Crescent City 3 Quotes

The friends they’d made were what mattered in the end. Not the enemies. Through love, all is possible.

A world where people loved and valued books and learning so much that they were willing to die for them. Can you imagine what such a civilization was like?

You’re my home, Hunt. Our love spans across stars and worlds, remember?” She smiled slightly. “I’ll always find you.

I love you. I fell in love with you in the depths of my soul, and it’s my soul that will find yours again in the next life.

Okay, let’s do a head count. If you’re disowned, disgraced, or both, raise your hand.” Tharion, Baxian, Lidia, Hunt, and Ruhn raised their hands.

The gods know what would happen if all us females were unsupervised. Absolute anarchy. Cities would crumble.

Now I don’t fucking care who you are, so long as you’re mine.” Her eyes shot to his, again full of surprise. “Because I’m yours, Day. I’m fucking yours.

Why she had named Brannon after the oldest legends from her family’s bloodline: of a Fae King from another world, fire in his veins, who had created stags with the power of flame to be his sacred guards.

I’m sick and tired of people using girl as an insult.

It is on Avallen, and females are not allowed beyond the lobby of the archives.” “Yeah, our periods would probably get all over the books.

But what is eternal, what is made of love … that can never be destroyed.

Who’d you piss off to get sent to retrieve me, anyway?” She could have sworn Nesta’s lips curved into a smile. “On a good day, too many people to count. But today … I volunteered.

And you saw me. For the first time, you saw me. I could talk to you as I hadn’t spoken to anyone. You reminded me that I was—I am—alive. I hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

Let’s light it up.

Cassian’s waiting for you, Nesta,” Azriel said—tone gentling. “Take off the Mask.” Nesta stayed silent, Ataraxia ready in her hand. One swipe, and Azriel would be dead. “He’s waiting for you at the House of Wind,” Azriel went on. “At home.” Another blink from Nesta. The silver fire banked a little. Like whoever Cassian was, and whatever the House of Wind was … they might be the only things capable of fighting the siren song of the Mask.

Honor is all I have,” Irithys said, the heat of her indigo flames strong enough to warm Lidia’s chilled hands. “Honor, and my name. I will not sully or yield them.

And I’m your motherfucking executioner.

Flynn threw up his hands. “Am I the only one who feels like they’re on a bad acid trip?” Tharion scrubbed at his face. “I’m still on one, I think.

I’m assuming you have some plan up your sleeve that you’re going to spring on us at the worst possible moment.” “I think you mean the coolest possible moment,” Bryce said,

The world seemed to hold its breath as the elegant doe walked up to Ruhn and gently, lovingly, nuzzled his neck.

Surprise: I can teleport. Don’t barf.

I’m with you. All of me. You and I, we’ll finish this.

I yield my crown, my title, to the queen.

And Rhysand is … your king?” Nesta snorted. “He’d like to be. But no. He’s the High Lord of the Night Court.

All right. Let’s ring Hel’s doorbell.

You brought so much joy into my life, too, Ruhn.

I fell in love with you in the depths of my soul, and it's my soul that will find yours again in the next life.

An otter in a bright yellow vest leapt onto the quay, dripping everywhere. It rose onto its hind legs in front of Tharion, whiskers twitching, spraying droplets of water. Sathia grinned. “Stop it,” Tharion muttered. “It only encourages them to be cuter.

That is what I want on my new business cards. Bryce Quinlan: Better than Expected.

What is it you want to know?" Nesta asked carefully. Bryce glanced between them. "How'd you two meet?" "There was a war," Nesta said shortly. "Between who?" Bryce asked. Azriel answered this time. "Between an evil Fae King and us." "You two, or like . . . everyone?" Nesta gave her a withering look, "Yes, the King of Hybern declared war on just me and Azriel.

Prince Hunt Athalar Danaan. He would have hated the last name were it not for the fact that it was a marker of her ownership over his soul, his heart.

Gods, what did he do to you? Anger and grief filled the question as it came from all around him, from inside him. Ruhn managed to say, Nothing you haven’t done a thousand times yourself.

But Ruhn lay awake, holding her tight, and did not let go until dawn.

You could learn a thing or two from your sister.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruhn demanded. Flynn and Dec pretended to be busy looking into a closed butcher shop as they passed by. “You’re a prince,” Lidia said coolly. “Start acting like one.

You do make me proud, you know. Every day before now, and every day after. Nothing you do will ever change that.

Where are you?? I’m having separation anxiety! Get back here!!!

Wyrd, we called her in that old world.

And for the first time in her life, as she walked through that sea of death … she might have lifted her chin a bit higher. Might have felt a mantle settle on her shoulders, a train of starlight in her wake. Might have felt something like a crown settle upon her head. Guiding her into the dark.

You could, uh, talk to her,” Flynn said from beside Ruhn, shutting yet another useless drawer full of catalog cards. “I can literally feel you brooding.” “I’m not brooding.” “You’re brooding,” Declan said from Ruhn’s other side. “You’re brooding,” Ruhn said, nodding to Dec’s taut face.

Et in Avallen ego. Even in Avallen, there am I.

can take these photographs that capture a moment in time, but not the people in it?

If we get through this, Ruhn,” she said, “I’ll buy you a beer.

You can do good," Azriel warned, "while still being bad.

Who you are isn’t about what’s biologically in your system. It’s about who raised you. Who you are now.

Blessed with a Fae form and a humanoid one, gifted with elemental powers.

So he said to her, mind-to-mind, I love you. I fell in love with you in the depths of my soul, and it’s my soul that will find yours again in the next life.

For Jelly Jubilee in the flesh?” Hunt grinned. “Anything.

You can do good," Azriel warned, "while still being bad.” Bryce whistled. "I know a number of males back home who could only dream dream of delivering that sentenced with such cool." Nesta chuckled. "I know a good number, too." Azriel threw Nesta an incredulous look. But Nesta was grinning at Bryce.

Her brother only pressed a kiss to her brow and said, “Long live the queen.

Danika Fendyr would have skewered all of you to the front gates of the Den for how you treated Quinlan.

I’m sorry about your brother’s suffering.” The words steadied Bryce, focused her. “I’ll make sure my sire pays for it one day.” “Good” was all Nesta said. “Good.

What are you?” Ace breathed. Still panting, blazing with fire, Lidia said, “An old bloodline,” and got to her feet.

Well,” he said as casually as he could, sitting down and crossing his legs, “not to invite myself to the party, but I’m coming with you guys as well.

Think an earthworm with a mouth full of double rows of teeth. The size of two city buses.

She extended the Starsword toward his face. He didn’t dare move as she bopped him on the nose with its tip.

For the moment, it was only their souls, their bodies, and nothing else mattered.

You can do good," Azriel warned, "without ceasing to be evil.

Do Not Enter. “Now, that’s practically an invitation,” he said, earning a laugh from Lidia as he kicked in the door.

You're as much of a monster as they are," Nesta accused. Bryce knew. She'd always known. "Love will do that to you.

The way the sunlight gleamed on his long dark hair, turning it into a silken cascade of night.

Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae,

Half-dangling between Hunt and Baxian, Ruhn stared at her. Still said nothing. The world seemed to hold its breath as the elegant doe walked up to Ruhn and gently, lovingly, nuzzled his neck.

Ruhn read the words on each wooden door: Year Three. Year Seven. Year Five. She skidded to a halt, gripping a doorjamb. Ruhn reached her side as she shoved her face up to the glass. Year Nine. A group of teenagers—most of them mer, with striped skin and various coloring—sat in rows of desks in the classroom. Lidia pressed a hand against the door. Tears rolled down her cheeks. And then a boy, golden-haired and blue-eyed, looked away from his teacher and toward the window. The kid wasn’t mer. The ground slid out from under Ruhn. The boy had Lidia’s face. Her coloring. Another boy to his left, also not mer, had dark hair and golden eyes. Lidia’s eyes. Behind them, Flynn grunted with surprise. “You’ve got brothers on this ship?” “They’re not my brothers,” Lidia whispered. Her fingers curled on the glass. “They’re my sons.

Ruhn nodded to Hunt. “We need you to be the Umbra Mortis. He’s a badass—he wouldn’t hesitate.” “A badass,” Hunt said, “not a cannibal.” “Desperate times,” Ruhn said, meeting Hunt’s stare. Determination and focus filled the prince’s face.

Would you have listened if I had no backstory other than realizing what was right and wanting to fight for it? Of doing whatever it took to make sure that good prevailed against tyranny? Or does my being a mother somehow make my choices more palatable to you?

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage.

As they walked on, Nesta said, “When we stop again … can you show me how that contraption works?” “The phone?” The word couldn’t be translated into their language, and it sounded outright silly in their accent. But Nesta nodded, her eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead. “Trying to figure out what it does has been driving us all crazy.

Ruhn had called her a queen before she left. And for the first time in her life, as she walked through that sea of death … she might have lifted her chin a bit higher. Might have felt a mantle settle on her shoulders, a train of starlight in her wake. Might have felt something like a crown settle upon her head. Guiding her into the dark.

The Starsword is Made, as you called it.” He waved an idle hand, sparks at his fingertips. “The knife can Unmake things. Made and Unmade. Matter and antimatter. With the right influx of power—a command from the one destined to wield them—they can be merged. And they can create a place where no life, no light exists. A place that is nothing. Nowhere.

So does it … tell the truth?” A hint of a smile, more chilling than the frigid air around them. “It gets people to do so.

Laughter was the sole alternative to crying.

Apollion lifted a hand. Pure, sizzling lightning danced around it, arcing out to meet Hunt’s. “Welcome, son,” said the Prince of the Pit.

But why do you know this? How do you have this collection?” “I’ll refrain from making the comparison to a dog with a bone.” Jesiba closed her laptop with a soft click. Interlaced her fingers and set them upon the computer. “Quinlan knew when to keep her mouth shut, you know. She never asked why I have these books, why I have the Archesian amulets that the Parthos priestesses wore.” Ithan’s mouth dried out. He whispered, “What—who are you?

Azriel asked her with terrifying calm, “What happened to the Horn?” Bryce held his stare, seething, beyond trying to spin any bullshit. But Nesta said, “She is the Horn, Azriel. It’s inked into her flesh.” She lowered her hand from Bryce’s shoulder and peered at her. “Isn’t that right? It’s the only thing that would have made your tattoo react that way earlier.” Azriel’s hazel eyes flickered with predatory intent. He’d carve it out of her fucking back.

One by one, rapid as shooting stars, the thoughts raced through Bryce. More on instinct than anything else, she dropped to her knees and slammed her hand atop the eight-pointed star. Bryce reached with her mind, through layers of rock and earth—and there it was. Slumbering beneath her. Not firstlight, not as she knew it on Midgard—but raw Fae power from a time before the Drop. The power ascended toward her through the stone, like a glimmering arrow fired into the dark

Again,” Azriel reminded them, “her knees have healed.” Bryce glanced at the thick scarring over his fingers. What—who—had done such a brutal thing to him? And though she knew it was dumb to open up, to show any vulnerability, she said quietly, “The male who fathered me … he used to burn my brother to punish him. The scars never healed for him, either.” Ruhn had just tattooed over them. A fact she’d only learned right before she’d come here, and knowing about the pain he’d suffered—

There are certain places, girl, that are better suited to hold power than others. Places where the veil between worlds is thin, and magic naturally abounds. Our light thrives in such environments, sustained by the regenerative magic of the land.

Her versus this female … decent odds, but the sword presented a problem. As did whatever sort of presence thrummed from Nesta, apparently able to detect the Horn in Bryce’s back. Battling an opponent whose skills and powers were unknown, if not wholly alien, was probably unwise.

Azriel struck before she could exhale. Searing, sharp power, a bolt of blue right into her star. Bryce bent over, coughing, breathing around the burn, the alien strangeness of the power. “Are you all right?” Nesta asked with something like concern. Was it his power? Or something about this world? Even Hunt’s hadn’t felt like this—so undiluted, like one-hundred-proof liquor. Bryce closed her eyes and counted to ten, breathing hard. Letting it ease into her blood. Her bones. It tingled along her limbs. Slowly, she straightened, opening her eyes. From the way the others’ faces were illuminated, she knew her gaze had turned incandescent.

No one else came to see her. Bryce entertained herself by tossing peas from her stew into the grate in the center of the floor, counting the long seconds until she heard a faint plink, and then the hiss and roar of whatever lurked down there. She didn’t want to know. Her imagination conjured plenty of options, all with sharp teeth and ravenous appetites.

The Hawk smiled up at Baxian. “How about we start with your tongue today, traitor?” To Baxian’s credit, he stuck out his tongue toward the Hawk in invitation. Hunt smirked. Yeah—they were all in this together. To the bitter end. The Hawk cut his stare toward Hunt. “You’ll be next, Athalar.” “Come and get it,” Hunt gasped. Ruhn extended his tongue as well.

The radio crackled again, and a stranger’s voice filled it. “Daybright, we’re a go at Meridan.” Another voice: “We’re a go at Alcene.” Another: “Ready at Ravilis.” On and on. Eleven locations total. Then a soft female voice said, “This is Irithys. Set to ignite at the Eternal City.” “What the fuck is happening, Lidia?” Hunt breathed. They raced through the narrow city streets, the van with Flynn falling into line behind them. Hunt grunted, “Those are all places on the Spine.” Athalar was right: Every single city mentioned was a major depot along the vital railway that funneled imperial weapons to the front. Lidia didn’t take her eyes off the road as she picked up the radio. “This is Daybright. Blast it to Hel, Irithys.

That’s how you got to this world,” Nesta went on, backing up a step—no doubt to provide space to draw Ataraxia. “Why you, and no one else, can come. Why you said no one would be able to follow you here. Because only you have the Horn. Only you can move between worlds.” “You got me,” Bryce said, throwing up her hands in mock surrender and taking a step out of Nesta’s range. “I’m a big, bad, world-jumping monster. Like my ancestors.” “You’re a liability,” Nesta said flatly, eyes taking on that silvery sheen—that otherworldly fire. “I told you guys a hundred times already: I didn’t even want to come here—” “It doesn’t matter,” Nesta said. “You did come here, to the place where the Daglan are still apparently dead set on returning.

Bryce stumbled on a slippery rock, going down into the frigid water, palms and knees smarting— A strong hand was instantly at her back, but too late to avoid the stinging cuts that now peppered her hands and legs. “Careful,” Azriel warned, setting her on a sturdier rock. Bryce’s stomach hollowed out with her ears this time, and the dagger was right there, the sword so close— Azriel let out a grunt, going rigid. Like he could feel it, too, the weapons’ demand to be together or apart or whatever it was, the strange power of them in proximity to each other— “Watch your footing” was all the male said before stepping back. Far enough away that the sword and the dagger halted their strange tugging at Bryce. Her stomach eased, her hearing with it.

So that eight-pointed star,” Nesta said into the quiet as they began walking again, shoes squishing, “it’s a symbol of the Starborn people in your world. It means nothing else?” “Why all the questions about it?” Bryce asked through chattering teeth. Azriel walked a few steps behind, silent as death, but she knew he was listening to every word. Nesta went silent, and Bryce thought she might not answer, but then she said, “I had a tattoo on my back—recently. A magical one, now gone. But it was of an eight-pointed star.” “And?” “And the magic, the power of the bargain that caused the tattoo to appear … it chose the design. The star meant nothing to me. I thought maybe it was related to my training, but its shape was identical to the scar on your chest.

Tharion was in no mood to joke, though. “Holstrom, I … Look, I said some shit earlier that I—” He shook his head. “If you can get me out of here, I’ll make it count. It means a lot that you’d even try. That you care.” “We’re a pack,” Ithan said to Tharion, Flynn, and Dec. “It’s what we do for each other.” None of them contradicted it. His heart strained. Tharion’s eyes glimmered with emotion. “Thanks.

Azriel and Nesta returned to their back-to-back position, and Bryce gathered her wits enough to say, “What happened?” “It … it ate my power,” Nesta murmured. “That’s not possible,” Azriel said, eyes fixed on the river. “It did,” Nesta snapped. “I felt it.” “Shit,” Azriel said. “We need to run,” Bryce said. “No,” Nesta said, silver fire in her eyes again. “That thing doesn’t get out of this fight alive.

Light flared from the star at Bryce’s feet, from her chest, merging and blending, and then a hologram of a dark-haired young female—High Fae—appeared. As if she were addressing an audience. Bryce knew that heart-shaped face. The long hair. “Silene,” Bryce murmured. “From the carving?” Nesta asked, and as Bryce glanced to her, the warrior stepped through the wards as if they were nothing. Like she could have done so all along. Azriel didn’t try to stop her, but remained standing inside the tunnel mouth. “At the beginning of the tunnels,” Nesta said, “there was that carving of a young female … you said her name was Silene.” “The carving’s an exact likeness,” Bryce said, nodding. “But who is she?” Azriel said softly, voice tinged with pain, “She looks like Rhysand’s sister.” Nesta peered back at him with something like curiosity and sympathy. Bryce might have asked what the connection meant, but the hologram spoke.

A great civilization lived on Midgard long before the Asteri conquered it.” He could have sworn she sounded sad. “One that prized knowledge in all its forms. So much so that a hundred thousand humans marched at Parthos to save these books from the Asteri and Vanir who came to burn them.” She shook her head, face distant. “A world where people loved and valued books and learning so much that they were willing to die for them. Can you imagine what such a civilization was like? A hundred thousand men and women marched to defend a library—it sounds like a bad joke these days.” Her eyes blazed. “But they fought, and they died. All to buy the library priestesses enough time to smuggle the books out on ships. The Vanir armies intercepted most of them, and the priestesses were burned, their precious books used as kindling. But one ship …” Her lips curved upward. “The Griffin. It slipped through the Vanir nets. Sailed across the Haldren and found safe harbor in Valbara.” Ithan slowly shook his head. “How do you know all this, when no one else does?” “The mer know some of it,” she hedged. “The mer aided the Griffin across the sea, at the behest of the Ocean Queen.

Azriel dragged Bryce back, sword and dagger calling to her to draw them, use them. But he kept pulling her away, deeper into the tunnel as the undead thing and the Wyrm grappled with each other. The ceiling shook, debris shattering on the floor. Azriel arched a wing, shielding them both from its slicing rain. But there was nothing in that world to shield them from the being standing a few feet away. Hair drifting on a phantom breeze, Nesta glowed with silver fire. Still wearing her mask. A finger pointed toward the fight. Commanding that creature of bone and death to attack the Wyrm. Again. Again.

Indeed, Ruhn said, “Wanna … hear a … joke?” The prince didn’t wait for a reply before he continued, “Two angels … and a Fae Prince … walk into … a dungeon …” Ruhn didn’t finish, and didn’t need to. A broken, rasping laugh came out of Hunt. Then Baxian. Then Ruhn. Though every heave shrieked through his arms, his back, his broken body, Hunt couldn’t stop laughing. The sound bordered on hysteria. Soon tears were leaking down his cheeks, and he knew from the scent that the others were laughing and crying as well, like it was the funniest fucking thing in the world. The door to the chamber banged open,

Don’t you dare,” Azriel began—but not to Bryce. Dread paled his golden skin. “Nesta—” Something metallic gleamed like sunshine in Nesta’s hand. A mask. “Nesta,” Azriel warned, panic sharpening his voice, but too late. She closed her eyes and shoved it onto her face. A strange, cold breeze swept through the tunnel. Bryce had endured that wind before, in the Bone Quarter. A wind of death, of decay, of quiet. The hair on her arms rose. And her blood chilled to ice as Nesta opened her eyes to reveal only silver flame shining there. Whatever that mask was, whatever power it had … death lay within it. “Take it off,” Azriel snarled, but Nesta extended a hand into the darkness of the tunnel. Mortal, an ancient, bone-dry voice whispered in Bryce’s head. You are mortal, and you shall die. Memento mori. Memento mori, memento— Bone clicked in the darkness. The earth shook. Azriel grabbed Bryce, tugging her back against him as he retreated toward the wall, as if it’d offer any shelter from whatever approached. The Starsword and Truth-Teller hummed and pulled at Bryce’s spine, and her hands itched, like she could feel the weapons in her palms— She didn’t see what it was that Nesta drew from the dark before the Wyrm found them.

We need to help her,” Bryce panted to Azriel. “I promise you, she’s fine,” Azriel countered, urging them further into the tunnel. Out of the impact zone, Bryce realized. The Wyrm must have sensed the sword’s approach, because it bucked against the bones and claws pinning it to the rock. It managed to nudge the undead creature back, but only for a heartbeat. Nesta raised her free hand again, and the undead creature slammed the Wyrm back into the ground. The Wyrm thrashed, desperate now. With a dancer’s grace, Nesta scaled the undead beast’s tail, running along the knobs of its spine like rocks in a stream. Getting to higher ground, to a better angle. The Wyrm shrieked, but Nesta had reached the undead beast’s white skull. And then she was jumping, sword arcing above her, then down, down— Straight into the head of the Wyrm. A shudder of silver fire rushed down the Wyrm. That cold, dry wind shivered through the caves again, death in its wake. The Wyrm slumped to the ground. The silence was worse than the sound. Azriel was instantly gone, wings tucking in tight as he rushed toward Nesta and the undead beast that still held the Wyrm in its grip. “Take it off,” Azriel ordered her. The female turned her head toward him with a smooth motion that Bryce had only seen from possessed dolls in horror movies. “Take it off,” Azriel snarled.

went into the tank for my sister,” Sigrid rasped, agony and rage contorting her face. “To keep her fed. To keep her safe. And you killed her.” Her voice rose, full of command that had the wolf in him sitting up, readying to strike at her signal. “I’ll rip out your throat, you soulless thief. I’m going to piss on your rotting corpse—” Sabine leapt. Declan fired his gun at the same time Flynn unleashed a second, blasting shot. Sigrid dropped to her knees, claws scratching at her face as she shielded her ears against the noise. Flynn advanced, gun at the ready, firing again at the downed wolf leaking blood onto the grimy alley pavement. Dec’s shot had been for Sabine’s knee—to incapacitate her. But Flynn had blasted Sabine’s face clean off.

Where did the dagger come from?” Azriel’s hazel eyes held nothing but cool wariness. “Why do you want to know?” “Because the Starsword”—she motioned to the blade he had down his back—“sings to it. I know you’re feeling it, too.” Let it be out in the open. “It’s driving you nuts, right?” Bryce pushed. “And it gets worse when I’m near.” Azriel’s face again revealed nothing. “It is,” Nesta answered for him. “I’ve never seen him so fidgety.” Azriel glowered at his friend. But he admitted, “They seem to want to be near each other.” Bryce nodded. “When I landed on that lawn, they instantly reacted when they were close together.” “Like calls to like,” Nesta mused. “Plenty of magical things react to one another.” “This was unique. It felt like … like an answer. My sword blazed with light. That dagger shone with darkness. Both of them are crafted of the same black metal. Iridium, right?” She jerked her chin to Azriel, to the dagger at his side. “Ore from a fallen meteorite?” Azriel’s silence was confirmation enough. “I told you guys back in that dungeon,” Bryce went on. “There’s literally a prophecy in my world about my sword and a dagger reuniting our people. When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be.” Nesta frowned deeply. “And you truly think this is that particular dagger?” “It checks too many boxes not to be.” Bryce lifted a still-bloody hand, and she didn’t miss the way they both tensed. But she furled her fingers and said, “I can feel them. It gets stronger the closer I get to them.

My father became High King, and my mother his queen, yet this island on which you stand, this place … my mother claimed it for herself. The very island where she had once served as a slave became her domain, her sanctuary. The Daglan female who’d ruled it before her had chosen it for its natural defensive location, the mists that kept it veiled from the others. So, too, did my mother. But more than that, she told me many times that she and her heirs were the only ones worthy of tending this island. Nesta murmured to Azriel, “The Prison was once a royal territory?” Bryce didn’t care—and Azriel didn’t reply. Silene had glossed over how Theia and Fionn had used the Trove and Cauldron against the Asteri, and why the Hel had she come to this planet if not to learn about that? Yet once again, Silene’s memory plowed forward. And with the Daglan gone, as the centuries passed, as the Tithe was no longer demanded of us or the land, our powers strengthened. The land strengthened. It returned to what it had been before the Daglan’s arrival millennia before. We returned to what we’d been before that time, too, creatures whose very magic was tied to this land. Thus the land’s powers became my mother’s. Dusk, twilight—that’s what the island was in its long-buried heart, what her power bloomed into, the lands rising with it. It was, as she said, as if the island had a soul that now blossomed under her care, nurtured by the court she built here. Islands, like those they’d seen in the carvings, rose up from the sea, lush and fertile.

Especially as something massive and slimy lurched from below, the size of two city buses. An enormous worm, gleaming with water and mud. A mouth full of rows of teeth opened wide and snapped— Bryce fell back on her ass as the worm caught three of the flying lizards between those teeth. Swallowed them all in one bite. Her starlight flared, casting the whole cavern in light and shadow. The creatures on the walls screeched—either at the worm or the light—flapping off their perches and right into the creature’s opening jaws. Another snapping bite, river water and metallic-reeking mud spraying with the movement, and more vanished down the worm’s throat. Bryce could only stare. One twist of its behemoth body and it’d be upon her. One bite and she’d be swallowed. Her starlight could do nothing against it. It had no eyes. It likely operated on smell, and there she was, a trembling treat offered up on that bridge— A strong, slim hand grabbed Bryce under the shoulder and dragged her back.

Every muscle in Bryce’s body went taught, that voice whispering over and over to her, Mortal. You shall die. You shall die. You shall die. She hated how she shook at Nesta’s stalking approach. How both the human and Vanir parts of her trembled at this thing, whatever it was, contained within the mask. Azriel didn’t yield a single step. Nesta came to a stop before him. Nothing human or Fae looked out through the eyeholes of the mask. “Take it off,” he said, voice pure ice. “Let the creature rest again.” A blink, and the undead creature collapsed once more into a pile of bones. “Cassian’s waiting for you, Nesta,” Azriel said—tone gentling. “Take off the Mask.” Nesta stayed silent, Ataraxia ready in her hand. One swipe, and Azriel would be dead. “He’s waiting for you at the House of Wind,” Azriel went on. “At home.” Another blink from Nesta. The silver fire banked a little. Like whoever Cassian was, and whatever the House of Wind was … they might be the only things capable of fighting the siren song of the Mask.

Hunt opened his mouth, his last bit of bravado before the shitshow began, but in the shadows behind Pollux, beyond the fireplace, something dark moved. Something darker than shadow. Not Ruhn’s shadows. The prince didn’t seem to be able to access those when constrained by the gorsian shackles. Only the prince’s mind-speaking abilities remained. This shadow was different—darker, older. Watching them. Watching Hunt. Hallucinations: Bad, because it meant he had some infection that even his immortal body couldn’t fight off. Good, because it meant he might quietly slip away into death’s embrace. Bad, because it meant the Asteri might turn their attention fully to Bryce. Good, because the pain would be gone. Bad, because he still held out some stupid, fool’s hope deep in his heart of seeing her again. Good, because Bryce wouldn’t come looking for him if he was dead. Across the room, the thing in the shadows moved. Just slightly. Like it had crooked a finger at him. Death. That was the thing in the shadows. And now it beckoned.

Your mother was a fool to give you away,” Hilde grumbled. Lidia arched a brow. “Is that a compliment?” “Take it as you will.” The hag flashed her rotting teeth in a nightmare of a smile. “You’re a born killer—like any true witch. That girl on the throne is as softhearted as your mother. She’ll bring down the entire Valbaran witch-dynasty.” “Alas, my father was a smart negotiator,” Lidia said, making a good show of admiring the ruby ring on her finger, the stone as red as Irithys’s flame. “But enough about me.” She gestured to the hag, then to the sprite. “Irithys, Queen of the Sprites. Hilde, Grand Hag of the Imperial Coven.” “I know who you are,” Irithys said, her voice quiet with leashed rage. She now floated in the center of the orb, her body bloodred. “You put this collar on me.” Hilde again smiled, wide enough to reveal her blackened gums. A lesser person would have cowered at that smile. “I had the honor of doing it to the little bitch who bore the crown before you, too.” Hilde didn’t mean Irithys’s mother, who had never been queen at all. No, when the last Sprite Queen had died, the line had passed to a different branch of the family, with Irithys first to inherit.