House of Flame and Shadow: The INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER third instalment in the Crescent City series

“Nah,” Ruhn said into the phone as he and Lidia once again wended through the sewers, “they weren’t at the triarii’s private barracks. We waited for hours, but they’re deserted. No one came or went. From the look of Isaiah’s and Naomi’s rooms, no one’s been there for days.”

Lidia trudged ahead, neck bent forward as she checked a burner phone she’d brought with her from the Depth Charger—years ago, it seemed.

“So what do we do?” Flynn asked. “Keep waiting? Dec was able to hack into the Aux’s computers while I scouted around the area, but he found nothing about their movements, either. It doesn’t seem like the Aux even knows they’re gone.” With the Asteri out to punish anyone caught associating with them, it had been safest to observe the Aux from a distance, rather than directly talk to anyone. Not to mention the risk of being sold out to the Asteri by any enterprising sorts.

Ruhn considered. “If Isaiah and Naomi are missing, Celestina probably wants to keep their absence unnoticed.”

In the background, Declan said, “You think she killed them?”

“It’s possible,” Ruhn said as Flynn switched him to speakerphone. “We’re going to circle back there tomorrow. See if we can pick up anything else. You two be on the lookout for any sign of them. Check the squares where they do the crucifixions.”

“Fuck,” Flynn said.

“I’ll try to access the security footage from the Comitium,” Dec volunteered. “Maybe there’s something there that can point us in the right direction.”

Ruhn sighed. “Be careful. Let’s rendezvous at sunset—the northeastern corner of the intersection just past the shooting range.”

“Copy,” Flynn and Dec said, and hung up.

Ruhn and Lidia walked another block or so in the reeking quiet before he said, “You lulled me to sleep with a story once. About a witch who turned into a monster.”

“What of it?” She glanced sidelong at him.

“Is it a real story, or did you make it up?”

“It was a story my mother told me,” she said softly. “The only story I remember her telling me as a child before she … let me go.”

He’d been about to ask if the similarities between the evil prince and Pollux, the kind knight and himself, had been meant prophetically, but at the sadness in her voice … “I’m really sorry you went through that, Lidia. I can’t imagine doing that to a child. The thought of letting my own kid go into the arms of a stranger—”

“I did it, though,” she said, staring ahead at nothing. “What my mother did to me, I did exactly the same thing to my sons.”

His heart ached at the pain and guilt in her voice. “You entrusted your sons to a loving family—”

“I didn’t know that. I had no idea who they were going to be living with.”

“But the alternative was taking them with you.”

“Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have run into the wilds and hidden forever with them.”

“What kind of life would that have been? You gave them a real life, and a happy one, on the Depth Charger.”

“A true mother would have—”

“You are a true mother,” he said, and grabbed her hand, turning her to face him. “Lidia, you made an impossible choice—you decided to protect your children, even if it meant you wouldn’t see them grow up. Fuck, if that doesn’t make you a true mother, then I don’t know what does.”

Pain rippled across her face, and he wrapped his arms around her as she leaned against his chest. “They were the one thing that kept me going,” she said. “Through every horror, it was just knowing that they were there, and safe, and that my choices were keeping them that way.”

He slid a hand down her back, luxuriating in the feel of her, offering up whatever comfort he could. They stood there for long minutes, just holding each other.

“I told you before,” she said against his chest, “that you remind me that I’m alive.”

He kissed the top of her head in answer, her golden hair silky against his mouth.

“For a long time, I wasn’t,” she said. “I did my work as the Hind, as Daybright—all to keep my sons safe and do what I thought was right. But I felt nothing. I was essentially a wraith most days, occupying a shell of a body. But then I met you, and it was like I was back in my body again. Like I was … awake.” She pulled back, scanning his face. “I don’t think I’d ever been truly awake,” she said, “until I met you.”

He smiled down at her, his heart too full for words. So he kissed her, gently, lovingly.

She slid her hand into his as they continued onward. But Ruhn paused her again, long enough to tip her head back and kiss her once more. “I know we have some shit to sort out still,” he said against her mouth, “but … girlfriend, lover, whatever you want to be, I’m all in.”

Her lips curved against his in a smile. “I thank Urd every single day that Cormac asked you to be my contact.”

He pulled away, grinning. “I still owe you a beer.”

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

Ruhn grinned again, and slid an arm around her waist as they walked on into the gloom. They strode in warm, companionable quiet for several blocks before Lidia’s phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket to glance at the screen. “It’s from the Depth Charger,” she said, and paused to open the message.

He watched her eyes dart over the screen—then halt. Her hands shook.

“Pollux,” Lidia breathed, and Ruhn stilled. Her eyes lifted to his, and pure panic filled them as she whispered, “He’s taken my sons.”

Hunt didn’t let himself dwell on it—the unholy majesty that was Bryce wearing the Mask. On what she’d been able to do to the Harpy.

He faced Celestina, Isaiah and Naomi behind her, all clad in heavy winter gear. Isaiah’s and the Governor’s white wings were nearly invisible against the snow. All their faces, however, were taut with shock. “What are you doing here?” Hunt said.

“What is that?” Naomi breathed, ignoring his question, eyes on the golden object in Bryce’s hands.

“Death,” Isaiah answered, face ashen. “That mask … it’s death.”

Hunt demanded again, “What are you doing here?”

Isaiah’s eyes shot to Hunt’s. “We’ve been tracking that thing.” He gestured to the pile of clothes that had been the resurrected Harpy moments before. “Celestina’s old contacts up here reported that the guard station at the wall had been attacked by some new terror, so we all raced up here, fearing it was something from Hel—”

“Why not send a legion?” Hunt asked, eyeing the two angels who’d once been his closest companions. “Why come yourselves?”

“Because the Asteri ordered us to stand down,” Naomi said. “But someone still had to stop this carnage.”

Hunt met Celestina’s eyes, the Archangel’s flawless face a mask of stone. “Going off-leash, huh?”

Temper sparked in her gaze. “I regret what I did to you and yours, Hunt Athalar, but it was necessary to—”

“Spare me,” Hunt snapped. “You fucking betrayed us to the Asteri—”

“Hunt,” Isaiah said, holding up a hand, “look, there’s a lot of bad blood here—”

“Bad blood?” Hunt exploded. “I fucking went to the dungeons because of her!” He pointed at the Governor. Bryce moved closer to him, a comforting presence at his side. He gestured to his forehead, barely visible with his gear. “I have this halo on my fucking head again because of her!”

Celestina just stood there, shivering. “As I said, I regret what I did. It has cost me more than you know.” She seemed to blink back tears. “Hypaxia has … ended things between us.”

“What, your girlfriend didn’t like that you’re a two-faced snake?” Hunt said.

“Hunt,” Bryce murmured, but he didn’t fucking care.

“You were supposed to be good,” Hunt said, voice breaking. “You were supposed to be the good Archangel. And you’re even worse than Micah.” He spat, and it turned to ice before it could hit the snow. “At least he made it clear when he was fucking someone over.”

His lightning thrashed in his veins, looking for a way out.

“Hunt,” Naomi said, “what the Governor did was fucked up, but—”

“She went against Asteri orders to be here,” Isaiah finished. “Let’s get out of the cold and talk—”

“I’m done fucking talking,” Hunt said, and his power stirred. “I am done with Archangels and your fucking bullshit.”

His lightning hissed along the snow. And as his vision flashed, he knew lightning forked across his eyes.

Celestina held up her gloved hands. “I want no quarrel with you, Athalar.”

“Too bad,” Hunt said, and lightning skittered over his tongue. “I want one with you.”

He didn’t give any further warning before he hurled his power at the Archangel. He gave everything, yet it wasn’t enough. His power choked at its limits, restrained by the halo.

A leash to hold demons in check.

It hadn’t worked on the princes. He’d be damned if he allowed it to keep working on him.

Hunt let his power build and build and build. The snow around him melted away.

Apollion had given his essence, his Helfire, to Hunt. And if that made him a son of Hel, so be it.

Hunt closed his eyes, and saw it there—the black band of the halo, imprinted across his very soul. Its scrolling vine of thorns. The spell to contain him.

Everyone knew the enslavement spell couldn’t be undone. Hunt had never even tried. But he was done playing by the Asteri’s rules. By anyone’s rules.

Hunt reached a mental hand toward the black thorns of the halo. Wreathed his fingers in lightning, in Helfire, in the power that was his and only his.

And sliced through it.

The thorns of the halo shivered and bled. Black ink dripped down, dissolving into nothing, gobbled up by the power that was now surging in him, rising up—

Hunt opened his eyes to see Isaiah gaping at him in fear and awe. The halo still marred his friend’s brow.

No more.

Knowing where it was, how to destroy it, made it easier. Hunt reached out a tendril of his power for Isaiah, and before his friend could recoil, he sliced a line through the halo on his brow.

Isaiah hissed, staggering back. A roaring, raging wind rose from his feet as his halo, too, crumbled away from his brow.

Celestina was looking between them, terror stark on her face. “That’s not—that’s not—”

“I suggest you run,” Hunt said, his voice as frozen as the wind that bit at their faces.

But Celestina straightened. Held her ground. And with bravery he didn’t expect, she said, “Why are you here?”

As if he’d be distracted by the question, as if it’d keep her fate at bay—

Bryce answered for him. “To open the Northern Rift to Hel.”

Naomi whirled on Bryce and said, “What?”

Isaiah, too stunned at his halo’s removal to pay much attention to the conversation, was staring at his hands—as if he could see the unleashed power they now commanded.

Celestina shook her head. “You’ve lost your minds.” She planted her feet, and white, shining power glowed around her. “You want to fight me, Athalar, go ahead. But you’re not opening the Rift.”

“Oh, I think we are,” Hunt said, and launched his lightning at her.

The world ruptured as it collided with a wall of her power, and Hunt poured more lightning in, snow melting away, the very stone beneath them buckling and warping as his lightning struck and struck and struck—

“Athalar!” Naomi shouted. “What the fuck—”

Celestina blasted out her power, a wall of glowing wind.

Hunt snapped his lightning through it. He was done with the Archangels. With their hierarchies. Done with—

Isaiah stepped into the fray, hands up.

“Stop,” he said, and power glowed in his friend’s eyes. “Athalar, stop.”

“She deserves to die—every fucking Archangel deserves to die for what they do to us,” Hunt said through his teeth. But it registered, suddenly, that Bryce was no longer by his side.

She was running back toward the Rift, her star blazing. So bright—with the two other pieces of Theia’s star now united with what Bryce had been born with, her star blazed as bright as the sun. The sun was a star, for fuck’s sake—

“No!” Celestina shouted, and her power flared.

Hunt slammed his lightning into the Archangel so hard it shattered her power, sending her flying back into the snow with a satisfying thud.

Celestina’s wings splayed wide, flinging snow in all directions, blood leaking from her nose and mouth. “Don’t!” she cried to Bryce. “I’ve dedicated years of my life to preventing the Rift from opening,” she panted. “Find another way. Don’t do this.”

Bryce halted, snow spraying with the swiftness of her stop. That magnificent star blazed from her chest, casting a brilliant glimmer over the snow. Breathing hard, Bryce said to the Archangel, “The Princes of Hel have offered their help, and Midgard needs it, whether you know it or not. Hunt and I have already killed two Archangels. Don’t make us kill you, too.”

Hunt glanced to Bryce in question. As if there was an alternative to killing Celestina—

“You …,” Celestina said. “You killed Micah and Sandriel,” she whispered.

“They were stronger than you,” Hunt said, “so I don’t think much of your chances.”

Hunt’s lightning flared around him, poised to strike, to flay her from the inside out, as he had done with Sandriel.

But Celestina’s brown eyes widened at his lightning, released from its bonds and spreading through the world. She’d never seen the full extent of what he could do—she’d never had the chance during those weeks they’d worked together. “How is it … how is it that you have the power of Archangels but are not one yourself?” she asked.

“Because I’m the Umbra Mortis,” Hunt said, voice unyielding as the ice around them. And he’d never felt more like it as he stared at Celestina, and knew that with one strike to her heart, she’d be smoldering, bloody ruins.

Celestina’s gaze lowered, and she dropped to her knees. Like she knew it, too.

A plume of pure, uncut lightning rose above Hunt’s shoulder, an asp ready to strike true. He looked to Bryce, waiting for the nod to incinerate her.

But Bryce was staring at him sadly. Softly, lovingly, she said, “You’re not, Hunt.”

He didn’t understand the words. He blinked at her.

Bryce stepped forward, snow crunching under her feet. “You’re not the Umbra Mortis,” she said. “You never were, deep down. And you never will be.”

Hunt pointed a lightning-wreathed finger at Celestina. “She and all her kind should be blasted off the face of Midgard.”

“Maybe,” Bryce said gently, taking another step. Her starlight faded into nothing. “But not by you.”

Disgust roiled through him. He’d never once hated Bryce, but in that moment, as she doubted him, he did.

“She doesn’t deserve to die, Hunt.”

“Yes, she fucking does,” Hunt spat. “I remember each and every one of them—all the angels who marched against us on Mount Hermon, all the Senate, the Asteri, and the Archangels at my sentencing. I remember all of them, and she’s no better than they were. She’s no better than Sandriel. Than Micah.”

“Maybe,” Bryce said again, her voice still gentle, soothing. He hated that, too. “No one is forgiving her. But she doesn’t deserve to die. And I don’t want her blood on your hands.”

“Where was this mercy when it came to the Autumn King? You didn’t stop Ruhn then.”

“The Autumn King had done nothing in his long, miserable life except inflict pain. He didn’t merit my notice, let alone my mercy. She does.”

“Why?” He looked to his mate, his rage slipping a notch. “Why?”

“Because she made a mistake,” Naomi said, stepping forward, expression pained. “And has been trying to make it right ever since. Isaiah and I didn’t come up here with her because she ordered us to. We wanted to help her.”

Hunt pointed to the Rift mere feet from Bryce. “She’s going to stop you from opening it.”

“I will not,” Celestina promised, keeping her head bowed. “I yield.”

“Let her go, Hunt,” Bryce said.

“Morven yielded, and you killed him,” Hunt snapped at her.

“I know,” Bryce said. “And I’ll live with that. I wouldn’t wish the same burden on you. Hunt … We have enough enemies. Let her go.”

“I swear upon Solas himself,” Celestina said, the highest oath an angel could invoke, “that I will help you, if it is within my power.”

“I’m not going to take the word of an Archangel.”

“Well, we’re going to need this Archangel,” Bryce said, and Hunt’s rage slipped further as he looked to her again.

“What?”

Bryce glanced at the Harpy’s body, half-melted from Hunt’s lightning clashing with Celestina’s power. The rock around it had been warped—his lightning had altered the stone itself. Bryce closed the distance between her and Hunt, reaching out to take his hand.

His lightning crawled over her skin, but he didn’t let it hurt. He could never hurt her.

“You said you’re with me—all of you,” Bryce murmured, staring at him and only him. “Put the past behind you. Focus on what’s ahead. We have a world to save, and I need my mate at my side to do it. No one else—not a son of Hel, not the Umbra Mortis, not even Hunt fucking Athalar. I need my mate. Just Hunt.”

He saw it all in her eyes—that no matter what had happened, who he’d been and what he’d done … it really didn’t matter to her. Being made in Hel didn’t matter to her. But she’d captured who he was, deep down, in those photos last spring. The person she’d brought into the world. The person she loved.

Just Hunt.

So he let go. Let go of the lightning, of the death singing in his veins. Let go of Apollion’s and Thanatos’s smirking faces. Let go of his rage at the Archangel before him, and the Archangels who’d existed before her.

Just Hunt. He liked that.

His lightning faded, fizzling away entirely. And he said to Bryce, as if she were the only person on Midgard, in any galaxy, “I love you, Just Bryce.”

She snickered, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Now, if you don’t plan on killing Celestina anymore …” Bryce pulled the Mask from her jacket again. “We’re going to raise an army.”

“What army?” Isaiah whispered.

“We’re going to raise the Fallen,” Bryce said, tossing the Mask in the air and catching it like it was a fucking sunball.

Hunt’s knees buckled. “You said we were going to use the Mask to fight the Asteri.”

“And we are,” Bryce said, pitching the Mask up and catching it once more. “It’s your fault you didn’t ask for specifics on how we’d use it against them.”

No, he’d assumed she’d put it on and it would give her some edge to kill them.

Hunt shook his head. “You’re out of your mind.”

Bryce halted her tossing at that, voice gentling. “We need a distraction for the Asteri. Hel won’t be enough. But an army of the dead, an army of the Fallen, will work nicely. An army that won’t have to die again. And Isaiah and Naomi are going to lead them.”

“That’s why you sent Ruhn and Lidia to get them,” Hunt said quietly, fighting through his shock.

Isaiah gave him a questioning look, but Bryce replied, “Yes. I thought if we could get them, and get the Mask from Nesta … it might work.”

“But how can you raise them?” Hunt demanded. Nesta had used the bones of a beast, Bryce had told him. “Their bodies are gone—”

“The Asteri kept their wings,” Bryce said, disgust lacing every word. “They kept your wings, like trophies. But because they didn’t have Sailings, I think part of their souls might still be attached.”

Hunt rubbed at his frozen face. “And what—you’re just going to have a bunch of wings flying around?”

She cut him a sharp look. “No. Well, yes—but only to get them to where we need their souls.”

“You said the Mask can reanimate dead bodies—not give souls new ones.”

“That’s what I saw Nesta do,” Bryce said. “But Theia’s star …”

Cupping her hands before her chest, she drew out the blazing, beautiful star. It illuminated the mists, set the snow at their feet sparkling.

“Wow,” Naomi breathed.

What Bryce had taken from her chest that day during the attack last spring was a fraction of the star she now held between her palms.

“This,” Bryce said, face glowing in the starlight, “seems to recognize the Mask, somehow. When I put the Mask on, I could feel the pull between the two powers. Maybe it’s something about Theia’s star. I think it can command the Mask to do … different things.”

“This isn’t the time to experiment,” Hunt warned.

“I know,” Bryce conceded. “But I think all it would take is a bit of the deceased, and I could Make them anew. Not give them true life, but their souls would be returned—given new forms. Unlike … unlike what the Asteri did to the Harpy.”

“That mask can truly raise the dead, then,” Naomi said hoarsely.

Bryce nodded. “The Fallen wouldn’t be given new, breathing bodies, but yes—they’d be able to help us.”

“What sort of bodies, then?” Isaiah asked, glancing nervously at Hunt.

“Ones the Asteri already made for us,” Bryce said a shade quietly. “Perfect blends of magic and tech.”

“The new mech-suits,” Hunt realized. “The ones the Asteri stationed on Mount Hermon.”

Bryce nodded gravely. “I think Rigelus stationed those suits up there to taunt you guys, but it’s about to blow up in his stupid fucking face. Lidia said the suits don’t need pilots to operate, so we don’t have to worry about any physical interference. Dec can hack into their computer system and block imperial access while the souls of the Fallen fuse with the mech-suits and pilot them under Naomi and Isaiah’s command.”

But to do what she was suggesting …

“We can’t,” Hunt rasped, wings slumping. “I can’t ask them to die for us again. Even if they’re already dead. The Fallen have given too much.”

Bryce walked over to him. Took his hand. “We need those suits piloted by the Fallen, or they’ll be used against us by the Asteri. We need the Asteri and their forces entirely occupied.”

But Hunt’s heart twisted. “Bryce.”

“It will be their choice whether to return, to pilot those suits. I’ll give them that choice, when I raise them. And I’ll be with you for every moment of it.” She nodded to Isaiah and Naomi. “They’ll command the Fallen. You don’t need to shoulder that burden anymore. I’ll need you with me—in the Asteri’s palace.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. Celestina could have struck, he supposed, but she remained kneeling.

And just as he had that day when Hunt had given Sandriel her due, Isaiah suddenly knelt before him. Naomi joined him on her knees.

“I’m not an Archangel,” Hunt blurted. “And I haven’t agreed to lead you two. So get up.”

It was Celestina who said, “Perhaps the age of Archangels is over.”

“You sound happy about it.”

“I would be, if it were to come to pass,” Celestina said, and got to her feet. “I told you once: Shahar was my friend. I might not have had the courage to fight alongside her then …” Her chin lifted. “But I do now.”

He was having none of it. “And what are you going to do during all this?”

Bryce answered before Celestina could reply. “She’s going to Ephraim’s fortress.” At Hunt’s surprised look, echoed by Celestina, Bryce explained, “He’s the closest Archangel to the Eternal City. We need him occupied. If Ephraim joins the fight, it will complicate everything.”

Celestina nodded gravely. “I will make sure he does not come within a hundred miles of the capital.”

“How?” Hunt demanded. “Tie him up?”

“I will do whatever is necessary to end this,” Celestina said, chin high.

Hunt pointed to the Rift. “We’re going to open the Rift to Hel. You didn’t seem too keen on that a moment ago.”

Celestina glanced between Hunt and Bryce. “It goes against everything I’ve worked for, but … it does seem that all you two have done has been in the best interest of the innocents of Midgard. I don’t believe that you would open the Rift if it would jeopardize the most vulnerable.”

“Yeah?” Hunt snapped. “And where the fuck were you when Asphodel Meadows was blasted into nothing?”

That brought a measure of ice to Bryce’s stare. True grief filled Celestina’s eyes.

“It was the final straw, Hunt,” Isaiah said. “Why we—she—disobeyed the Asteri. They gave no warning. The ships pulled into the Istros, and they said it was for our protection. I didn’t even know the ships could send aerial missiles that far.”

Naomi’s lashes were pearled with tears that quickly turned to ice as she added, “It was the most cowardly, unforgivable … We don’t stand for that. None of us. Not Celestina, and certainly not the 33rd.”

Hunt looked back to Bryce, and found only pain and cold resolve staring back at him. She was right. They had enough enemies. Ones who had to pay.

And he might not have trusted one word out of an Archangel’s mouth, but if Isaiah and Naomi believed Celestina, that meant something. Isaiah, who had suffered under Archangels as much as Hunt had, was here, helping Celestina, knowing she had betrayed his friend. Isaiah wasn’t some spineless asshole—he was good and smart and brave.

And Isaiah was here.

So Hunt said, “All right. Let’s ring Hel’s doorbell.”

Hunt had enough lightning left to blast Bryce again. It passed through her and into the Gate—into the heart of the Northern Rift.

Her will, blazing with that undiluted starlight, changed its location once more.

Celestina, Isaiah, and Naomi held back a step, all glowing with power, readying for the worst.

Impenetrable darkness spread within the archway, broken only by two glowing blue eyes.

Prince Aidas stood there, impeccably dressed in his jet-black clothes, not one golden hair on his head out of place. He surveyed the icy terrain, the sun now setting after a brief window of daylight.

Bryce swung her arm out in a grand, sweeping gesture as the Prince of the Chasm stepped through the Northern Rift. “Welcome back to Midgard,” she said. “Hope you have a pleasant stay.”