Crescent City Book 1 Quotes

at Parthos that a doomed human army made its final stand against the Vanir? To save proof of what they were before the Rifts opened—to save the books. A hundred thousand humans marched that day knowing they would die, and lose the war.” Micah’s smile grew. “All to buy the priestesses time to grab the most vital volumes. They loaded them onto ships and vanished.

Don't let the books sweet-talk you into taking them home.

Lehabah had been guardian of the gallery’s library for decades. Logic insisted that ordering a fire sprite to watch over a library was a poor idea, but when a third of the books in the place would like nothing more than to escape, kill someone, or eat them—in varying orders—having a living flame keeping them in line was worth any risk.

Ruhn tapped the book. “Permanently broken, apparently. It says here that once it was cracked, the Fae claimed it could only be repaired by light that is not light; magic that is not magic. Basically a convoluted way of saying there’s no chance in Hel of it ever working again.

Humans died for these books,” Micah purred, motioning to the shelves towering around them. “Banned titles, if I’m not mistaken, many of them supposed to only exist in the Asteri Archives. Evolution, mathematics, theories to disprove the superiority of the Vanir and Asteri. Some from philosophers people claimed existed before the Asteri arrived.” A soft, awful laugh. “Liars and heretics, who admitted they were wrong when the Asteri tortured them for the truth. They were burned alive with the heretical works used as kindling. And yet here, they survive. All the knowledge of the ancient world. Of a world before Asteri. And theories of a world in which the Vanir are not your masters.

Do you even know what you are surrounded by, Bryce Quinlan? This is the Great Library of Parthos.” The words clanged through the room. Jesiba refused to so much as open her mouth. Bryce, to her credit, said, “Sounds like a lot of conspiracy theory crap. Parthos is a bedtime story for humans.” Micah chuckled. “Says the female with the Archesian amulet around her neck. The amulet of the priestesses who once served and guarded Parthos. I think you know what’s here—that you spend your days in the midst of all that remains of the library after most of it burned at Vanir hands fifteen thousand years ago.” Hunt’s stomach turned. He could have sworn a chill breeze drifted from Jesiba. Micah went on idly, “Did you know that during the First Wars, when the Asteri gave the order, it was at Parthos that a doomed human army made its final stand against the Vanir? To save proof of what they were before the Rifts opened—to save the books. A hundred thousand humans marched that day knowing they would die, and lose the war.” Micah’s smile grew. “All to buy the priestesses time to grab the most vital volumes. They loaded them onto ships and vanished. I am curious to learn how they landed with Jesiba Roga.

Micah leaned back in his seat, wings rustling. “I’ve long suspected that the remains of Parthos were housed here—a record of two thousand years of human knowledge before the Asteri arrived. I took one look at some of the titles on the shelves and knew it to be true.” No one so much as blinked as the truth settled. But Jesiba pointed to the screens and said to Tristan Flynn, to Sabine, her voice shaking, “Tell the Aux to move their fucking asses. Save those books. I beg you.” Hunt ground his teeth. Of course the books were more important to her than Bryce. “The Aux shall do no such thing,” Sandriel said coldly. She smiled at Jesiba as the female went rigid. “And whatever Micah has in mind for your little assistant is going to look mild compared to what the Asteri do to you for harboring that lying rubbish—” But Bryce picked up the cheese tray and glass of wine. “Look, I only work here, Governor.

Danika Fendyr was the smart one. She stole the Horn from the temple, and you knew her well enough to finally realize what she did with it.” “Why would Danika have ever wanted the Horn?” Bryce asked innocently. “It’s broken.” “It was cleaved. And I’m guessing you already learned what could repair it at last.” Her heart thundered as Micah growled, “Synth.” She got to her feet, her knees shaking only slightly. “Governor or not, this is private property. If you want to burn me at the stake with all these books, you’ll need a warrant.

Did you learn, in all your research, that I am an investor in Redner Industries? That I have access to all its experiments?” “Oh fuck,” Isaiah said from across the pit. “And did you ever learn,” Micah went on, “what Danika did for Redner Industries?” Bryce still crawled backward up the stairs. There was nowhere to go, though. “She did part-time security work.” “Is that how she sanitized it for you?” He smirked. “Danika tracked down the people that Redner wanted her to find. People who didn’t want to be found. Including a group of Ophion rebels who had been experimenting with a formula for synthetic magic—to assist in the humans’ treachery. They’d dug into long-forgotten history and learned that the kristallos demons’ venom nullified magic—our magic. So these clever rebels decided to look into why, isolating the proteins that were targeted by that venom. The source of magic. Redner’s human spies tipped him off, and out Danika went to bring in the research—and the people behind it.” Bryce gasped for breath, still slowly crawling upward. No one spoke in the conference room as she said, “The Asteri don’t approve of synthetic magic. How did Redner even get away with doing the research on it?” Hunt shook. She was buying herself time. Micah seemed all too happy to indulge her. “Because Redner knew the Asteri would shut down any synthetic magic research, that I would shut their experiments down, they spun synth experiments as a drug for healing. Redner invited me to invest. The earliest trials were a success: with it, humans could heal faster than with any medwitch or Fae power. But later trials did not go according to plan. Vanir, we learned, went out of their minds when given it. And humans who took too much synth … well. Danika used her security clearance to steal footage of the trials—and I suspect she left it for you, didn’t she?” Burning Solas. Up and up, Bryce crawled along the stairs, fingers scrabbling over those ancient, precious books. “How did she learn what you were really up to?” “She always stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. Always wanting to protect the meek.

He’d asked only once about what his father was looking for, exactly. Patterns was all his father said. The Autumn King sat at one of the four massive worktables, each littered with books and an array of glass and metal devices. Experiments for whatever the fuck his father did with those patterns. Ruhn passed one of the tables, where iridescent liquid bubbled within a glass orb set over a burner—the flame likely of his father’s making—puffs of violet smoke curling from it.

Ember didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been waiting for this call for more than twenty years.” “You bitch—” A low, agonized laugh. “Who do you think ended your goons all those years ago? Not me and Randall. They had her in their grasp—by the neck. And they had us at gunpoint.” Another laugh. “She realized what they were going to do to me. To Randall. And she fucking blinded them.” What blinds an Oracle? Light. Light the way the Starborn had possessed it. Bryce still sat against the archway, breathing hard. Like summoning that star, wielding the Horn, had taken everything out of her. Ruhn murmured, more to himself than anyone, “Those books claimed there were multiple Starborn in the First Wars. I told her, and she …” He blinked slowly. “She already knew.

Hunt said, “The kristallos’s presence in Lunathion suggests the Horn is still inside the city walls.” Bryce pinned Ruhn with a look. “Why does the Autumn King suddenly want it?” Ruhn chose his words carefully. “Call it pride. He wants it returned to the Fae. And wants me to find it quietly.” Athalar asked him, “But why ask you to look for the Horn?” The shadows veiling them rippled. “Because Prince Pelias’s Starborn power was woven into the Horn itself. And it’s in my blood. My father thinks I might have some sort of preternatural gift to find it.” He admitted, “When I was browsing the Archives last night, this book … jumped out at me.” “Literally?” Bryce asked, brows high. Ruhn said, “It just felt like it … shimmered. I don’t fucking know. All I know is I was down there for hours, and then I sensed the book, and when I saw that illustration of the Horn … There it was. The crap I translated confirmed it.” “So the kristallos can track the Horn,” Bryce said, eyes glittering. “But so can you.

Her tingling fingers brushed over the titles. On the Divine Number; The Walking Dead; The Book of Breathings; The Queen with Many Faces …

The orrery in the far back of the space drew Ruhn’s eye: a working model of their seven planets, moons, and sun. Made from solid gold. Ruhn had been mesmerized by it as a boy, back when he’d been stupid enough to believe his father actually gave a shit about him, spending hours in here watching the male make whatever observations and calculations he jotted down in his black leather notebooks. He’d asked only once about what his father was looking for, exactly. Patterns was all his father said. The Autumn King sat at one of the four massive worktables, each littered with books and an array of glass and metal devices. Experiments for whatever the fuck his father did with those patterns. Ruhn passed one of the tables, where iridescent liquid bubbled within a glass orb set over a burner—the flame likely of his father’s making—puffs of violet smoke curling from it.

krait

Someone who listens. Who thinks before acting. Who tries to understand different viewpoints. Who does what is right, even if the path is long and hard. Who will give a voice to the voiceless.

a child laying his head on his mother's lap. a friend looking for any sort of reassuring contact to remind him that he was a living being. a good person, no matter what they made him do.

BOOKS BY SARAH J. MAAS THE COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES SERIES A Court of Thorns and Roses A Court of Mist and Fury A Court of Wings and Ruin A Court of Frost and Starlight A Court of Silver Flames A Court of Thorns and Roses Coloring Book THE CRESCENT CITY SERIES House of Earth and Blood House of Sky and Breath House of Flame and Shadow THE THRONE OF GLASS SERIES The Assassin’s Blade Throne of Glass Crown of Midnight Heir of Fire Queen of Shadows Empire of Storms Tower of Dawn Kingdom of Ash The Throne of Glass Coloring Book

Memento Mori. Remember that you will die. It was meant to be an invitation for merriment, to seize each moment as if it were one’s last, as if tomorrow were not guaranteed, even for slow-aging Vanir.

He had no idea what the Hel he’d do now. Perhaps the answer wasn’t some big, life-altering thing. Maybe it could be as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. That’s how you wound up following someone like Amelie, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Connor’s growled. Make better choices this time, pup. Assess. Decide what you want.

It’s a thousand degrees today and humid. I’m not wearing pants.

the leather stool at the bar, and sighed as her bare feet touched the cool brass footrest running the length of the dark wood counter. Lethe hadn’t changed in the two years since she’d last set foot on the floor that lent itself to an optical illusion, painted with black, gray, and white cubes. The cherrywood pillars still rose like trees to form the carved, arched ceiling high above, looming over a bar made from fogged glass and black metal, all clean lines and square edges.

He’d wounded her, and it had scared the Hel out of her that he held such power. That she had wanted so many things from him, imagined so many things with her brother—adventures and holidays and ordinary moments—and he had the ability to rip it all away.

But thank you for the kind words.” “Were they kind?” “They were accurate. You see me. It’s more than I can say about anyone else.

she held her mom for another moment. Breathed in her mom’s smell, so familiar and calming. Like home. Ember hugged her back, content to be there—to hold her daughter for one moment longer. This was what really mattered in the end.

Bryce ignored him and said, “I’d like to see her try. I’m the Super Powerful and Special Magic Starborn Princess, remember?” He knew she was joking, but her mouth thinned. “I’ll protect you.” “How could I forget, oh Magically Powerful and Super Special … whatever you said.

Crescent City: Where dreams come true.

That color should be called Blow Job Red, Danika had said the first time Bryce had worn it. Because that’s all any male will think about when you wear it.

Connor studied the ceiling as if it were immensely interesting, his gaze only snapping to hers as she settled on her feet again.

You want me. I want you. It’s been that way for a while, and playing with these human males hasn’t done a damn thing to make you forget that, has it?

Dominated the entire space just by breathing.

Like what her Fae father had done to nineteen-year-old Ember Quinlan, when he’d pursued her, seduced her, tried to keep her, and gone so far into possessive territory that the moment Ember had realized she was carrying his child—carrying Bryce—she ran before he could scent it and lock her up in his villa in FiRo until she grew too old to interest him.

If it’s not a date, then how is it different?” “It’d be a trial run. For a date,

A date to decide if I want to date you?” “You’re impossible.

wasn’t entirely sure if she could love someone, not when Danika was all she really needed anyway.

It’d taken Danika a few years to say those words, and she still used them sparingly. Danika had initially hated it when Bryce said them to her—even when Bryce explained that she’d spent most of her life saying it, just in case it was the last time. In case she wouldn’t get to say goodbye to the people who mattered most.

she’d already decided to curl up with a romance novel in her room. With the door shut.

Connor’s smile grew. Bryce’s breathing turned a shade uneven at that smile, the wicked light in his eyes.

She felt Connor’s stare on her every step of the way. And maybe she swished her hips. Only a tiny bit.

Sabine ordered the Scythe Moon Pack to watch Briggs tonight, along with some of the 33rd.” The packs had mandatory nights off once a week, and this was the Pack of Devils’—no negotiating. Otherwise, Bryce knew Danika would be out there, watching Briggs’s every move.

two CCU research students got killed near Luna’s Temple last week during the blackout. My shift. My section. My fault.

Even with their scents marking them as human, it took twenty minutes to identify who they were. They were ripped to shreds and partially eaten.

Danika didn’t meet Bryce’s eyes as she breathed, “I was three blocks away that night. Three. And I didn’t hear or see or smell them being shredded.

Damn it—she loved that calendar: Hottest Bachelors of Crescent City: Clothing-Optional Edition.

Bryce grabbed the ring of keys that opened doors into various parts of her life.

Honestly, it made no sense that any of them were friends: the future Alpha of all wolves, an assassin for high-paying clients waging war across the sea, a stunningly talented dancer and the only faun ever to grace the stage of the Crescent City Ballet, and … her. Bryce Quinlan. Assistant to a sorceress.

Sometimes, Bryce wished she’d accepted her monstrous father’s money—

the creep had offered her mountains of gold marks in exchange for her eternal silence about him.

Bryce soaked in the tangle of sensations that was this ancient, vibrant city:

It all hit her in one awakening kiss.

Bryce breathed in the nightly offering of Crescent City, drank it deep,

Bryce took out her phone and read the messages a fourth time. Connor had written, You know I’m shit with talking. But what I wanted to say—before you tried to get into a fight with me instead, by the way—was that I think it’s worth it. You and me. Giving us a shot. He’d added: I’m crazy about you. I don’t want anyone else. I haven’t for a long while. One date. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll deal with it. But just give me a chance. Please.

Reid had the easy manners of someone brought up with money, education, and no doors locked to his desires.

Reid was meticulous about his appearance, down to the very last detail. Every tie he wore, she’d learned, was selected to bring out the green in his hazel eyes. His suits were always impeccably cut to his toned body. She might have called him vain, had she not put such consideration into her own outfits. Had she not known that Reid worked with a personal trainer for the exact reason that she kept dancing—beyond her love for it—making sure her body was primed for when its strength might be needed to escape any would-be predator hunting the streets.

She often wondered about it: what it had been like before this planet had found itself occupied by creatures from so many different worlds,

Born of two Houses, Bryce had been forced to yield her allegiance to the House of Earth and Blood as part of accepting the civitas rank her father had gotten her. It had been the price paid for accepting the coveted citizen status: he’d petition for full citizenship, but she would have to claim Sky and Breath as her House. She’d resented it, resented the bastard for making her choose, but even her mother had seen that the benefits outweighed the costs.

Connor had added, You won’t regret this. I’ve had a long while to figure out all the ways I’m going to spoil you. All the fun we’re going to have. Stalker. But she smiled. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll see you in a few days. Message me when you’re home safe.

Quiet, pretty Juniper Andromeda—the exhibitionist. Even dancing in the sacred, ancient heart of the Raven, she was sweet and mild, but she shone.

She hadn’t touched a drink in nearly two years.

She could have recited Connor’s messages from memory, but it hurt more to see them. Hurt enough to feel through every part of her body, the dark remnants of her soul. So she always looked.

Declan pulled up a frame of the book right before Danika’s black-sparkle-painted nails grabbed it: Wolves Through Time: Lineage of the Shifters. “You can see her finger going to some text here,” Declan went on, clicking to another frame. Danika had opened the book, skimming over the text with a finger. Tapping something right near the top of the page. As if it were exactly what she’d been looking for.

Lidia, you made an impossible choice—you decided to protect your children, even if it meant you wouldn’t see them grow up. Fuck, if that doesn’t make you a true mother, then I don’t know what does.

Most Vanir did not find a challenge to more than fifteen thousand years of their reign amusing. Most humans did not find fifteen thousand years of near-slavery, of being prey and food and whores, to be all that amusing, either.

Danika had written, Dump the limp-dicked bastard and put Connor out of his misery. A date with him won’t kill you. He’s been waiting years, Bryce. Years. Give me something to smile about tonight.

House of Sky and Breath: the swaggering angels, the lofty sylphs, and the simmering elementals. House of Shitheads and Bastards, Danika always called them.

She looked up to find Reid on his own phone, thumbs flying, his chiseled features illuminated by the dim screen. Their invention five decades ago had occurred right in Redner Industries’ famed tech lab, and vaulted the company into unprecedented fortune. A new era of linking the world,

Pizza. Saturday night at six. If you’re late, it’s over.

Every breath pulled him further back from consciousness, as if his very mind had been yanked a good few feet away from where it normally rested like a captain at the helm of a ship.

Get up.” Hunt’s voice cut through the ringing, the screaming, the shrieking,

Hunt spooned coffee beans into the gleaming chrome machine built into the kitchen wall.

Keep dreaming, lordling.

Hunt was nothing but a shadow, a wisp of life, an instrument of death. He was nothing and no one at all.

Bryce rootled through the pastry bag on the counter and pulled out a chocolate croissant.

Yeah, Quinlan had balls. She was stupid and brash, but at least she had nerve.

Slow down, Put that here, Can we switch positions?

And at least he’s not some psychotic alphahole who will demand a three-day sex marathon and then call me his mate, lock me in his house, and never let me out again.” Which was why Reid—human, okay-at-sex Reid—was perfect.

Danika knew Reid casually through the part-time security work she did for his father’s business—a massive human-owned magi-tech company in the Central Business District.

everyone wanted a piece of Redner Industries these days. Even Micah Domitus was a major investor in its cutting-edge experiments.

She stabbed pearl studs into her ears, hoping half-heartedly that they’d add some class to what might be considered a somewhat scandalous dress.

Isaiah jerked his chin toward two files on the edge of the desk. “Look at Quinlan’s. Only one standing crime before this—for public indecency during a Summer Solstice parade. She got a little frisky against a wall and was caught in the act. Holding cell overnight, paid the fine the next day, did community service for a month to get it wiped off any permanent record.” Isaiah could have sworn a ghost of a smile appeared on Hunt’s mouth.

Bryce’s blood pulsed in time to the music, as if she had been crafted just for this: the moment when she became the notes and rhythm and the bass, when she became song given form.

she twisted in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall to admire the slope of her ass in the skintight gray dress,

She knew that as much as it killed Danika to stay in, she wouldn’t leave the pack. Not on the one night they all had together, the night they used to keep the bonds between them strong.

Bryce wrote back to Connor, Good luck handling Danika. He simply replied, She’s telling me the same about you.

There was a wolf at the gallery door. Which meant it must be Thursday,

her feet fucking hurt. And they were near-black and sticky—

What did the people in this building eat? Or, for that matter, who did they eat? Hopefully not wasted, stupid-high, half-Fae females who couldn’t manage to walk up the stairs.

Maybe she’d get lucky and Connor would still be at the apartment. And then she’d really get lucky. Gods, she wanted good sex.

It’d go far beyond the physical with him. It might honestly melt whatever was left of her mind after tonight. It was why she’d been a coward, why she’d avoided thinking about it from the moment he’d leaned in her doorway five years ago,

Two thousand two hundred and seventeen.

But he shrank from the look in his dark eyes. Glazed. Empty. Like staring into Hel.

The beat of the music pounded against her bones, echoing off the carved pillars, an incessant summons that Bryce ignored, denied. Just as she had every day for the past two years.

Not Juniper, who was too busy these days for more than the occasional brunch, and certainly not Fury, who didn’t bother to take her calls, or answer messages, or even visit this city.

She should shower, if she could remember how to operate the handles. Wash off her filthy, numb feet.

Maximus surveyed her body with all the male, immortal entitlement in the world.

The half-Fae female looked like Hel. No, not Hel, Isaiah Tiberian realized as he studied her through the one-way mirror in the legion’s holding center. She looked like death. Looked like the soldiers he’d seen crawl off the blood-drenched battlefields of Pangera.

Walking away, Bryce purred over a shoulder, “Just so you know—I don’t do possessive and aggressive.

She grinned, and knew it didn’t reach her eyes. None of her smiles did these days.

The Walking Dead; The Book of Breathings; The Queen with Many Faces …

No one and nothing existed but this—but her. He never heard the night-dark bushes behind him rustling. Never heard the branches cracking. Not until the kristallos crashed into him and sank its teeth into his shoulder.