House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City Book 2)
House of Sky and Breath: Part 3 – Chapter 56

Ithan groaned, his body giving a collective throb of pain.

His throat—jaws and fangs and claws, the queen and Bryce—

He lunged up, hand at his neck—

“You’re safe. It’s over.” The calm female voice came from his right, and Ithan twisted, replaceing himself on a narrow bed in a gilded room he’d never seen.

Queen Hypaxia sat in a chair beside him, a book in her lap, wearing her blue robes once again. No sign of the casual, modern female he’d been trailing earlier. His voice was like gravel as he asked, “You all right?”

“Very well. As is Miss Quinlan. You’re at my embassy, in case you were wondering.”

Ithan sagged back against the bed. He’d been ambushed, like a fucking novice. He’d always prided himself on his reflexes and instincts, but he’d had his ass handed to him. The queen opened her mouth, but he demanded, “What about the dragon?”

Hypaxia’s mouth tightened. “Ariadne was nowhere to be found. It appears she has taken her chances with the law and fled.”

Ithan growled. “She bailed?” The dragon had claimed she couldn’t. That there was nowhere in Midgard she could go without the Astronomer replaceing her.

Gods. One guarding assignment and he’d fumbled it. Badly.

He deserved to have his throat ripped out. Deserved to be lying here, like a weak fucking child, for his ineptitude.

Hypaxia nodded gravely. “The city cameras picked it up: Ariadne left the moment I entered the pizza shop. But nothing more—even the cameras can’t replace her.”

“She’s likely halfway across the planet by now,” Ithan grumbled. The Fae males were going to be so pissed.

“You liberated her from the ring. From serving a terrible master. Are you surprised that she is not willing to wait for someone to purchase her again?”

“I thought she’d be grateful, at least.”

Hypaxia frowned with disapproval. But she said, “She is a dragon. A creature of earth and sky, fire and wind. She should never have been contained or enslaved. I hope she stays free for the rest of her immortal life.”

The tone brooked no room for argument, and—well, Ithan agreed with the queen anyway. He sighed, gently rubbing at his tender throat. “So what the fuck attacked us? A demon?”

“Yes, an extremely deadly one.” She explained what had happened.

Ithan eased into a sitting position once more. “I’m sorry I fucked this one up so badly. I … I don’t like making mistakes like this.” Losing grated on his very soul. The queen and Bryce were safe, but he was a fucking loser.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the queen said firmly. “Considering the gravity of the situation, I’m assuming your friends know more about the motives behind this attack than they have told me.”

Well, she was definitely right on that one. Ithan blew out a breath that set his throat aching. It’d be another few hours until it was totally healed.

He had no idea how long it’d take until he forgave himself for fucking up tonight.

“So you can really contact Connor on the Autumnal Equinox?” he asked quietly, hating that he needed to change the subject. Not that this new one was much better.

“Yes.” She angled her head, curls spilling over her shoulder. “You worry for him.”

“Wouldn’t you? I don’t care if we’ve been told that he’s, like, off-limits. I want to make sure he’s okay. I heard what you said to Bryce—about ensuring your mom didn’t go to one of the sleeping realms. I want you to do that for him.” He swallowed, then amended, “If you’re cool with that, Your Majesty.”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “I shall do my best.”

Ithan sighed again, staring at the tall windows on the other side of the room, the drapes shut for the night. “I know you’re already doing a lot for me, but … the Astronomer has a wolf enslaved to him as one of his mystics. Is there anything you could do for her?”

“What do you mean?” He took it as a good sign that she didn’t say no.

He said, “I can’t just leave her there.”

“Why is it your burden to free her?”

“Wolves don’t belong in cages. That’s what the mystics’ tanks are. Watery cages.”

“And what if she wants to be in there?”

“How could she?” Before the queen could answer, he plowed on, “I know it’s random. There are so many other people suffering out there. But it doesn’t sit right with me.”

He’d screwed up enough in the past two years—he wouldn’t drop the ball on this. An Alpha wolf in captivity—the idea was abhorrent. He’d do whatever he could to help her.

She seemed to read whatever lay on his face. “You’re a good male, Ithan Holstrom.”

“You met me yesterday.” And after tonight, he sure as fuck didn’t deserve that claim.

“But I can tell.” She touched his hand gently. “I do not think there is much I can do to help the mystic, unfortunately, beyond what your other royal friends might be able to accomplish.”

Ithan knew she was right. He’d replace another way, then. Somehow. “Well, this is fucked.”

“It sure is,” said a male voice from the doorway, and Ithan blinked, surprised to replace Flynn and Declan standing there, Tharion a step behind them.

“Hey,” Ithan said, bracing for the ridicule, the ribbing, the questioning about how the Hel he’d mangled protection duty.

But Declan bowed his head to the queen before sauntering over to Ithan. “How you feeling, pup?”

“Fine,” Ithan said, then admitted, “A little sore.”

“Getting your throat ripped out does that to a male,” Flynn said. He winked at Hypaxia. “But she fixed you up pretty good, didn’t she?”

Hypaxia smiled up at him. Tharion, lingering by the door, chuckled.

Ithan said quietly, “Yeah, she did.”

Declan clapped his hands together. “Okay, well, we just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Hypaxia added, “They’ve been in and out all night.”

“You’ll give them away as big old softies, Pax,” Tharion said to the queen, who shook her head at the name. As if Tharion often used it to annoy her.

Declan asked the queen, “When can he come home?”

Home. The word rang through Ithan. He’d been their roommate for only a week and a half. When had he last had a true home? The Den hadn’t been one since his parents had died.

But … that was genuine concern on Declan’s face. On Flynn’s. Ithan swallowed hard.

“Tomorrow morning,” Hypaxia said, and rose from her chair. “I’ll do my final check then, and if you’re cleared, you’ll be on your way, Ithan.”

“I’m supposed to guard you,” Ithan countered, his voice thick.

But she patted his shoulder before walking to the door. Tharion fell into step beside her, like he planned to converse in private. The witch-queen said to Ithan as she and the mer left, “Take tomorrow off.”

Ithan opened his mouth to object, but she’d already left, the mer with her.

Flynn slung himself into the seat the queen had vacated. “Don’t tell Ruhn, but I’d love to have that female do a check on me.”

Ithan scowled, but refrained from explaining what he’d overheard. The queen loved another and seemed pretty cut up about it. But what good was love, in the face of duty?

He’d keep Hypaxia’s romance quiet. She’d agreed to her union with Ruhn, and he could do nothing but admire that she’d chosen to do so even when her heart lay with someone else.

Fuck, he knew how that felt. He blocked out Bryce’s face from his mind.

Declan was saying to Flynn, “Do yourself a favor and don’t hit on her. Or tease her.”

“She’s Ruhn’s fiancée,” Flynn said, propping his boots on the edge of Ithan’s bed and tucking his hands behind his head. “That entitles me to some ribbing.”

Ithan laughed, eyes stinging. No one ever joked in Amelie’s pack. He might coax a smile from Perry every once in a while, but mostly they were all serious. Humorless. They never laughed at themselves.

But these guys had come to check on him. Not to rip into him for failing. They didn’t even seem to view it as a failure.

Flynn asked a shade seriously, “You’re really feeling all right, though?”

Ithan mastered himself. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Declan said.

Ithan’s throat tightened. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it—people having his back. Caring if he lived or died. The Pack of Devils had been that for him, yes, but his sunball team, too. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since Connor’s death.

Flynn’s eyes softened slightly, as if seeing something on Ithan’s face, and Ithan straightened, clearing his throat. But Flynn said, “We got you, wolf.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before Ithan could wonder whether he should ask. But there were probably dozens of Fae who’d spent years trying to squeeze into the trio that was Ruhn, Flynn, and Declan. Why they’d brought Ithan into their little circle was beyond him.

Flynn and Dec swapped glances. The latter shrugged. “Why not?”

“I’m a wolf. You’re Fae.”

“So old-fashioned.” Flynn winked. “I had you pegged as more progressive than that.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Ithan said.

Declan drew back. “Who the fuck said anything about pity?”

Flynn put up his hands. “We’re only friends with you because we want good sunball tickets.”

Ithan looked between the males. Then burst out laughing.

“All right.” He rubbed at his sore throat again. “That’s a good enough reason for me.”

Ruhn monitored his sister as they waited for Athalar to finish briefing some senior members of the 33rd on what had gone down with the deathstalker.

It felt like last spring all over again. Granted, Micah had been the one summoning those kristallos demons, but … this couldn’t be good. The Horn was tattooed on Bryce’s back now—what wouldn’t Hel do to attain it?

“The answer,” Bryce said to Ruhn, “is that I’m not going to allow any sort of security detail.”

Ruhn blinked. And said silently, I wasn’t thinking that.

She glared at him sidelong. I could feel you brooding about the attack. It’s the logical conclusion from an overly aggressive Fae male.

Overly aggressive?

Protective?

Bryce. This is some serious-ass shit.

I know.

And you’re a princess now. An official one.

She crossed her arms, watching Hunt talk with his friends. I know.

How do you feel about it?

How do you feel about it?

Why the fuck would it make any difference what I feel? He scowled at her.

Because now you have to share the crown.

I’m glad I can share it with you. Selfishly, pathetically glad, Bryce. But … isn’t this what you wanted to avoid?

It is. Her mental voice hardened into sharp steel.

Are you going to do something about it?

Maybe.

Tread carefully. There are so many laws and rules and shit that you don’t know about. I can fill you in, but … this is a whole new level of the game. You have to be on alert.

She faced him, offering a broad grin that didn’t meet her eyes before taking a few steps toward Athalar. “If dear old dad wants a princess,” she said, looking more like their father than he’d ever witnessed, “then he’ll get one.”

“Dreadwolves prowling the Old Square,” Hypaxia hissed under her breath to Tharion as she peered out the window of her private suite on the second floor of the elegant embassy.

Despite the plush furniture, the room definitely belonged to a witch: a small crystal altar to Cthona adorned the eastern wall, covered in various tools of worship; a large obsidian scrying mirror hung above it; and the fireplace built into the southern wall had various iron arms, presumably to hold cauldrons during spells. A royal suite, yes, but a workroom as well.

“I hate the sight of them,” the queen went on, the streetlights casting her beautiful face in golden hues. “Those uniforms. The silver darts on their collars.” He wondered how many people ever saw her so unguarded. “Rebel-hunters. That’s what they are.”

Indeed, where they walked, revelers fell silent. Tourists stopped snapping photos.

“Tell me how you really feel, Pax,” Tharion said, crossing his arms.

The queen whirled toward him. “I wish you’d stop using that nickname. Ever since the Summit—”

“Ever since then, you’ve missed me using it?” He gave her his most charming smile.

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the slight curl of her lips.

He asked, “Have you kept up the tally? How many times has Prince Ruhn gawked at you since you arrived?”

She flushed. “He doesn’t gawk.”

“I think our final tally at the Summit was … thirty? Forty?”

She whacked him on the chest.

“I missed you,” he said, grinning.

She grinned back. “What does your fiancée have to say about that?” She was one of the few people who knew. During their initial meeting at the Summit—an accidental encounter late one night when she’d sought some solitude at one of the mer’s subterranean pools and found him seeking the same—they’d spoken of their various … obligations. A friendship had immediately sprung up.

Tharion countered, “What does your fiancé have to say about it?”

The witch laughed softly, the sound like silver bells. “You’re the one who’s been associating with him. You tell me.”

He chuckled, but his amusement fell away, his voice becoming serious. “He’s concerned enough about you that he told some of us about your coven. Why didn’t you tell me?” He’d grab any one of them who harmed her and drown them. Slowly.

She searched his face. He let her. “What could you have done?”

Well, that stung. Especially because she was right. He let out a long sigh. He wished he could tell her—about the fact that he’d bought himself a small stretch of freedom. That he would only go back to the Blue Court to keep up appearances, that he’d pretend Emile Renast was still on the loose for as long as he could, but … Would he go back after that? Could he go back?

Maybe he’d get in touch with the Ocean Queen’s people and beg for asylum. Maybe they’d shelter his family, too.

He’d opened his mouth to speak when a ripple went through the street below. People stopped. Some pressed against buildings.

“What the fuck are they doing here?” Tharion growled.

Mordoc and the Hammer stalked down the street, wolf and angel sneering at all in their path. They seemed to savor the quiet and dread that trailed in their wake.

Hypaxia’s brows raised. “Not friends of yours?”

He put a hand on his heart. “You wound me, Pax.”

The queen’s mouth thinned as Pollux and Mordoc crossed the intersection. “It’s an ill omen, to see them here.”

“Maybe they want to make sure all is well, considering what attacked tonight.”

Mighty Ogenas, creatures straight from the Pit. He’d been enjoying a drink with a pride of lioness shifters at a wine bar when he’d gotten the call. He’d come here, claiming an investigative visit from the Blue Court, but … “You sure you’re all right?” he asked, glad to pivot from the two monsters on the street.

“I’m fine,” Hypaxia said, turning weary, sad eyes toward him. “Miss Quinlan proved herself a valuable ally in a fight.” He liked the idea of the two of them becoming friendly. They’d be a formidable pair against any opponent.

“What’d your coven say about the attack?” Tharion asked, glancing to the shut double doors across the room. Pollux and Mordoc vanished down the street. As if they’d all been frozen, people suddenly began moving again. None went in the direction the Hammer and the dreadwolf had gone.

“My coven feigned outrage, of course. It’s not worth recounting.”

Fair enough. “You should get some sleep. You must be exhausted from healing Holstrom.”

“Not at all.” Her gaze again lifted to his face. “But you … you should go. Another few minutes and suspicions will be raised.”

“Oh?” He couldn’t resist teasing. “Like what?”

She flushed again. “Like we’re doing things we shouldn’t.”

“Sounds naughty.”

She playfully shoved him toward the door. He let her, walking backward as he said, “I’ll see you soon, okay? You have my number.”

Her eyes shone like stars. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“Anything for you, Pax.” Tharion shut the door behind him and found himself face-to-face with three witches. All members of her coven, if his memory of the Summit served him. All cold-faced and unamused. “Ladies,” he said, inclining his head.

None of them answered, and as they converged on the queen’s suite with a knock on her door, he suppressed the instinct to return to her side.

But it wasn’t his place, and he still had one more task tonight. First, though, he needed a dip in the Istros to make sure his fins stayed intact.

Thirty minutes later, still wet, Tharion walked up to the peeling front door of the near-collapsing house off Archer Street, music blasting from the windows despite the late hour. Tharion knocked, loudly enough to be heard over the bass.

A moment later, the door opened. Tharion smiled crookedly at Ruhn, and waved to Tristan Flynn and Declan Emmett standing in the foyer behind him. “Got space for one more roommate?”