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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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'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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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

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

My mind found yours in the darkness. Across an ocean. No fancy crystal required. You think that's nothing?

Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae,

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.

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.

Ruhn Danaan knew three things with absolute certainty:

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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

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 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.

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.

Ruhn was one of about a dozen Fae Princes across the whole planet Midgard—and had met most of the others over the decades. But he stood apart as the only Starborn among them. Among all the Fae.

The sword's as much yours as it is mine.' Bryce waved a hand. 'I'll take it on weekends and holidays, don't worry.' Hunt tossed in. 'And it'll get two Winter Solstices, so... double the presents.

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.

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.

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—

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.

At least the asshole still didn’t know that he’d lied about what the Oracle had told him all those decades ago. With every step out of his father’s villa, Ruhn could once more hear the Oracle’s unearthly whispering, reading the smoke while he’d trembled in her dim marble chamber: The royal bloodline shall end with you, Prince.

I'm here,' he said. 'We made it.' She trembled harder, as if all that she had experienced and done were now breaking free in aftershocks. 'I'm here,' he said again, and leaned down to kiss the side of her neck. 'I'm here.' He kissed below her ear. Her hands came up caressing a line down his back. She stopped shaking. 'I'm here,' he said, kissing the base of her throat.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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...

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.

—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.

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.

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.

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.

though Ruhn himself bore no such magic. Fire magic was common among the Valbaran Fae, wielded by the Autumn King himself. But rumor claimed Ruhn’s magic was more like those of his kin who ruled the sacred Fae isle of Avallen across the sea: power to summon shadows or mist that could not only veil the physical world, but the mind as well. Perhaps even telepathy.

His father curled a finger toward him. “I have need of your gift.” “Why?” His Starborn abilities were little more than a sparkle of starlight in his palm. His shadow talents were the more interesting gift. Even the temperature monitors on the high-tech cameras in this city couldn’t detect him when he shadow-walked. His father held up the prism. “Direct a beam of your starlight through this.” Not waiting for an answer, his father again put an eye to the metal viewing contraption atop the prism. It ordinarily took Ruhn a good amount of concentration to summon his starlight, and it usually left him with a headache for hours afterward, but … He was intrigued enough to try. Setting his index finger onto the crystal of the prism, Ruhn closed his eyes and focused upon his breathing. Let the clicking metal of the orrery guide him down, down, down into the black pit within himself, past the churning well of his shadows, to the little hollow beneath them. There, curled upon itself like some hibernating creature, lay the single seed of iridescent light. He gently cupped it with a mental palm, stirring it awake as he carefully brought it upward, as if he were carrying water in his hands. Up through himself, the power shimmering with anticipation, warm and lovely and just about the only part of himself he liked. Ruhn opened his eyes to find the starlight dancing at his fingertip, refracting through the prism. His father adjusted a few dials on the device, jotting down notes with his other hand. The starlight seed became slippery, disintegrating into the air around them. “Just another moment,” the king ordered. Ruhn gritted his teeth, as if it’d somehow keep the starlight from dissolving. Another click of the device, and another jotted note in an ancient, rigid hand. The Old Language of the Fae—his father recorded everything in the half-forgotten language their people had used when they had first come to Midgard through the Northern Rift. The starlight shivered, flared, and faded into nothing. The Autumn King grunted in annoyance, but Ruhn barely heard it over his pounding head. He’d mastered himself enough to pay attention as his father finished his notes. “What are you even doing with that thing?” “Studying how light moves through the world. How it can be shaped.” “Don’t we have scientists over at CCU doing this shit?” “Their interests are not the same as mine.” His father

Queen Hecuba died last month. Her daughter, Hypaxia, has been crowned the new witch-queen of Valbara.” Ruhn had seen the news reports. Hypaxia Enador was young, no more than twenty-six. No photos of her existed, as her mother had kept her cloistered in her mountain fortress.

I have been looking. For two years.” Ruhn blinked, but his father went on, “The Horn was originally the possession of Pelias, the first Starborn Prince. You may find that like calls to like—merely researching it could reveal things to you that were hidden from others.

Ruhn’s magic was more like those of his kin who ruled the sacred Fae isle of Avallen across the sea: power to summon shadows or mist that could not only veil the physical world, but the mind as well. Perhaps even telepathy.

Tristan Flynn, son of Lord Hawthorne, presided over it from a nearby armchair, a pretty dryad on his lap. The glazed light in his brown eyes mirrored Ruhn’s own. Flynn gave Bryce a crooked grin as she approached. All it usually took was one look and females crawled into Tristan Flynn’s lap just like the tree nymph, or—if the look was more of a glower—any enemies outright bolted.

A muscle ticked in his jaw again. “And what about Ruhn? You just dragged your cousin into our business.” “My cousin,” she said tightly, “will be unable to resist the urge to inform his father that a member of the Fae race has been commandeered for an imperial investigation. How he reacts, who he contacts, might be worth noting.” “What—you think the Autumn King could have done this?” “No. But Ruhn was given an order to warn me to keep out of trouble the night of Maximus’s murder—maybe the old bastard knew something, too. I’d suggest telling your people to watch him. See what he does and where he goes.” “Gods,” Hunt breathed, striding past gawking pedestrians. “You want me to just put a tail on the Autumn King like it’s not a violation of about ten different laws?” “Micah said to do whatever was necessary.” “The Autumn King has free rein to kill anyone found stalking him like that.” “Then you better tell your spies to keep themselves hidden.

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 shook his head. “The sword doesn’t work like that. Aside from being picky about who draws it, the sword has no power without the knife.” “The knife?” Hunt asked. Ruhn drew the sword, the metal whining, and laid it on the table between them. Bryce leaned back, away from it, as a bead of starlight sang down the fuller and sparkled at the tip. “Fancy,” Hunt said, earning a glare from Ruhn, who had raised a brow at Bryce, no doubt expecting some kind of reverence from her at a sword that was older than this city, older than the Vanir’s first step in Midgard. “The sword was part of a pair,” Ruhn said to him. “A long-bladed knife was forged from the iridium mined from the same meteorite, which fell on our old world.” The world the Fae had left to travel through the Northern Rift and into Midgard. “But we lost the knife eons ago. Even the Fae Archives have no record of how it might have been lost, but it seems to have been sometime during the First Wars.” “It’s another of the Fae’s countless inane prophecies,” Bryce muttered. “When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be.” “It’s

The sword was part of a pair,” Ruhn said to him. “A long-bladed knife was forged from the iridium mined from the same meteorite, which fell on our old world.” The world the Fae had left to travel through the Northern Rift and into Midgard. “But we lost the knife eons ago. Even the Fae Archives have no record of how it might have been lost, but it seems to have been sometime during the First Wars.

the sword has no power without the knife.” “The knife?” Hunt asked. Ruhn drew the sword, the metal whining, and laid it on the table between them. Bryce leaned back, away from it, as a bead of starlight sang down the fuller and sparkled at the tip.

Both wolves and Fae claimed Luna as their patron goddess—had gone to war over whom she favored in millennia long past. And while the wolves’ connection to her had been carved into the statue with stunning detail, the nod to the Fae had been missing for two years. Maybe the Autumn King had a point about restoring the Fae to glory. Not in the haughty, sneering way his father intended, but … the lack of Fae heritage on the statue raked down Ruhn’s nerves.

But he didn’t share them, not before he said to Athalar, “Luna’s Horn was a weapon wielded by Pelias, the first Starborn Prince, during the First Wars. The Fae forged it in their home world, named it for the goddess in their new one, and used it to battle the demon hordes once they made the Crossing. Pelias wielded the Horn until he died.” Ruhn put a hand on his chest. “My ancestor—whose power flows in my veins. I don’t know how it worked, how Pelias used it with his magic, but the Horn became enough of a nuisance for the demon princes that they did everything they could to retrieve it from him.” Ruhn held out his phone, the picture of the illuminated manuscript glaringly bright in the thick shadows. The illustration of the carved horn lifted to the lips of a helmeted Fae male was as pristine as it had been when inked millennia ago. Above the figure gleamed an eight-pointed star, the emblem of the Starborn. Bryce went wholly still. The stillness of the Fae, like a stag halting in a wood.

That’s the demon I found attacking the angel in the alley on that night.” Hunt gave her a sharp look. “The one that attacked you, too?” Bryce gave a small, affirmative nod. “What is it?” “It dwells in the darkest depths of the Pit,” Ruhn answered. “So lightless that the Star-Eater named it the kristallos, for its clear blood and teeth.” Athalar said, “I’ve never heard of it.” Bryce contemplated the drawing. “It … There was never a mention of a fucking demon in the research I did on the Horn.” She met his gaze. “No one put this together two years ago?” “I think it’s taken two years to put it together,” Ruhn said carefully. “This volume was deep in the Fae Archives, with the stuff that’s not allowed to be scanned. None of your research would have ever pulled it up. The entire damn thing was in the Old Language of the Fae.” And had taken him most of the night to translate.

Bryce’s brow furrowed. “But the Horn was broken—it basically became a dud, right?” “Right,” Ruhn said. “During the final battle of the First Wars, Prince Pelias and the Prince of the Pit faced each other. The two of them fought for like three fucking days, until the Star-Eater struck the fatal blow. But not before Pelias was able to summon all the Horn’s strength, and banished the Prince of the Pit, his brethren, and their armies back to Hel. He sealed the Northern Rift forever—so only small cracks in it or summonings with salt can bring them over now.