House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (85 page)

Tharion huffed a laugh. “A few questions.”

“Sure.” She tapped ash from her cigarette into a glass ashtray atop the coffee table.

He opened his mouth, but they’d reached the room at the other end of the hall. It was a near-twin to the other, only its windows overlooked the fighting pit.

But sitting on one of the couches, with a pile of white powder that seemed a Hel of a lot like lightseeker on a small brass scale on the table before her …

“Let me guess,” Tharion drawled at the Harpy, who lifted her head from where a Fae male weighed out the drugs, “it’s not yours; it’s for a friend.”

The Harpy’s dark eyes narrowed with warning as she eased to her feet. “Here to narc on me, fish?”

Tharion smiled slowly. “Just paying a friendly visit.”

She turned her menacing stare to the Viper Queen, who slid her hands into her pockets and leaned against the far wall. “Did you sell me out?”

“This pretty hunk of meat waltzed in. Wanted a word. He knows the rules.”

Tharion did. This was the Viper Queen’s space. Her word was law. He had as little authority over her as he did the Asteri. And if he pulled anything, she had as much authority as the Asteri to end him. Likely by throwing him into that fighting pit and seeing how many of her fighters it took to kill him.

Tharion gestured to the doorway in a mockery of a bow. “I won’t trouble you.”

The Harpy glanced at the male who now scooped her lightseeker into a black velvet bag lined with plastic.

“VIP service, huh?” Tharion said to the Viper Queen, whose lips curved again.

“Only the best for my most valued clients,” she said, still leaning against the wall.

The Harpy snatched the bag from the Fae male, her black wings rustling. “Keep your mouth shut, mer. Or you’ll wind up in pieces like your sister.”

He let out a low growl. “Keep talking, hag, and I’ll show you what I did to the male who killed her.”

The Harpy chuckled, tucking her drugs into the pocket of her jacket, and walked out, wings a black cloud behind her.

“Buying or selling?” the Viper Queen asked him quietly as the Fae male packed up his drugs and scale and bustled out.

Tharion turned to her, willing the rage riding his temper to ease off. “You know that psychopath made blood eagles out of two rebels, don’t you?”

“Why do you think I invited her to be a client? Someone who does that kind of shit needs to take the edge off. Or keep it on, I suppose.”

Tharion shook off his disgust. “She talk to you about what those rebels were doing in this city?”

“Are you asking me to play spy, Captain?”

“I’m asking you whether you’ve heard anything about Ophion, or a commander named Pippa Spetsos.” He needed to know if and when Pippa and her Lightfall unit would make a move, even without that mech-suit prototype. If he could save innocent lives in this city, he would.

“Of course I have. Everyone’s heard of Ophion.”

Tharion ground his teeth. “You know what they’re up to?”

She took a long drag from her cigarette. “Information isn’t free.”

“How much?”

“The dragon’s good for business.” Her snake eyes didn’t move from his. “Fight last night brought in a lot of money. I worked out a deal with her: she’ll get a portion of profits from her wins, and it can go toward buying her freedom.”

“You don’t own her.” No matter that
he
wanted to hand her over to his queen like …

Fuck, like a slave.

“No, I don’t. That’s why I’ll need you to spin whatever bullshit your friends and their lawyer gave to the Astronomer. Something about royal commandeering?” The Viper Queen admired her immaculate nails. “Tell everyone her fighting here is a matter of imperial security.”

“No one will believe that.” And fuck, he needed that dragon. He needed her as an exit strategy out of this Emile situation. And any fallout for leaving the queen’s daughter.

“People believe anything when presented correctly.”

Tharion sighed at the mirrored ceiling. The dragon had at least agreed to be here, to fight toward her freedom, but …

The Viper Queen said, as if somehow reading or guessing his thoughts, “Even in that humanoid form, she can turn you into ashes if you try to bring her to the Blue Court.” Tharion glowered, but said nothing. She went on, “You and your little gaggle of friends have been awfully active lately. I might have let Quinlan talk me into a bargain for the kid, but I have no plans to let this dragon slip out of my hands.” A sharp smile. “You fools should have kept a tighter leash on her.”

Tharion gave her a sharp smile of his own. “It’s not my call whether she can stay here or not.”

“Get your royal friends and their legal team to spin their bullshit and we’ll be good, mer.”

Fuck. He was really going to walk out of here empty-handed, wasn’t he. His mind raced as he tried to think up some other prize to bring back to his queen, something to save his hide …

He’d figure it out later. When he wasn’t in front of a notoriously lethal Vanir.

He sighed and said, “If the dragon agrees, then whatever. We’ll spin our bullshit.”

“She already has.” Another sly smile.

“So tell me what Spetsos is up to.” If he could appear competent in his job as Captain of Intelligence, maybe the information about a rebel threat would keep his queen’s wrath at bay.

The Viper Queen pulled out her phone, checking the digital clock. “Call your friends and find out.”

“What?”

But the Viper Queen had already turned back to the hall, to the dragon and Flynn at its other end.

Tharion dialed Hypaxia. Hunt. Then Bryce. Ithan. Ruhn. No one answered.

He didn’t dare put it into a message, but … He dialed Hunt again. “Pick the fuck up,” he murmured. “Pick the fuck up.”

For a moment, he flashed back to another day, when he’d tried and tried to call his sister only to get her audiomail, so he’d called his parents, asking if they’d spoken to her, if they knew where she was—

Tharion reached Flynn, who was sitting on the couch, engaging in a silent staring contest with Ariadne. He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice as he said, “Call Ruhn. See if he’ll pick up for you.”

“What’s wrong?” Flynn was instantly on his feet.

“Not sure,” Tharion said, heading for the door. He swallowed down those awful memories and his rising dread. “Any idea where they were today?”

The Viper Queen said behind them, sinking onto the couch again, “Good luck.”

Tharion and Flynn paused at the doorway. The Fae lord pointed to the dragon. “We’re not done here.”

Ariadne only watched the TV again, ignoring him.

Flynn snarled. “I’m coming back for you.”

Tharion tucked away the knowledge of what he’d done, what he’d bargained for this measly tip-off about Ophion and Spetsos. He’d tell Flynn later.

Ariadne’s stare turned to Flynn as the vault door swung open again. Black turned to red. “Spare your high-handedness for someone who wants it, lordling.”

Tharion stepped into the hall, phone again at his ear. Bryce didn’t answer.

But Flynn looked back at the dragon lounging in the Viper Queen’s nest. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart,” the Fae lord growled, and followed Tharion out.

Bryce had been to Urd’s Temple in Moonwood all of one time since moving to Crescent City years ago. She and Juniper had drunkenly
taken a cab over here one night during college to make an offering to the goddess of fate to make sure their destinies were epic.

Literally, that was what she’d said.

Benevolent and Farseeing Urd, please make our destinies as epic as possible.

Well, she’d gotten it, Bryce thought as she strode up the steps of the gray marble temple. So had June, though … Sorrow and guilt and longing swarmed her at the thought of her friend.

The quiet street was empty of cars. Like the Under-King had cleared everything out.

Or maybe that was due to the other menacing presence they’d dodged near the intersection of Central and Laurel on their walk over here from the training center: Pollux and Mordoc. Two monsters abroad in the city, a unit of the Hind’s dreadwolves trailing behind them.

Searching for something. Or someone.

Hunt made sure no one was on the street behind the temple as Bryce, Ruhn, and Hypaxia entered. The Under-King had been very specific—only those four people were permitted to come. Ithan and Cormac hadn’t been happy to stay behind.

Beyond the temple’s courtyard—not a priestess in sight—the open doors to the inner sanctum beckoned, shadows and smoke within.

Bryce checked that the rifle across her back was in place, the handgun ready at her hip. Ruhn, on her left, carried the Starsword. She’d argued that it was impolite to arrive at a meeting bearing a weapon designed to kill Reapers, but the others overruled her. Ruhn would stay within arm’s reach at all times, in case she needed to draw the blade. Lightning crackled around Hunt as they stepped into the gloom.

Not trusting how long it could last—or whether she could even contain it within herself—she hadn’t asked him to transfer a charge to her. If it was needed, he could power her up in seconds.

A pyre smoked atop a black stone altar in the center of the temple. A stone throne on a dais loomed at the rear of the space. No
statues ever adorned Urd’s Temple—no depiction of the goddess had ever been made. Fate took too many forms to capture in one figure.

But someone
was
sitting on the throne.

“Punctual,” the Under-King intoned, his bony fingers clicking on the stone arm of the throne. “I appreciate that.”

“You desecrate that throne,” Ruhn warned. “Get your rotting carcass off it.”

The Under-King rose, black robes drifting on a phantom wind. “I thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.”

Bryce feigned yawning, earning an alarmed look from Ruhn, who’d blanched at the sight of the Under-King descending from the dais. Hunt, at least, didn’t seem surprised. He’d grown accustomed to her antics, she supposed.

Hypaxia monitored every movement from the Under-King, wind stirring her hair. She had a score to settle after last night, it seemed.

“So,” Hunt drawled, “here to finish our business?”

The Under-King drifted to the black altar, his horrific face contorting with pleasure as he breathed in the smoldering bones atop it. “I wished to inform you that the Reapers you so hatefully accused me of sending after you were in fact not Apollion’s at all. I’ve discovered that they hailed from the Eternal City.”

Bryce stiffened. “Reapers can cross oceans?”

“Reapers once crossed worlds. I don’t see how some water might deter them.”

“Why come here to attack us?” Hunt demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“And why tell us this at all?” Bryce went on.

“Because I do not appreciate my territory being infringed upon.”

“Bullshit,” Ruhn said. Hypaxia trailed a few steps behind him. “You told them the horrible truth about what happens after death,
and yet you’re willing to let them live now because you’re pissed that someone stepped on your toes?”

His eyes—his dead, milky eyes—fixed on Bryce. “You are officially a princess now, I hear. I suspect you will learn a great deal of equally unpleasant truths.”

“You’re hedging,” Ruhn growled.

But Bryce asked, “Did Jesiba speak to you?”

“Who?”

“Jesiba Roga. Antiquities dealer. She has—had—a few Death Marks. She must know you. She knows everyone.”

The Under-King’s eyes glowed. “I do not know her by that name, but yes. I know of her.” His gaze drifted behind her, to Hypaxia at last. “You did well last night. Few could have worked their way through that labyrinth of spells. The House of Flame and Shadow will welcome you.”

The breeze around Hypaxia rose to a chill wind, but she didn’t deign to speak. Bryce made a note to herself to never get on the queen’s bad side.

Hunt cut in, “You summoned us here to give us this convenient update about those Reapers, and now you want to play nice? I don’t buy it.”

The Under-King only smiled, revealing those too-large brown teeth.

Bryce said, “What does this sequence mean?” She rattled off what had been on Sofie’s arm.

The Under-King blinked. “I don’t know.” He smiled again, wider. “But perhaps you should ask them.” He pointed behind her to the doorway. The world beyond.

Where Pippa Spetsos was marching into the courtyard of the temple, flanked by Lightfall soldiers.

Hunt’s lightning flared. “You tipped off Ophion,” he snarled, even as he began calculating the fastest route out of the temple.

Ruhn, already at the inner sanctum doors, slammed them shut and barred them. Locking them in with the Under-King.

Pippa’s voice came through the doors.
“Come play, Vanir scum. We’ll show you what happens when you turn on us.”

Hypaxia’s face paled. “You were … working with the rebels?”

“Emphasis on
were
,” Bryce muttered. Not that it made a difference right now.

The Under-King’s figure began to fade away. An illusion. A projection. Hunt didn’t bother to wonder how he had done it, had made the details seem so real. “War means death. Death means souls—and more secondlight. Who am I to turn away from a feeding trough? Commander Spetsos’s first act upon arriving in Crescent City was to kneel before me. When she mentioned the enemies in their ranks, I took it upon myself to inform her of our … altercation. We made a deal that is in both of our best interests.”

The rebels would claim the kill, sparing the Under-King any political fallout, but the creep would be satisfied that he’d played a role in slaughtering them, and receive whatever souls would wind up in his realm. A whole lot of them, if Pippa was on the move.

Bryce bristled, starlight shimmering from her. “And were you lying when you claimed you didn’t send the Reapers after me and Ruhn those weeks ago?”

“I spoke true then and I speak true now. I had no involvement in that. Why should I lie to you, when I have already revealed so much?”