Crescent City Ruhn Quotes

Ruhn looked at his sister and said softly, "You brought so much joy into my life, Bryce." It was perhaps the only goodbye they'd be able to make.

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 male blinked. His eyes were the same shade of violet blue as Ruhn’s.

It couldn't be. It... it couldn't be. Bryce and Hunt were frozen with shock. Ruhn whispered, "Day?" Lidia Cervos looked over a shoulder. And she said with quiet calm in a voice he knew like his own heartbeat, a voice he had never once heard her use as the Hind, "Night.

It means that he’s going ballistic in the way that only mates can when the other is threatened. It’s what happened then, and what’s happening now. You’re true mates—the way Fae are mates, in your bodies and souls. That’s what was different about your scent the other day. Your scents have merged. As they do between Fae mates.

The Horn has no power,” Ruhn reminded him. “It is a symbol—and symbols will always wield power of their own.

You remind me of the wind.” He tried to explain. “Powerful and able to cool or freeze with half a thought, shaping the world itself though no one can see you. Only your impact on things.” He added, “It seems lonely, now that I’m saying it.

I’m saying I want shit kept quiet.” She grinned at Ruhn, showing all her white teeth, the expression more savage than amused. “I’m saying if you three morons leak any of this to your Aux buddies or drunken hookups, I am going to be very unhappy.” Honestly, Hunt would have liked nothing more than to grab some popcorn and a beer, kick back in a chair, and watch her verbally fillet these assholes.

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

Declan said, "Can we pause for a moment and remark on the fact that both of you have spoken to the Prince of the Pit? Is no one else about to puke at the thought?" Ruhn held up a hand, and Tharion lazily lifted one from the bench, but Bryce high-fived Hunt. "Special kids club," she said to the angel, who winked at her.

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

Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae. Son of the Autumn King and the current possessor of the Starsword, fabled dark blade of the ancient Starborn Fae. Proof of the prince’s Chosen One status among the Fae—whatever the Hel that meant.

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.

Ruhn Danaan knew three things with absolute certainty: He had smoked so much mirthroot that he couldn’t feel his face. Which was a damn shame because there was a female currently sitting on it. He had downed an obscene amount of whiskey, because he had no idea what the female’s name was, or how they’d gotten to his bedroom, or how he’d wound up with his tongue between her legs. He really fucking loved his life. At least … right now.

It'd be safer not to go at all, but here we are, going," Hunt said. Ruhn wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself as the angel crossed the room and knelt before Bryce, grabbing her hands. "I want a future with you. That's why I'm going. I'm going to fight for that future." His sister's eyes softened. Hunt kissed her hands. "And to do so, we can't play by other people's rules.

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.

So, are we supposed to meditate with you or something?” Flynn set down the mirthroot. “How the Hel would that help?” Ruhn asked. “Solidarity?” Flynn suggested.

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

Bryce explained everything again, and Hunt couldn't keep himself from tugging her closer. When she finished, Ruhn echoed Hunt's words. "We got lucky tonight. You got lucky tonight." Bryce winked at Hunt. "And I plan to get lucky again." "Gross," Ruhn said as Declan snickered.

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.

Does it matter now?” Flynn asked. “I mean, no offense, but Danika’s gone.” Bryce gave him a flat look. “Really? I had no idea.” Flynn flipped her off, and the sprites ooohed at his shoulder. Bryce rolled her eyes. Exactly what Flynn needed: his own flock of cheerleaders trailing him at all hours. She said to Flynn, “Hey, remember that time you set a dragon free and we’re dumb enough to think she’d follow your orders?” “Hey, remember that time you wanted to marry me and wrote Lady Bryce Flynn in all your notebooks?” Hunt choked. Bryce countered with, “Hey, remember when you pestered me for years to hook up with you, but I have something called standards—” “This is highly unusual behavior for royals,” Hypaxia observed. “You have no idea,” Ruhn muttered, earning a smile from the queen.

I don't give a shit,' he said, smiling slightly. 'I don't care if I'm called Prince or Starborn or the Chosen One or any of that.' He grabbed her hand. 'The only thing I want to be called right now is your brother.' He added softly. 'If you'll have me.' She winked, even as her heart tightened unbearably. 'I'll think about it.

You're my sister,' Ruhn didn't bother to keep his voice down. No, there was pride in his voice. And damn if that didn't hit her in the heart. 'Of course I'd come to save your ass.

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.

You do remember that Bryce and Athalar are together?” Ruhn said. “Try to get between them, and you’ll get a refresher course on why he was called the Umbra Mortis.

Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae,

Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn’s, yet … wilder. The way Cormac’s had been.

Ruhn, who had driven the sword right through their father’s cold heart.

The line will end with me, you fucking prick, Ruhn said into his father’s mind, because I yield my crown, my title, to the queen.

But somehow... Ruhn seemed to know his fate. He didn't appear inclined to fight it.

The strike had been for the rebellion, Hunt knew, but the escape—the escape had been entirely for Ruhn.

Rhysand, he’d called himself. The one who looked so much like Ruhn.

Ruhn Danaan knew three things with absolute certainty:

I don't know how to wake up. Open your eyes. No shit.

You remind me that I'm alive,' she said, voice thick. 'You remind me that goodness can exist in the world.

They're not going to ask for your permission like that Night Court dude.

Luna’s Horn remains at large.” Ruhn twisted back to his father. “So? What does one have to do with the other?” “I want you to find it.” Ruhn glanced to the notebooks, the prism. “It went missing two years ago.” “And I now have an interest in locating it. The Horn belonged to the Fae first. Public interest in retrieving it has waned; now is the right time to attain it.

Hey, Dec,” he groaned. Declan laughed thickly—like he might have been holding back tears. “It’s so fucking good to hear your voice.” Ruhn squeezed his eyes shut, throat working. “I love you. You know that?

I'm going to find you,' he said against her burning hair. 'I'll find you one day, I promise.' She shuddered but melted into him. Like she'd yielded any attempt at restraint. 'You remind me that I'm alive, too,' he whispered.

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.

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—

I was wrong. I think the Oracle meant all of them, Ruhn went on, mind-to-mind. The male lines. The Starborn Princes included—all you fucks who have corrupted and stolen and never once apologized for it. The entire system. This bullshit of crowns and inheritance.

Ruhn said to her, “I asked you to come. Not him.” Bryce linked her arm through Athalar’s, the portrait they painted laughable: Bryce in her fancy work dress and heels, the angel in his black battle-suit. “We’re joined at the hip now, unfortunately for you. Best, best friends.” “The best,” Hunt echoed, his grin unfading.

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 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.

Director Kagani added gently, “I’ll contact Brann and Actaeon’s adoptive parents to see if they can come in, too.” Lidia nodded silently, and kept walking. Ruhn glanced to Flynn, whose brows were high. Ruhn raised his own brows in silent agreement. A sudden movement snared his attention and Ruhn whirled toward Lidia, blindly reaching for her. But he wasn’t swift enough to catch her as she fainted, crumpling to the floor.

I would never hurt him. Everything I’ve done recently, everything I’m doing now, has been to keep Ruhn alive. Do you know how hard it is to keep Pollux at bay? To convince him to go slow? Do you have any idea what that’s like?” She screamed the last part at Flynn, who backed away a step. The Hind heaved a breath, shaking. “I need to get him out. If you don’t help me, then his death is on you. And I will destroy you, Tristan Flynn.

Hunt squinted as he lowered his wing and met the shithead’s eyes. “Fuck you.” Like Hel would these assholes make him beg and grovel—either for his own life or Ruhn’s. Lidia said mildly, “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Athalar.” Hunt looked, but not fast enough. The Hawk certainly didn’t look fast enough. And Hunt knew he’d treasure this moment forever: the moment when Lidia Cervos pulled out her gun and fired it right between the Hawk’s eyes.

The Autumn King smiled. It was a thing of nightmarish beauty. “You truly are my child. More so than Ruhn ever was.” “That’s not a compliment.” But she went on, content to needle him with her guesses. “You want to know if I can kill them, don’t you? The Asteri. If the Starborn light is different from their light, and how it is different. That’s where the orrery comes in: contemplating where we come from … what sort of light we have, how it can be weaponized.

I do not pry where I am not willingly invited. Bryce lurched back in the chair, nearly knocking it over at the smooth male voice in her mind. Rhysand’s voice. But she answered, thanking Luna for keeping her own voice cool and collected, Code of mind-speaking ethics? She felt him pause—as if almost amused. You’ve encountered this method of communication before. Yes. It was all she’d say about Ruhn. May I look in your memories? To see for myself? No. You may not. Rhysand blinked slowly. Then he said aloud, “Then we’ll have to rely on your words.” The petite female gaped at him. “But—

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,

We’re not going to make it,” Baxian called as Lidia zoomed toward the guard station. “Lidia,” Athalar warned. “Get down!” Lidia barked, and Ruhn shut his eyes, sinking low as the grate lowered at an alarming rate. Metal screamed and exploded right above them, the car rocking, shuddering— Yet Lidia kept driving. She raced onto the open road beyond the city as the grate slammed shut behind them. “Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” Hunt shouted to Lidia, and Ruhn opened his eyes to find that the gunner had been ripped clean off. Baxian was clinging for dear life to the back of the jeep, a manic grin on his face.

Lidia finally turned at that, teeth flashing. “I want to meet my children.” Ruhn’s mind spun at her expression. Rage and pain and a mother’s unbreaking ferocity. “I know you do,” Kagani said with unflappable calm. “But it would be best if we talk in my office after school. It’s right down the hall.” The Hind didn’t so much as move. “Consider what is best for them, Lidia,” Kagani encouraged. “I understand, I truly do—I’m a mother, myself. If I had …” Her throat worked. “I would want the same if I had made your choices. But I’m also an educator, and an advocate for these children. Please put the twins first today. Just as you have every day for the past fifteen years.

El hombre alado de cabello oscuro que entró detrás de ella... Bryce ahogó un grito. —¿Ruhn? El hombre parpadeó. Sus ojos eran del mismo tono azul violeta que los de Ruhn. Su cabello corto era del mismo negro brillante. La piel de este hombre era un poco más morena, pero la cara, la postura... Eran las de su hermano. También tenía las orejas puntiagudas, aunque él tenía esas alas de cuero como las de los otros dos hombres. La mujer a su lado le preguntó a la mujer pequeña algo en su lenguaje. Pero el hombre se quedó viendo a Bryce. La sangre que tenía encima, la Espadastral y la daga, que seguían brillando con sus luces opuestas Él levantó la mirada hacia la de ella con estrellas en los ojos. Estrellas de verdad.

Can’t we find some way out of this, Mr. Fancy Prince?” “Marc’s on it,” Dec said, holding up his phone. “He thinks you two might be able to use your royal sway to either commandeer them on behalf of the royal household or get the Astronomer to accept payment for them rather than press charges.” “Payment?” Bryce blurted. “Relax,” Flynn said, smirking. “We got the money, Princess.” “Yeah, I’ve seen your daddy’s fancy house,” Bryce quipped, earning a scowl from Flynn and an ooooooh from the sprites. Bryce suppressed her smile and lifted a brow to Ruhn. She’d fucked up one friendship thanks to pulling princess rank, but this…For Lehabah she’d do it. “You in, Chosen One?” Ruhn’s mouth quirked to the side. “Hel yeah, Starborn.

Bryce held her stare. Clearly, they didn’t want her dead, if they’d sent someone to retrieve her, not hunt her down. But if she returned to that cell, how long would they keep her there? Even hours could make a difference for Hunt and Ruhn— “I’m always up for a day of discovery,” Bryce said. Then she erupted with light. Nesta cursed, but Bryce didn’t wait to see if the light had blinded her before bolting down the passage. Without any weapons, a running head start was her best chance of making it. A force like a stone wall hit her from behind. The world tilted, her breath rushing from her as she collided with the stone ground, bones barking in pain. Shadows had wrapped around her, pinning her, and she thrashed, kicking and swatting at them.

You’re delusional,” Cormac’s grin promised violence. “I am stooping to marry your sister. Many of my people will consider the union a disgrace.” “Careful,” the Autumn King warned, true anger sparking in his whiskey-colored eyes. “Regardless of her human lineage, Bryce is an heir to the Starborn line. More so than my son.” He threw a frown dripping with disdain at Ruhn. “We have not seen starlight with such force for thousands of years. I do not take handing her over to Avallen lightly.” “What the fuck are you getting from it?” Nausea clawed its way up Ruhn’s throat. His father answered, “Your sister has one value to me: her breeding potential. Both of our royal houses will benefit from the union.” Cormac added, “And the continued commitment to the alliance between our peoples.” “Against what?” Had everyone lost their minds? “A weakening of magic in the royal bloodline,” Cormac said. “As recent generations have demonstrated.” He waved with a flame-crusted hand toward Ruhn and his shadows.

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.

I united the sword and knife. Prophecy fulfilled.” “You don’t know anything about that prophecy,” the Autumn King said, and returned to his work. She asked sweetly, “So my interpretation is wrong? When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be. Well, I went to our old world. Met some people. Reminded them we exist. Came back here. Thus, two people reunited.” He shook his head in pure disgust. “You know as little about those blades as you do your own true nature.” She made a show of yawning. “Well, I do know that only the Chosen One can handle the blades. Wait—does that mean you can’t? Since last I checked … only Ruhn and I got the Chosen One membership cards.” “Ruhn doesn’t possess the raw power to handle such a thing correctly.” “But I do?” she asked innocently. “Is that why I’m here? We’re going to cooperate in some kind of training montage so I can take down the Asteri for you?” “Who says I want to get rid of the Asteri?” “You’ve been really careful not to mention one way or another how you feel about them. One moment, you’re protecting me from them, the next you’re trying to keep the Fae in their good graces. Which is it?

Rhysand mastered himself, a cool mask sliding into place. “You live in such a world.” It wasn’t entirely a question. But Bryce nodded. “Yes.” “And they want to bring all of that … here.” “Yes.” Rhysand stared ahead. Thinking it through. Azriel just kept his eyes on the space where the orb had displayed the utter destruction of her world. Dreading—and yet calculating. She’d seen that look before on Hunt’s face. A warrior’s mind at work. Amren turned to Rhys, meeting his stare. Bryce knew that look, too. A silent conversation passing between them. As Bryce and Ruhn had often spoken. Her heart wrenched to see it, to remember. It steadied her, though. Sharpened her focus. The Asteri had been here—under a different name, but they’d been here. The ancestors of these Fae had defeated them. And Urd had sent her here—here, not Hel. Here, where she’d instantly encountered a dagger that made the Starsword sing. Like it had been the lodestone that had drawn her to this world, to that riverbank. Could it really be the knife from the prophecy? She’d believed that destroying the Asteri would be as simple as obliterating that firstlight core, yet Urd had sent her here.

But the portal was closing, getting smaller and smaller, and— A glowing, black figure filled it. Then another. Aidas and Apollion. Their power grabbed the edges of the portal and held it a little wider. Held it open a moment longer. And with what little strength he had left, Hunt threw a desperate, raging, blazing-hot rope of lightning toward Apollion. The only being on Midgard who could handle his power. Apollion caught it, in that humanoid form once more, and pulled. Aidas flared with black light, pushing back against the sealing portal, against Urd’s wishes. Hunt was close enough to see the princes’ strained faces, Apollion’s teeth flashing as he dragged Hunt by his lightning, inch by inch, closer and closer. Aidas was sweating, panting as he fought to keep the portal open— And then Ruhn was there. Starlight flaring. Pushing back against the impossible. Lidia was beside him, crackling with fire. Tharion. Holstrom. Flynn and Dec. A fire sprite, her small body bright with flame. Isaiah and Naomi. So many hands, so many powers, from almost every House. The friends they’d made were what mattered in the end. Not the enemies. Through love, all is possible. It was love that was holding the portal open.

Although Bryce’s body still buzzed with all she and Hunt had done, seeing that slender female body on the table, the prince kneeling, head bowed…Her eyes stung. Hunt’s fingers found hers and squeezed. “I knew,” Cormac said roughly. His first words in minutes. “I think I always knew, but…” Ruhn stepped to his cousin’s side. Put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Cormac leaned his brow against the rim of the examination table. His voice shook. “She was good, and brave, and kind. I never deserved her, not for one minute.” Bryce’s throat ached. She let go of Hunt’s hand to approach Cormac, touching his other shoulder. Where would Sofie’s soul go? Did it linger near her body until they could give her a proper Sailing? If she went to one of the resting places, they’d be dooming her to a terrible fate. But Bryce didn’t say any of that. Not as Cormac slid his fingers beneath the black cloth and pulled out a blue-tinged, stiff hand. He clasped it in his own, kissing the dead fingers. His shoulders began to shake as his tears flowed. “We met during a recon report to Command,” Cormac said, voice breaking. “And I knew it was foolish, and reckless, but I had to speak to her after the meeting was over.” He kissed Sofie’s hand again, closing his eyes. “I should have gone back for her that night.” Tharion, who’d been poring over the corner’s files on Sofie at the desk by the far wall, said gently, “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope.” “It kept her alive in my heart a little longer,” Cormac said, swallowing back his tears. He pressed her stiff hand against his brow. “My Sofie.

Mates are … an intense thing for the Fae.” She swallowed audibly. “It’s a lifetime commitment. Something sworn between bodies and hearts and souls. It’s a binding between beings. You say I’m your mate in front of any Fae, and it’ll mean something big to them.” “And we don’t mean something big like that?” he asked carefully, hardly daring to breathe. She held his heart in her hands. Had held it since day one. “You mean everything to me,” she breathed, and he exhaled deeply. “But if we tell Ruhn that we’re mates, we’re as good as married. To the Fae, we’re bound on a biological, molecular level. There’s no undoing it.” “Is it a biological thing?” “It can be. Some Fae claim they know their mates from the moment they meet them. That there’s some kind of invisible link between them. A scent or soul-bond.” “Is it ever between species?” “I don’t know,” she admitted, and ran her fingers over his chest in dizzying, taunting circles. “But if you’re not my mate, Athalar, no one is.” “A winning declaration of love.” She scanned his face, earnest and open in a way she so rarely was with others. “I want you to understand what you’re telling people, telling the Fae, if you say I’m your mate.” “Angels have mates. Not as … soul-magicky as the Fae, but we call life partners mates in lieu of husbands or wives.” Shahar had never called him such a thing. They’d rarely even used the term lover. “The Fae won’t differentiate. They’ll use their intense-ass definition.” He studied her contemplative face. “I feel like it fits. Like we’re already bound on that biological level.” “Me too. And who knows? Maybe we’re already mates.

They found Tharion on the couch with Ithan, the tv blasting the latest sports stats. Tharion munched on a piece of pizza, long legs sprawled out in front of him, bare feet on the coffee table. Ruhn might have stepped inside to grab a piece of that pizza had Bryce not gone still. A Fae sort of stillness, sizing up a threat. His instinct went to high alert, bellowing at him to defend, to attack, to slaughter any threat to his family. Ruhn suppressed it, held back by the shadows begging to be unleashed, to hide Bryce from sight. Ithan called over to them, “Pizza’s on the counter if you want some.” Bryce remained silent as fear washed over her scent. Ruhn’s fingers grazed the cool metal of the gun strapped to his thigh. “Your cat’s a sweetheart, by the way,” Ithan went on, not taking his focus from the TV as he stroked the white cat curled on his lap. Bryce slowly shut the door behind her. “He scared the shit out of me when he leapt onto the counter a few minutes ago, the bastard.” The wolf ran his fingers through the luxurious coat, earning a deep purr in response. The cat had stunning blue eyes. They seemed keenly aware as they fixed on Bryce. Ruhn’s shadows gathered at his shoulders, snakes waiting to strike. He subtly drew his gun. Behind her, a familiar ripple of ether-laced power kissed over her skin. A small reassurance as Bryce croaked, “That’s not a cat.” Hunt arrived at the apartment just in time to hear Bryce’s words through the shut front door. He was inside in a moment, lightning gathered at his fingers. “Oh, calm yourself,” the Prince of the Chasm said, leaping into the coffee table.

Where is Bryce?” hissed the Prince of the Chasm. “She went to find you.” Hunt’s voice broke. Beside him, Ruhn groaned, stirring. “She went to fucking find you, Aidas.” The Princes of Hel looked at each other, some wordless conversation passing between them. Hunt pushed, “You two told her to find you. Fed us all that bullshit about armies and wanting to help and getting her ready—” “Is it possible,” Aidas said to his brother, ignoring Hunt entirely, “after everything …?” “Don’t fall into romanticism,” Apollion cautioned. “The star might have guided her,” Aidas countered. “Please,” Hunt cut in, not caring if he was begging. “Tell me where she is.” Baxian grunted, rising to consciousness. Aidas said quietly, “I have a suspicion, but I can’t tell you, Athalar, lest Rigelus wring it from you. Though he has likely already arrived at the same conclusion.” “Fuck you,” Hunt spat. But Apollion said to his brother, “We must leave.” “Then what was the point of all this watching me from the shadows?” Hunt demanded. “To ensure that we can continue to rely on you when the time comes.” “To do what?” Hunt ground out. “What you were born to do—to accomplish the task for which your father brought you into existence,” Apollion said before fading into nothing, leaving Aidas standing alone before the prisoners. Shock reared up in Hunt, dampened by the weight of an old, unbidden hurt. “I have no father.” Aidas’s expression was sad as he stepped out of the shadows. “You spent too long asking the wrong questions.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Aidas shook his head. “The black crown once again circling your brow is not a new torment from the Asteri. It has existed for millennia.” “Tell me the fucking truth for once—” “Stay alive, Athalar.” The Prince of the Chasm followed his brother, vanishing into darkness and embers.

Ruhn la miró con furia mientras el ángel seguía brillando, amenazante. “Significa que él se está volviendo loco de la misma forma que lo hacen las parejas cuando el otro está en peligro. Es lo que sucedió entonces y es lo que está sucediendo ahora. Son una verdadera pareja, de la forma en que lo son las hadas, en sus cuerpos y sus almas. Eso era lo distinto de tu olor el otro día. Sus olores están fusionados.” “Como lo hacen las parejas de las hadas.” Ella miró molesta a su hermano. “¿Y qué?” “Así que encuentra cómo tranquilizarlo de una puta vez. Athalar es tu puto problema ahora.” Bryce le envió una imagen mental de su dedo medio como respuesta.

Ruhn se volteó en el sillón y puso los brazos bajo su cabeza. Se quedó mirando el techo, las luces de los carros que pasaban. ¿Quién carajos era él? El Príncipe de Nada.

Ruhn finished off his beer, setting it on the coffee table before the massive TV in the living room. Declan, seated to his left, did the same. “All right,” Dec said, “espionage time.” Flynn, smoking some mirthroot that Ruhn desperately needed a bit of, chuckled. “Our sweet son Ruhn is all grown up and spying for rebels.” “Shut up,” Ruhn growled. “I knew I should have done this in private.” “Where would be the fun in that?” Dec asked. “Plus, shouldn’t someone be here in case it’s, I don’t know, a trap or something?” “Then why the fuck is he smoking?” Ruhn nodded to where Flynn blew smoke rings. “Because I’m a self-destructive yet insanely charming idiot?” Flynn grinned. “Emphasis on insane, Dec muttered.

A female of pure flame. Or that was how she chose to appear. Not how Lehabah had been made of flame, with her body visible, but rather a female cloaked in it, only a flash of a bare wrist or an ankle or shoulder through the veil. She was humanoid, but that was all he could glean. She looked like one of the radical sun-priests who’d gone rogue and immolated themselves to be close to their god. Who are you? he asked. Who are you? she challenged. Not one hint of her face. I asked first. Her flame flared, as if in annoyance. But she said, The little black dog sleeps soundly on a wool blanket. Ruhn blew out a breath. There it was—the code phrase Cormac had given him to confirm her identity. He said, And the gray tabby cleans her paws by the light of the moon. Utter nonsense. But she said, I’m Agent Daybright, in case that wasn’t clear enough. Now…you are? Ruhn peered down at himself, swearing. He hadn’t thought to hide his body— But he found only a form of night and stars, galaxies and planets. As if his silhouette had been filled by them. He lifted a hand, not finding skin but the starry blanket of the sky covering his fingers. Had his mind instinctively shielded him? Or was this what he was, deep below the skin? Was this fire-being standing thirty feet down the mental bridge what she was, deep below her own skin?

Ithan dijo sin voltearlos a ver: —La pizza está allá si quieren. Bryce permaneció en silencio y el miedo envolvió su olor. Los dedos de Ruhn rozaron el metal fresco de la pistola que traía enfundada en el muslo. —Tu gato es una dulzura, por cierto —continuó Ithan sin apartar la mirada de la televisión mientras acariciaba al gato blanco que tenía acurrucado en las piernas. Bryce cerró la puerta lentamente detrás de ella—. El tarado me asustó cuando saltó desde ese mueble hace unos minutos. El lobo le acarició el pelaje lustroso y el gato ronroneó en respuesta. Los ojos del gato eran de un color azul impactante. Parecían estar muy atentos cuando se fijó en Bryce. Las sombras de Ruhn se le arremolinaron en los hombros, serpientes listas para atacar. Sacó su pistola discretamente. Detrás de Bryce, una onda familiar de poder envuelto en éter le recorrió la piel. Fue un pequeño alivio para Bryce, que dijo con voz ronca: —Eso no es un gato.

—Ya escúpelo —dijo Flynn sin levantar la vista de su pistola. —¿Qué? —preguntó Ruhn y apartó la espada de la piedra. Declan respondió: —Lo que sea que te ha tenido ahí parado en silencio durante diez minutos. Ni siquiera te has quejado de la horrenda música de Flynn. —Idiota —le dijo Flynn a Dec y movió la cabeza hacia su teléfono de donde salía heavy metal a todo volumen—. Esta música es poesía. —Han hecho estudios donde las plantas se marchitan y mueren cuando las expones a esta música —lo contradijo Declan—. Y así precisamente es como me siento en este momento.

Ella le recorrió el puente de la nariz con los dedos. El arco de cupido de sus labios. Luego lo volvió a besar, profunda y desenfrenadamente, y Ruhn se dejó llevar por completo. —Me recuerdas que estoy viva —dijo ella con la voz ronca—. Me recuerdas que la bondad puede existir en el mundo. Él sintió un nudo en la garganta que casi resultaba doloroso. —Day...

—Nos peleamos en una fiesta. Danaan todavía está resentido. La sonrisa de Bryce era la definición de una sonrisa de satisfacción. —¿Por qué pelearon? Ruhn dijo con brusquedad: —Porque él es un pendejo arrogante. —Igual—dijo Hunt y su boca se curvó para formar una media sonrisa. Bryce miró a Lehabah. —Los chicos y su competitividad. Lehabah emitió un sonidito muy propio. —Ni de cerca tan avanzados como nosotras. Ruhn puso los ojos en blanco y se sorprendió de ver que Athalar hacía lo mismo.

¿Cuántos hombres habían huido de esta parte de ella, sus egos de alfadejos amenazados? Hunt los odió a todos por siquiera provocar esa pregunta en la mirada de Bryce. No escuchó lo que fuera que estuviera diciendo Flynn cuando se puso las orejeras y los lentes y tomó el rifle que ella acababa de dejar y cuyo metal seguía tibio por el contacto de su cuerpo. No escuchó a Ruhn preguntándole algo mientras se preparaba para disparar. No, Hunt miró a Bryce a los ojos y liberó el seguro. El sonido vibró entre ambos, fuerte como un trueno. Él tragó saliva. Hunt apartó su mirada de la de ella y disparó una vez. Con su vista de águila, no necesitaba la mirilla para ver que la bala había pasado por el agujero que había hecho ella. Cuando bajó el arma, vio que Bryce tenía las mejillas sonrojadas y los ojos como whiskey tibio. Brillaban con una especie de luz silenciosa. Todavía no escuchaba nada de lo que estaban diciendo los demás hombres, sólo tenía una ligera noción de que Ruhn estaba maldiciendo con admiración. Hunt le sostuvo la mirada a Bryce.

The mirthroot wrapped soft, sweet arms around his mind and dragged him into its shimmering pool. Ruhn let himself drown in it, too mellow to do anything but let the music wash over him, his body sinking into the mattress, until he was falling through shadows and starlight. The strings of the song hovered overhead, golden threads that glittered with sound. Was he still moving his body? His eyelids were too heavy to lift to check.

Ruhn demanded, “Did you figure out what kind of demon did it?” “Something that eats little princes for breakfast,” Hunt crooned. Ruhn bared his teeth. “Blow me, Athalar.

One by one, the angels in the 33rd rose to their feet. Then Ruhn and his friends. And they, too, put their hands on their hearts as the smallest of their House pushed and pushed against the glass wall, burning gold as the nøkk tried to flee to any place it might survive what was about to come.

Ruhn snarled, but Bryce asked, surveying them, “What’s the deal with you two?

What could be worse than what the other two are enduring? A long, horrible pause. A lot of things, Ruhn Danaan.

Ruhn met Hunt’s stare. And a quiet male voice said in his head, Bold move. Hunt held in his shock.

She’d called Ruhn—that’s who she’d been on the phone with when he got back. He rubbed at his chest.

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.

She’s our fucking princess.” “She is not,” Ruhn growled. “The Autumn King has not recognized her, nor will he ever.” “Why?” Dec demanded. “Because she’s his bastard child. Because he doesn’t like her. I don’t fucking know,” Ruhn spat. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—ever tell them his own motivations for it. That deep-rooted fear of what the Oracle’s prophecy might mean for Bryce should she ever be granted a royal title. For if the royal bloodline was to end with Ruhn, and Bryce was officially a princess of their family … She would have to be out of the picture for it to come to pass. Permanently. He’d do whatever was necessary to keep her safe from that particular doom. Even if the world hated him for it.

The Prime of Wolves, the Autumn King, the two Governors, the River Queen’s fair daughter, Queen Hypaxia, and Jesiba all took seats at that central table. Their seconds—Sabine, Ruhn, Tharion, an older-looking witch—all claimed spots in the ring of tables around them. No one else from the House of Flame and Shadow had come with Jesiba, not even a vampyr. The ranks fell into place beyond that, each ring of tables growing larger and larger, seven in total. The Asterian Guard lined the uppermost level, standing against the wall, two at each of the room’s three exits. The seven levels of Hel indeed.

To Ruhn’s eternal shock, it was Sandriel who looked away first, rolling her eyes and shuffling her papers. Even his father blinked at it. And assessed the young queen with a narrowed gaze. No doubt wondering how a twenty-six-year-old witch had the nerve. Or what Hypaxia might have on Sandriel to make an Archangel yield to her.

Bryce heard their whispering anyway. Athalar’s in one of the holding cells under the Comitium, Fury said. Micah didn’t execute him? No. Justinian and Viktoria … He crucified the angel, and did some fucked-up shit to the wraith. They’re dead? Worse. Justinian’s still bleeding out in the Comitium lobby. They gave him some shit to slow his healing. He’ll be dead soon enough if he’s lucky. What about the wraith? Micah ripped her from her body and shoved her essence into a glass box. Put it at the base of Justinian’s crucifix. Rumor says he’s going to dump the box—Viktoria—into the Melinoë Trench and let her fall right to the bottom of the sea to go insane from the isolation and darkness. Fucking Hel. You can’t do anything? They’re traitors to the Republic. They were caught conspiring against it. So, no. But Athalar’s not crucified beside Justinian? I think Micah came up with a different punishment for him. Something worse. What could be worse than what the other two are enduring? A long, horrible pause. A lot of things, Ruhn Danaan. Bryce let the words wash over her. She sat on the couch and stared at the dark screen of the television. And stared into the black pit inside herself.

Tristan and Declan had been Ruhn’s best friends for as long as he could remember, and always had his back, no questions asked. That they were highly trained and efficient warriors was beside the point, though they’d saved each other’s asses more times than Ruhn could count. Going through their Ordeals together had only cemented that bond. The Ordeal itself varied depending on the person: for some, it might be as simple as overcoming an illness or a bit of personal strife. For others, it might be slaying a wyrm or a demon. The greater the Fae, the greater the Ordeal.

A dark-haired Fae male burst through the interrogation room door. Even with a silver hoop through his lower lip, even with one side of his long raven-black hair buzzed, even with the sleeves of tattoos beneath the leather jacket, there was no disguising the heritage the strikingly handsome face broadcasted. Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae. Son of the Autumn King and the current possessor of the Starsword, fabled dark blade of the ancient Starborn Fae. Proof of the prince’s Chosen One status among the Fae—whatever the Hel that meant.

That sword was currently strapped across Ruhn’s back, its black hilt devouring the glaring firstlights. Isaiah had once heard someone say the sword was made from iridium mined from a meteorite, forged in another world—before the Fae had come through the Northern Rift.

Bryce rode the elevator up to her floor, mulling everything over in the silence. She’d meant what she said to Hunt—she didn’t think her father was behind Danika’s and the pack’s deaths. She had little doubt he’d killed others, though. And would do anything to keep his crown. The Autumn King was a courtesy title in addition to her father’s role as a City Head—as for all the seven Fae Kings. No kingdom was truly their own. Even Avallen, the green isle ruled by the Stag King, still bowed to the Republic. The Fae had coexisted with the Republic since its founding, answerable to its laws, but ultimately left to govern themselves and retain their ancient titles of kings and princes and the like. Still respected by all—and feared. Not as much as the angels, with their destructive, hideous storm-and-sky powers, but they could inflict pain if they wished. Choke the air from your lungs or freeze you or burn you from the inside out. Solas knew Ruhn and his two friends could raise Hel when provoked.

Ruhn rubbed his face. “They’ll kill her for this.” For murdering a Governor. For proving a sprite and a half-human woman could take on a Governor and win. It was absurd. As likely as a minnow slaying a shark.

Micah purred, unaware of the camera mere feet away, “I saw the footage of you in the Comitium lobby. You gave your Archesian amulet to Sandriel. And she destroyed it.” His broad hand clamped around her neck, and Bryce squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s how I realized. How you realized the truth, too.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bryce whispered. Micah’s hand tightened, and it might as well have been his hand on Hunt’s throat for all the difficulty he had breathing. “For three years, you wore that amulet. Every single day, every single hour. Danika knew that. Knew you were without ambition, too, and would never have the drive to leave this job. And thus never take off the amulet.” “You’re insane,” Bryce managed to say. “Am I? Then explain to me why, within an hour after you took off the amulet, that kristallos demon attacked you.” Hunt stilled. A demon had attacked her that day? He found Ruhn’s stare, and the prince nodded, his face deathly pale. We got to her in time was all Danaan said to him, mind-to-mind. “Bad luck?” Bryce tried. Micah didn’t so much as smile, his hand still clamped on her neck. “You don’t just have the Horn. You are the Horn.” His hand again ran down her back. “You became its bearer the night Danika had it ground into a fine powder, mixed it with witch-ink, and then got you so drunk you didn’t ask questions when she had it tattooed onto your back.” “What?” Fury Axtar barked. Holy fucking gods. Hunt bared his teeth, still forbidden from speaking. But Bryce said, “Cool as that sounds, Governor, this tattoo says—” “The language is beyond that of this world. It is the language of universes. And it spells out a direct command to activate the Horn through a blast of raw power upon the tattoo itself. Just as it once did for the Starborn Prince. You may not possess his gifts like your brother, but I believe your bloodline and the synth shall compensate for it when I use my power upon you. To fill the tattoo—to fill you—with power is, in essence, to blow the Horn.

Ruhn breathed, “He’s going to fucking kill her.” Bryce crawled backward through the debris of the table, blood running from her mouth as she whispered to Micah, “You killed Danika and the pack.” Micah smiled. “I enjoyed every second of it.” The conference room shook. Or maybe that was just Hunt himself.

And what—you summoned the kristallos afterward to cover your tracks? Let it attack you in the alley to keep your triarii from suspecting you? Or just to give yourself a reason to monitor this case so closely without raising any eyebrows? And then you waited two fucking years?” He frowned. “I have spent these past two years looking for the Horn, calling kristallos demons to track it down for me, but I couldn’t find a trace of it. Until I realized I didn’t have to do the legwork. Because you, Bryce Quinlan, were the key to finding the Horn. I knew Danika had hidden it somewhere, and you, if I gave you a chance for vengeance, would lead me to it. All my power couldn’t find it, but you—you loved her. And the power of your love would bring the Horn to me. Would fuel your need for justice and lead you right to it.” He snorted. “But there was a chance you might not get that far—not alone. So I planted a seed in the mind of the Autumn King.” Everyone in the room looked to the stone-faced Fae male. Ruhn growled at his father, “He played you like a fucking fiddle.” The Autumn King’s amber eyes flashed with white-hot rage. But Micah went on before he could speak. “I knew a bit of taunting about the Fae’s waning power, about the loss of the Horn, would rankle his pride just enough for him to order his Starborn son to look for it.” Bryce let out a long breath. “So if I couldn’t find it, then Ruhn might.” Ruhn blinked. “I—every time I went to look for the Horn …” He paled. “I always had the urge to go to Bryce.

Bryce slowed her retreat as she winced in pain, “And the apartment building? I thought it was Hunt, but it wasn’t, was it? It was you.” “Yes. Your landlord’s request went to all of my triarii. And to me. I knew Danika had left nothing there. But by that time, Bryce Quinlan, I was enjoying watching you squirm. I knew Athalar’s plan to acquire the synth would soon be exposed—and I took a guess that you’d be willing to believe the worst of him. That he’d used the lightning in his veins to endanger innocent people. He’s a killer. I thought you might need a reminder. That it played into Athalar’s guilt was an unexpected boon.” Hunt ignored the eyes that glanced his way. The fucking asshole had never planned to honor his bargain. If he’d solved the case, Micah would have killed him. Killed them both. He’d been played like a fucking fool. Bryce asked, voice raw, “When did you start to think it was me?” “That night it attacked Athalar in the garden. I realized only later that he’d probably come into contact with one of Danika’s personal items, which must have come into contact with the Horn.” Hunt had touched Danika’s leather jacket that day. Gotten its scent on him. “Once I got Athalar off the streets, I summoned the kristallos again—and it went right to you. The only thing that had changed was that you finally, finally took that amulet off. And then …” He chuckled. “I looked at Hunt Athalar’s photos of your time together. Including that one of your back. The tattoo you had inked there, days before Danika’s death, according to the list of Danika’s last locations Ruhn Danaan sent to you and Athalar—whose account is easily accessible to me.” Bryce’s fingers curled into the carpet, as if she’d sprout claws. “How do you know the Horn will even work now that it’s in my back?” “The Horn’s physical shape doesn’t matter. Whether it is fashioned as a horn or a necklace or a powder mixed with witch-ink, its power remains.” Hunt silently swore. He and Bryce had never visited the tattoo parlor. Bryce had said she knew why Danika was there. Micah went on, “Danika knew the Archesian amulet would hide you from any detection, magical or demonic. With that amulet, you were invisible to the kristallos, bred to hunt the Horn. I suspect she knew that Jesiba Roga has similar enchantments upon this gallery, and perhaps Danika placed some upon your apartments—your old one and the one she left to you—to make sure you would be even more veiled from it.

The death of an Archangel, of a world power, could shudder through time and space. A second could last an hour. A day. A year. So Hunt saw everything. Saw the endlessly slow movements of everyone in the room, the gaping shock that rippled, Sandriel’s outrage, Pollux’s white-faced disbelief, Ruhn’s terror— The Godslayer bullet was still burrowing through Micah’s skull. Still twisting through bone and brain matter, dragging time in its wake. Then Bryce stood at the office’s blown-out window. A sword in both hands.

Bryce walked calmly to the hidden supply closet. Pulled out a red plastic container. And dumped the entire gallon of gasoline on the Governor’s dismembered corpse. “Holy fuck,” Ruhn whispered, over and over. “Holy fuck.” The rest of the room didn’t so much as breathe too loudly. Even Sandriel had no words as Bryce grabbed a pack of matches from a drawer in her desk. She struck one, and tossed it onto the Governor’s body. Flames erupted. The fireproofing enchantments on the art around her shimmered. There would be no chance of salvation. Of healing. Not for Micah. Not after what he had done to Danika Fendyr. To the Pack of Devils. And Lehabah. Bryce stared at the fire, her face still splattered with the Archangel’s blood. And finally, she lifted her eyes. Right to the camera. To the world watching. Vengeance incarnate. Wrath’s bruised heart. She would bow for no one. Hunt’s lightning sang at the sight of that brutal, beautiful face. Time sped up, the flames devouring Micah’s body, crisping his wings to cinders. They spat him out as ashes. Sirens wailed outside the gallery as the Auxiliary pulled up at last. Bryce slammed the front door shut as the first of the Fae units and wolf packs appeared. No one, not even Sandriel, spoke a word as Bryce took out the vacuum from the supply closet. And erased the last trace of Micah from the world.

I am a descendant of Ranthia Drahl, Queen of Embers. She is with me now and I am not afraid.” Lehabah glowed, bright as the heart of a star. “My friends are behind me, and I will protect them.” The top of the bathroom door began to curl open. And Lehabah unleashed her power. Three blows. Perfectly aimed. Not to the bathroom door and Archangel behind it. No, Lehabah couldn’t slow Micah. But a hundred thousand gallons of water would. Lehabah’s shimmering blasts of power slammed into the glass tank. Right on top of the crack that Bryce had made when the nøkk threw her into it. The creature, sensing the commotion, rose from the rocks. And recoiled in horror as Lehabah struck again. Again. The glass cracked further. And then Lehabah hurled herself against it. Pushed her tiny body against the crack. She kept whispering the words over and over again. They morphed together into one sentence, a prayer, a challenge. “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” Hunt wrested control of his body enough that he was able to put a hand over his heart. The only salute he could make as Lehabah’s words whispered through the speakers. “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” One by one, the angels in the 33rd rose to their feet. Then Ruhn and his friends. And they, too, put their hands on their hearts as the smallest of their House pushed and pushed against the glass wall, burning gold as the nøkk tried to flee to any place it might survive what was about to come. Over and over, Lehabah whispered, “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” The glass spiderwebbed. Everyone in the conference room rose to their feet. Only Sandriel, her attention fixed on the screen, did not notice. They all stood, and bore witness to the sprite who brought her death down upon herself, upon the nøkk—to save her friends. It was all they could offer her, this final respect and honor. Lehabah still pushed. Still shook with terror. Yet she did not stop. Not for one heartbeat. “My friends are with me and I am not afraid.” The bathroom door tore open, metal curling aside to reveal Micah, glowing as if newly forged, as if he’d rend this world apart. He surveyed the library, eyes landing on Lehabah and the cracked tank wall. The sprite whirled, back pressed against the glass. She hissed at Micah, “This is for Syrinx.” She slammed her little burning palm into the glass. And a hundred thousand gallons of water exploded into the library.