, Flynn, and Declan, all huddled close and ringed by fire. There was no sign of the ghouls in the shadows, but the Murder Twins stood just outside the perimeter, smirking like the assholes they were.

The Autumn King didn’t bother to encircle her and Hunt with fire, knowing that even Hunt’s lightning couldn’t stop him if he chose to burn their prisoners to ashes. It was protection enough.

“Get up,” Morven ordered Bryce, shadows like whips in the Stag King’s hands. “We’ve been waiting long enough for you to snap out of that stupor.”

Hunt hissed, and Bryce glanced over to find angry, blistered weals along her mate’s forearm. They’d been burning Hunt to try to wake him up—

Bryce lifted her eyes to the shadow-crowned King of Avallen. To her sire, standing cold-faced beside him despite the fire at his fingertips. “What did you do with that black salt?” the Autumn King asked quietly. “Who did you see?”

Bryce drew the Starsword and Truth-Teller.

“Relinquish those weapons,” Morven snapped. “You’ve sullied them long enough.”

The fire closed in tighter around their friends. Baxian swore as a lick of it singed his black feathers.

“Sorry,” Bryce said to the kings, not lowering her weapons, “but the blades don’t work for rejected losers.”

The Autumn King sneered, “Their taste is questionable. We shall remedy that at last.”

“Right,” Bryce said thoughtfully. “I forgot that you killed the last Starborn Prince because you couldn’t deal with how jealous you were of him.”

The Autumn King, as he had the last time she’d accused him of this, only chuckled. Morven glanced at him, as if in sudden doubt.

But the Autumn King said, “Jealous? Of that sniveling whelp? He was unworthy of that sword, but no more unworthy than you.”

Bryce flashed him a winning smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The Autumn King went on, “I killed the boy because he wanted to put an end to the bloodline. To all that the Fae are.” The male jerked his chin at Bryce. “Like you, no doubt.”

She shrugged. “Not gonna deny it.”

“Oh, I know your heart, Bryce Quinlan,” the Autumn King seethed. “I know what you’d do, if left to your own devices.”

“Binge an obscene amount of TV?”

His flame rose higher, herding her friends closer together. Dangerously little space remained between their bodies and the fire. “You are a threat to the Fae. Raised by your mother to abhor us, you are not fit to bear the royal name.”

Bryce let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You think my mom turned me against you? I turned against you the moment you sent your goons after us to kill her and Randall. And every moment since then, you pathetic loser. You want someone to blame for me thinking the Fae are worthless pieces of shit? Look in the mirror.”

“Ignore her hysterical prattling,” Morven warned the Autumn King.

The Autumn King bared his teeth at her. “You’ve let a little bit of inherited power and a title go to your head.”

Morven’s shadows rose behind him, ready to obliterate all in their path. “You’ll wish for death when the Asteri get their hands on you.”

Bryce tightened her grip on the blades. They hummed, pulling toward each other. Like they were begging her for that final reunification. She ignored them, and instead asked the Fae Kings, “Finally going to hand us over?”

“The worms you associate with, yes,” the Autumn King said without an ounce of pity. “But you …”

“Right, breeding,” Bryce said, and didn’t miss Hunt’s incredulous look at her tone. Her arms strained with the effort of keeping the blades apart. “I’m assuming Sathia, Flynn, and Dec will be kept for breeding, too, but any non-Fae are out of luck. Sorry, guys.”

“This is not a joke,” Morven spat.

“No, it’s not,” Bryce said, and met his stare. “And I’m done laughing at you fools.”

Morven didn’t flinch. “That little light show might have surprised us last time, but one spark from you, and your friends burn. Or shall we demonstrate an alternate method?” Morven gestured with a shadow-wreathed hand to the Murder Twins.

Bryce checked that her mental wall of starlight was intact, but like the bullies they were, the twins struck the person they assumed was weakest.

One heartbeat, Sathia was wide-eyed and monitoring the showdown. The next, she’d snatched a knife from Tharion’s side.

And held it against her own throat.

“Stop it,” Tharion snarled toward the twins, who were snickering.

Sathia’s hand shook, and she pressed the dagger into her neck a little harder, drawing a trickle of blood.