House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (43 page)

“Call him Hunt,” Bryce drawled. “He gets huffy if you go all formal on him.”

Hunt gave her an incredulous look. But the Under-King materialized from the mist, inch by inch.

He stood at least ten feet tall, robes of richest black velvet draping to the gravel. Darkness swirled on the ground before him, and his head … Something primal in him screamed to run, to bow, to fall on his knees and beg.

A desiccated corpse, half-rotted and crowned with gold and jewels, observed them. Hideous beyond belief, yet regal. Like a long-dead king of old left to rot in some barrow, who had emerged to make himself master of this land.

Bryce lifted her chin and said, bold as Luna herself, “We need to talk.”

“Talk?” The lipless mouth pulled back, revealing teeth brown with age.

Hunt reminded himself firmly that the Under-King was feared, yes—but not evil.

Bryce replied, “About your goons grabbing my sweet brother and dragging him into the sewer. They claimed they were sent by Apollion.” Hunt tensed as she spoke the Prince of the Pit’s name. Bryce continued, utterly nonchalant, “But I don’t see how they could have been sent by anyone but
you
.”

The Under-King hissed. “Do not speak that name on this side of the Rift.”

Hunt followed Bryce’s irreverence. “Is this the part where you insist you knew nothing?”

“You have the nerve to cross the river, to take a black boat to my shores, and accuse me of this treachery?” The darkness behind the Under-King shivered. In fear or delight, Hunt couldn’t tell.

“Some of your Reapers survived me,” Bryce said. “Surely they’ve filled you in by now.”

Silence fell, like the world in the aftermath of a boom of thunder.

The Under-King’s milky, lidless eyes slid to the Starsword in Bryce’s hand. “Some did
not
survive you?”

Bryce’s swallow was audible. Hunt swore silently.

Bryce said, “Why did you feel the need to attack? To pretend the Reapers were messengers of—the Prince of the Pit.” She clicked her tongue. “I thought we were friends.”

“Death has no friends,” the Under-King said, eerily calm. “I did not send any Reapers to attack you. But I do not tolerate those who falsely accuse me in my realm.”

“And we’re supposed to take you at your word that you’re innocent?” Bryce pushed.

“Do you call me a liar, Bryce Quinlan?”

Bryce said, cool and calm as a queen, “You mean to tell me that there are Reapers who can simply defect and serve Hel?”

“From whence do you think the Reapers first came? Who first ruled them, ruled the vampyrs? The Reapers chose Midgard. But I am not surprised some have changed their minds.”

Bryce demanded, “And you don’t care if Hel steps into your territory?”

“Who said they were my Reapers to begin with? There are none unaccounted for here. There are many other necropolises they might hail from.” And other half-life rulers they answered to.

“Reapers don’t travel far beyond their realms,” Hunt managed to say.

“A comforting lie for mortals.” The Under-King smiled faintly.

“All right,” Hunt said, fingers tightening around Bryce’s. The Under-King seemed to be telling them the truth. Which meant … Well, fuck. Maybe Apollion
was
the one who’d sent the Reapers. And if that part was true, then what he’d said about Emile …

Bryce seemed to be following the same train of thought, because she said, “I’m looking for two people who might be hiding out here. Any insight?”

“I know all the dead who reside here.”

“They’re alive,” Bryce said. “Humans—or part-humans.”

The Under-King surveyed them once more. Right down to their souls. “No one enters this land without my knowledge.”

“People can slip in,” Hunt countered.

“No,” the creature said, smiling again. “They cannot. Whoever you seek, they are not here.”

Hunt pushed, “Why should we believe you?”

“I swear upon Cthona’s dark crown that no living beings other than yourselves are currently on this island.”

Well, vows didn’t get much more serious than that. Even the Under-King wouldn’t fuck with invoking the earth goddess’s name in a vow.

But that left them back at square one. If Emile and Sofie weren’t here, and couldn’t even enter … Danika had to have known that. She’d have been smart enough to look into the rules before sending them here for hiding.

This was a dead end. But it still left Apollion looking for the kid—and them needing to find him before anyone else.

So Hunt said, “You’ve been enlightening. Thanks for your time.”

But Bryce didn’t move. Her face had gone stony. “Where’s the green and sunlight you showed me? Was that another comforting lie?”

“You saw what you wished to see.”

Bryce’s lips went white with rage. “Where’s the Pack of Devils?”

“You are not entitled to speak to them.”

“Is Lehabah here?”

“I do not know of one with such a name.”

“A fire sprite. Died three months ago. Is she here?”

“Fire sprites do not come to the Bone Quarter. The Lowers are of no use.”

Hunt arched a brow. “No use for what?”

The Under-King smiled again—perhaps a shade ruefully. “Comforting lies, remember?”

Bryce pressed, “Did Danika Fendyr say anything to you before she … vanished this spring?”

“You mean before she traded her soul to save yours, as you did with your own.”

Nausea surged through Hunt. He hadn’t let himself think much on it—that Bryce would not be allowed here. That he wouldn’t rest with her one day.

One day that might come very soon, if they were caught associating with rebels.

“Yes,” Bryce said tightly. “Before Danika helped to save this city. Where’s the Pack of Devils?” she asked again, voice hitching.

Something large growled and shifted in the shadows behind the Under-King, but remained hidden by the mists. Hunt’s lightning zapped at his fingers in warning.

“Life is a beautiful ring of growth and decay,” the Under-King said, the words echoing through the Sleeping City around them. “No part left to waste. What we receive upon birth, we give back in death. What is granted to you mortals in the Eternal Lands is merely another step in the cycle. A waypoint along your journey toward the Void.”

Hunt growled. “Let me guess: You hail from Hel, too?”

“I hail from a place between stars, a place that has no name and never shall. But I know of the Void that the Princes of Hel worship. It birthed me, too.”

The star in the center of Bryce’s chest flared.

The Under-King smiled, and his horrific face turned ravenous. “I beheld your light across the river, that day. Had I only known when you first came to me—things might have been quite different.”

Hunt’s lightning surged, but he reined it in. “What do you want with her?”

“What I want from all souls who pass here. What I give back to the Dead Gate, to all of Midgard: energy, life, power. You did not give your power to the Eleusian system; you made the Drop outside of it. Thus, you still possess some firstlight. Raw, nutritious firstlight.”

“Nutritious?” Bryce said.

The Under-King waved a bony hand. “Can you blame me for sampling the goods as they pass through the Dead Gate?”

Hunt’s mouth dried up. “You … you feed on the souls of the dead?”

“Only those who are worthy. Who have enough energy. There is no judgment but that: whether a soul possesses enough residual power to make a hearty meal, both for myself and for the Dead Gate. As their souls pass through the Dead Gate, I take a … bite or two.”

Hunt cringed inwardly. Maybe he had been too hasty in deeming the being before him not evil.

The Under-King went on, “The rituals were all invented by you. Your ancestors. To endure the horror of the offering.”

“But Danika was here. She
answered
me.” Bryce’s voice broke.

“She was here. She and all of the newly dead from the past several centuries. Just long enough that their living descendants and loved ones either forget or don’t come asking. They dwell here until then in relative comfort—unless they make themselves a nuisance and I decide to send them into the Gate sooner. But when the dead are forgotten, their names no longer whispered on the wind … then they are herded through the Gate to become firstlight. Or secondlight, as it is called when the power comes from the dead. Ashes to ashes and all that.”

“The Sleeping City is a lie?” Hunt asked. His mother’s face flashed before him.

“A comforting one, as I have said.” The Under-King’s voice again became sorrowful. “One for your benefit.”

“And the Asteri know about this?” Hunt demanded.

“I would never presume to claim what the holy ones know or don’t know.”

“Why are you telling us any of this?” Bryce blanched with horror.

“Because he’s not letting us leave here alive,” Hunt breathed. And their souls wouldn’t live on, either.

The light vanished entirely, and the voice of the Under-King echoed around them. “That is the first intelligent thing you’ve said.”

A rumbling growl shook the ground. Reverberated up Hunt’s legs. He clutched Bryce to him, snapping out his wings for a blind flight upward.

The Under-King crooned, “I should like to taste your light, Bryce Quinlan.”

30

Ruhn had grown up in Crescent City. He knew it had places to avoid, yet it had always felt like home. Like his.

Until today.

“Ephraim must have arrived,” Ithan murmured as they waited in the dimness of a dusty alley for Cormac to finish making the information drop. “And brought the Hind with him.”

“And she brought her entire pack of dreadwolves? To what end?” Ruhn toyed with the ring through his bottom lip. They’d seen two of the elite imperial interrogators on the way to the meet-up near the Old Square.

Ruhn had veiled himself and Holstrom in shadows while Cormac spoke at the other end of the alley with the cloaked, hooded figure disguised as a begging vagrant. Ruhn could make out the outline of a gun strapped to the figure’s thigh beneath the threadbare cloak.

Ithan eyed him. “You think the Hind’s onto us?”

Us.
Fuck, just that word freaked him out when it came to consorting with rebels. Ruhn monitored the bright street beyond the alley, willing his shadows to keep them hidden from what prowled the sidewalks.

Tourists and city dwellers alike kept a healthy distance from the dreadwolves. The wolf shifters were exactly as Ruhn had expected:
cold-eyed and harsh-faced above their pristine gray uniforms. A black-and-white patch of a wolf’s skull and crossbones adorned that uniform’s left arm. The seven golden stars of the Asteri shone on a red patch above their hearts. And on their starched, high collars—silver darts.

The number varied on each member. One dart for every rebel spy hunted down and broken. The two that Ruhn had passed had borne eight and fifteen darts, respectively.

“It’s like the city’s gone quiet,” Ithan observed, head cocked. “Isn’t this the
least
safe place for this meet-up?”

“Don’t be paranoid,” Ruhn said, though he’d thought the same.

Down the alley, Cormac finished and strode back to them. Within a blink, the hunched figure was gone, swallowed into the crowds teeming on the main avenue, all too focused on the dreadwolves slinking among them to remark on a hobbling vagrant.

Cormac had veiled his face in shadows, and they pulled away now as he met Ruhn’s stare. “The agent told me they think the Asteri suspect that Emile came here after he fled Ophion. It’s possible the Hind brought the dreadwolves to hunt for him.”

“The sight of those wolves in this city is a disgrace,” Ithan snarled. “No one’s going to stomach this shit.”

“You’d be surprised what people will stomach when they find their families threatened,” Cormac said. “I’ve seen cities and towns fall silent in the wake of a dreadwolf pack’s arrival. Places as vibrant as this, now warrens of fear and mistrust. They, too, thought no one would tolerate it. That someone would do something. Only when it was too late did they realize that
they
should have done something.”

A chill ran up Ruhn’s arms. “I have to make some calls. The Aux and the 33rd run this city. Not the Hind.” Shit, he’d have to see his father. He might be a bastard, but the Autumn King wouldn’t appreciate having the Hind infringe on his turf.

Ithan’s jaw twitched. “I wonder what Sabine and the Prime will do about them.”

“No loyalty among wolves?” Cormac asked.

“
We
are wolves,” Ithan challenged. “The dreadwolves … they’re demons in wolves’ fur. Wolves in name only.”

“And if the dreadwolves request to stay at the Den?” Cormac asked. “Will the Prime or Sabine find their morals holding firm?”

Ithan didn’t answer.

Cormac went on, “This is what the Asteri do. This is Midgard’s true reality. We believe we are free, we are powerful, we are near-immortals. But when it comes down to it, we’re all the Asteri’s slaves. And the illusion can be shattered this quickly.”

“Then why the fuck are you trying to bring this shit here?” Ithan demanded.

“Because it has to end at some point,” Ruhn murmured. He shuddered inwardly.

Cormac opened his mouth, surprise lighting his face—but whirled as a male—towering and muscle-bound and clad in the impeccable uniform of the dreadwolves—appeared at the other end of the alley. So many silver darts covered his collar that from a distance, it looked like a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth around his neck.

“Mordoc,” Ithan breathed. Genuine fear laced his scent. Cormac motioned for the wolf to be silent.

Mordoc … Ruhn scanned his memory. The second in command to the Hind. Her chief butcher and enforcer. The dreadwolf monitored the alley with golden, glowing eyes. Dark claws glinted at his fingertips. As if he lived in some state between human and wolf.

Cormac’s nose crinkled. The prince trembled, anger and violence leaking from him. Ruhn gripped his cousin’s shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle.

Slowly, Mordoc prowled down the alley. Noting the brick walls, the dusty ground—

Fuck. They’d left tracks all over this alley. None of them dared to breathe too loudly as they pressed into the wall.