House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (29 page)

“Yes.” Cormac’s voice thickened. “She gave it to Command before she went into Kavalla. They gave it to me when I mentioned I might know someone who could use it.”

Ruhn weighed the grief, the pain in his cousin’s face before he softened his tone. “Sofie sounds like a remarkable person.”

“She was. Is.” Cormac’s throat bobbed. “I need to find her. And Emile.”

“You love her?”

Cormac’s eyes burned with flame. “I don’t try to delude myself into thinking that my father would ever approve of a union with a part-human—especially one with no fortune or name. But yes. I was hoping to find a way to spend my life with her.”

“You really think she’s here, trying to meet up with Emile?”

“The mer didn’t rule it out. Why should I?” Again those walls rose in Cormac’s eyes. “If your sister knows anything about whether Danika found a hiding place for them, I need to know.”

Ruhn noted the faint hint of desperation—of dread and panic—and decided to put his cousin out of his misery. “We suspect Danika might have told Sofie to lie low in the Bone Quarter,” he said.

Alarm flared across Cormac’s face, but he nodded his gratitude to Ruhn. “Then we will need to find a way to secure safe passage there—and find some way to search unseen and undisturbed.”

Well, Ruhn needed a drink. Thank Urd they were already in a bar. “All right.” He surveyed his cousin, the perfect blond hair and handsome face. “For what it’s worth, if we can find Sofie, I think you should marry her, if she feels the same way about you. Don’t let your father tie you into some betrothal you don’t want.”

Cormac didn’t smile. He observed Ruhn with the same clear-eyed scrutiny and said, “The witch-queen Hypaxia is beautiful and wise. You could do far worse, you know.”

“I know.” That was as much as Ruhn would say about it.

She
was
beautiful. Stunningly, distractingly beautiful. But she had zero interest in him. She’d made that clear in the months after the Summit. He didn’t entirely blame her. Even if he’d had a glimpse of what life might have been like with her. Like peering through a keyhole.

Cormac cleared his throat. “When you connect with Daybright, say this to confirm your identity.”

As his cousin rattled off the code phrases, Ruhn made shot after shot, until only two balls remained and he blew an easy one and scratched the cue ball to give his cousin a chance. He didn’t know why he bothered.

Cormac handed the cue ball back to him. “I don’t want a pity win.”

Ruhn rolled his eyes but took the ball back, making another shot. “Is there any intel I should be asking Daybright about?”

“For months now, we’ve been trying to coordinate a hit on the Spine. Daybright is our main source of information regarding when and where to strike.”

The Spine—the north-south railway that cut Pangera in half. The main artery for supplies in this war.

“Why risk the hit?” Ruhn asked. “To disrupt the supply lines?”

“That, and Daybright’s been getting whispers for months now about the Asteri working on some sort of new mech-suit prototype.”

“Different from the mech-suits the humans use?”

“Yes. This is a mech-suit designed for Vanir to pilot. For the imperial armies.”

“Fuck.” He could only imagine how dangerous they’d be.

“Exactly,” Cormac said. He checked his watch. “I need to head toward the Black Dock—I want to know if there’s any hint that Emile or Sofie have been there. But contact Daybright as soon as you can. We need to intercept the Vanir suit prototype to study its technology before it can be used to slaughter us.”

Ruhn nodded, resigned. “All right. I’ll help you.”

“Your friends will not be pleased. Athalar in particular.”

“Leave Athalar to me.” He didn’t answer to the angel. Though his sister …

Cormac observed him once more. “When you want out, I’ll get you out. I promise.”

Ruhn sank his last ball into his chosen pocket and leaned the stick against the concrete wall. “I’ll hold you to that.”

20

The water dripping from Tharion’s wave skimmer onto the plastic floor of the dry dock in the Blue Court was the only sound as he repaired the vehicle. His sweat dripped along with it, despite the chamber’s cool temperature. He’d stripped off his shirt within minutes of arriving here, even its soft cotton too confining against his skin as he worked. Reeds had gotten stuck in the engine during his trip out to the marshes the other day, and though the engineering team could have easily fixed the issue, he’d wanted to do it himself.

Wanted to give his mind some time to sort everything out.

When he’d awoken that morning, talking to the Prince of the Chasm—pretending to be a cat, for Urd’s sake—hadn’t been remotely near the list of possibilities for his day. Nor had finding out that an Avallen prince was an Ophion rebel searching for Sofie Renast’s younger brother. Or that Danika Fendyr had sent Sofie to gather some vital intel on the Asteri. No, he’d awoken with only one goal: learn what Ithan Holstrom knew.

A whole lot of nothing, apparently.

Some Captain of Intelligence.
Captain Whatever
, Holstrom had called him. Tharion was half-inclined to get it etched into a plaque for his desk.

But at least Holstrom had agreed to help out should Tharion
need his nose to find the kid. If Pippa Spetsos was hunting for Emile as Cormac had claimed, politics and Sofie and his queen aside … they needed to find the kid first. If only to spare him from being forced to use those thunderbird powers in horrible ways. Holstrom would be a valuable asset in that endeavor.

And besides—the wolf seemed like he needed something to do.

The door to the dry dock room whooshed open, ushering in a scent of bubbling streams and water lilies. Tharion kept his attention on the engine, the wrench clenched in his hand.

“I heard you were here,” said a lilting female voice, and Tharion plastered a smile on his face as he looked over a shoulder at the River Queen’s daughter.

She wore her usual diaphanous pale blue gown, offsetting the warm brown of her skin. River pearls and shards of abalone gleamed in her thick black curls, cascading well past her slim shoulders to the small of her back. She glided toward him on bare feet, the chill water coating the floor seemingly not bothering her at all. She always moved like that: as if she were floating underwater. She had no mer form—was only a fraction mer, actually. She was some kind of elemental humanoid, as at home in the open air as she was beneath the surface. Part woman, part river.

Tharion held up his wrench, a strip of river weed tangled around the tip. “Repairs.”

“Why do you still insist on doing them yourself?”

“Gives me a tangible task.” He leaned against the wave skimmer on the lift behind him, the water beading its sides cool against his hot skin.

“Is your work for my mother so unfulfilling that you need such things?”

Tharion offered a charming smile. “I like to pretend I know what I’m doing around machines,” he deflected.

She gave him a light laugh in return, coming closer. Tharion kept himself perfectly still, refusing to shy from the hand she laid on his bare chest. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“Your mother’s been keeping me busy.”
Take it up with her
.

A small, shy smile. “I’d hoped we could …” She blushed, and Tharion caught the meaning.

They hadn’t done
that
in years. Why now? Water-spirits were capricious—he’d figured she’d gotten him, had him, lost interest, and moved on. Even if the vows between them still bound them together irreparably.

Tharion covered her small hand with his own, brushing his thumb over the velvety skin. “It’s late, and I have an early start.”

“And yet you’re here, toiling on this … machine.” She took after her mother when it came to technology. Had barely mastered the concept of a computer, despite lessons with Tharion. He wondered if she even knew the name for the machine behind him.

“I need it for tomorrow’s work.” A lie.

“More than you need me?”

Yes. Definitely yes.

But Tharion gave another one of those grins. “Another time, I promise.”

“I heard you went into the city today.”

“I’m always in the city.”

She eyed him, and he noted the jealous, wary gleam.

“Who did you see?”

“Some friends.”

“Which ones?”

How many interrogations had begun like this and ended in her crying to her mother? The last one had been only a few days ago. Afterward, he’d wound up on that boat in the Haldren Sea, hunting for Sofie Renast’s remains.

He said carefully, “Bryce Quinlan, Ruhn Danaan, Ithan Holstrom, and Hunt Athalar.” No need to mention Aidas or Prince Cormac. They weren’t his friends.

“Bryce Quinlan—the girl from this spring? With the star?”

He wasn’t surprised she only asked about the female. “Yeah.” Another wary look that Tharion pretended not to notice as he said casually, “She and Athalar are dating now, you know. A nice ending after everything that went down.”

The River Queen’s daughter relaxed visibly, shoulders slumping. “How sweet.”

“I’d like to introduce you sometime.” A blatant lie.

“I shall ask Mother.”

He said, “I’m going to see them again tomorrow. You could join me.” It was reckless, but … he’d spent ten years now avoiding her, dodging the truth. Maybe they could change it up a bit.

“Oh, Mother will need more time than that to prepare.”

He bowed his head, the picture of understanding. “Just let me know when. It’ll be a double date.”

“What’s that?”

Television didn’t exist down here. Or at least in the River Queen’s royal chambers. So popular culture, anything modern … they weren’t even on her radar.

Not that theirs could be considered a true betrothal. It was more like indentured servitude.

“Two couples going out to a meal together. You know, a date … times two.”

“Ah.” A pretty smile. “I’d like that.”

So would Athalar. Tharion would never hear the end of it. He glanced at the clock. “I do have an early start, and this engine is a mess …”

It was as close to a dismissal as he’d ever dare make. He did have a few rights: she could seek him out for sex—as she’d done—but he could say no without repercussions; and his duties as Captain of Intelligence were more important than seeing to her needs. He prayed she’d consider fixing a wave skimmer one of those duties.

Ogenas be thanked, she did. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

And then she was gone, the scent of water lilies with her. As the doors slid open to let her through, Tharion glimpsed her four mer guards waiting on the other side—the River Queen’s daughter never went anywhere alone. The broad-chested males would have fought to the death for the chance to share her bed. He knew they detested him for having and rejecting that access.

He’d happily yield his position. If only the River Queen would let him.

Alone again, Tharion sighed, leaning his forehead against the wave skimmer.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. It could be weeks or years until she and her mother would start pushing for the wedding. And then for children. And he’d be locked in a cage, here below the surface, until even his Vanir life expired. Old and dreamless and forgotten.

A fate worse than death.

But if this thing with Sofie and Emile Renast was indeed playing out in a big way … he’d use it as his temporary escape. He didn’t give a shit about the rebellion, not really. But his queen had given him a task, so he’d milk this investigation for all it was worth. Perhaps see what the intel Sofie had gathered could gain
him
.

Until his own stupid choices finally called in a debt.

“And here’s the common room,” Hunt said through his teeth to Baxian as he shouldered open the door to the barracks hangout area. “As you already know.”

“Always nice to hear from a local,” Baxian said, black wings folded in tightly as he noted the dim space: the little kitchenette to the left of the door, the sagging chairs and couches before the large TV, the door to the bathrooms straight ahead. “This is only for triarii?”

“All yours tonight,” Hunt said, checking his phone. After ten. He’d been on his way out at seven when Celestina had called, asking him to give Baxian a tour of the Comitium. Considering the sheer size of the place … it had taken this long. Especially because Baxian had oh-so-many
questions
.

The bastard knew he was keeping Hunt here. Away from Bryce and that sweet, sumptuous mouth. Which was precisely why Hunt had opted to grin and bear it: he wouldn’t give the shithead the satisfaction of knowing how much he was pissing him off. Or turning his balls blue.

But enough was enough. Hunt asked, “You need me to tuck you into bed, too?”

Baxian snorted, going up to the fridge and yanking it open. The light bounced off his wings, silvering their arches. “You guys have crap beer.”

“Government salary,” Hunt said, leaning against the doorway. “Menus for takeout are in the top drawer to your right; or you can call down to the canteen and see if they’re still serving. Good? Great. Bye.”

“What’s that?” Baxian asked, and there was enough curiosity in his tone that Hunt didn’t bite his head off. He followed the direction of the Helhound’s gaze.

“Um. That’s a TV. We watch stuff on it.”

Baxian threw him a withering glare. “I know what a TV is, Athalar. I meant those wires and boxes beneath.”

Hunt arched a brow. “That’s an OptiCube.” Baxian stared at him blankly. Hunt tried again. “Gaming system?” The Helhound shook his head.

For a moment, Hunt was standing in Baxian’s place, assessing the same room, the same strange, new tech, Isaiah and Justinian explaining what a fucking mobile phone was. Hunt said roughly, “You play games on it. Racing games, first-person games … giant time suck, but fun.”

Baxian looked like the word—
fun
—was foreign to him, too. Solas.

Sandriel hated technology. Had refused to allow even televisions in her palace. Baxian might as well have been transported here from three centuries ago. Hunt himself had encountered tech in other parts of the world, but when most of his duties had kept him focused on Sandriel or her missions, he hadn’t really had time to learn about everyday shit.