House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City) (72 page)

89

T
he conference room shook.

Ruhn had kept Sandriel distracted, kept her talking while Queen Hypaxia had freed Hunt from the halo’s grip. He’d sensed the ripple of her power down the table, then seen Athalar’s halo begin to glow, and had understood what the witch, her hand on Hunt’s, was doing.

There was nothing but cold death in Hunt’s eyes as the halo tattoo flaked away from his brow. The true face of the Umbra Mortis.

Sandriel whirled, realizing too late who now stood at her back. No mark across his brow. Something like pure terror crossed the Archangel’s face as Hunt bared his teeth.

Lightning gathered around his hands. The walls cracked. Debris rained from the ceiling.

Sandriel was too slow.

Ruhn knew Sandriel had signed her own death warrant when she didn’t bring her triarii back with her. And stamped the official seal on it the moment she’d revealed that she’d put Bryce in the Asteri’s line of fire.

Even her Archangel’s might couldn’t protect her from Athalar. From what he felt for Bryce.

Athalar’s lightning skittered over the floors. Sandriel barely had
time to lift her arms and summon a gale-force wind before Hunt was upon her.

Lightning erupted, the entire room cracking with it.

Ruhn threw himself under a table, grabbing Hypaxia with him. Slabs of stone slammed onto the surface above them. Flynn swore up a storm beside him, and Declan crouched low, curled around a laptop. A cloud of debris filled the space, choking them. Ether coated Ruhn’s tongue.

Lightning flared, licking and crackling through the room.

Then time shifted and slowed, sliding by, by, by—

“
Fuck
,” Flynn was saying between pants, each word an eternity and a flash, the world tipping over again, slowing and dragging.
“Fuck.”

Then the lightning stopped. The cloud of debris pulsed and hummed.

Time began its normal pace, and Ruhn crawled out from under the table. He knew what he’d find within the whirling, electrified cloud everyone gaped at. Fury Axtar had a gun pointed at where the Archangel and Hunt had stood, debris whitening her dark hair.

Hypaxia helped Ruhn to his feet. Her eyes were wide as they scanned the cloud. The witch-queen had undoubtedly known that Sandriel would kill her for freeing Hunt. She’d taken a gamble that the Umbra Mortis would be the one to walk away.

The cloud of debris cleared, lightning fading into the dust-choked air. Her gamble had paid off. Blood splattered Hunt’s face as his feathers fluttered on a phantom wind.

And from his hand, gripped by the hair, dangled Sandriel’s severed head.

Her mouth was still open in a scream, smoke rippling from her lips, the skin of her neck so damaged Ruhn knew Hunt had torn it off with his bare hands.

Hunt slowly lifted the head before him, as if he were one of the ancient heroes of the Rhagan Sea surveying a slain creature. A monster.

He let the Archangel’s head drop. It thumped and lolled to
the side, smoke still trickling from the mouth, the nostrils. He’d flayed her with his lightning from the inside out.

The angels in the room all knelt on one knee. Bowed. Even a wide-eyed Isaiah Tiberian. No one on the planet had that sort of power. No one had seen it fully unleashed in centuries.

Two Governors dead in one day. Slain by his sister and his sister’s … whatever Hunt was. From the awe and fear on his father’s face, Ruhn knew the Autumn King was wondering about it. Wondering if Hunt would kill him next, for how he’d treated Bryce.

Bryce, his Starborn sister.

Ruhn didn’t know what to think about it. That she’d thought he valued the Chosen One bullshit more than her. And when that fight had happened, had she let things rupture between them to keep him from ever learning what she was? She’d walked away from the privilege and honor and glory—for him.

And all those warnings she’d given him about the Autumn King, about their father killing the last Starborn … She’d lived with that fear, too.

Hunt threw the Autumn King a feral grin.

Ruhn felt a sick amount of satisfaction as his father went pale.

But then Hunt looked to Fury, who was pulling debris from her dark hair, and growled, “Fuck the Asteri. Get your gods-damned helicopter over here.”

Every decision, every order flowed from a long-quiet place within Hunt.

He sizzled with power, the lightning in his veins roaring to crack free into the world, to burn and sunder. He suppressed it, promised it he’d allow it to flow unchecked as soon as they reached the city—but they had to reach the city first.

Fury shook slightly—as if even she had forgotten what he could do. What he’d done to Sandriel with primal satisfaction, sinking into a place of such rage that there had only been his lightning and
his enemy and the threat she posed to Bryce. But Fury said, “The helicopter is landing on the roof now.”

Hunt nodded and ordered the remaining angels without looking at them, “We move out.”

Not one of them objected to his command. He hadn’t given a shit that they’d bowed—whatever the fuck that meant. He’d only cared that they flew to Lunathion as fast as they could.

Fury was already at the exit, phone at her ear. Hunt strode after her, through the room full of rustling wings and stomping feet, but looked back over his shoulder. “Danaan, Ketos—you in?” He needed them.

Ruhn shot to his feet without question; Tharion waited until he got the nod from the River Queen’s daughter before rising. Amelie Ravenscroft stepped forward, ignoring Sabine’s glare, and said, “I’m going with you, too.” Hunt nodded again.

Flynn was already moving, not needing to voice that he’d join his prince—to save his princess. Declan pointed to the screens. “I’ll be your eyes in the field.”

“Good,” Hunt said, aiming for the door.

The Autumn King and the Prime of the wolves, the only City Heads present, remained in the pit, along with Sabine. Jesiba and Hypaxia would have to keep them honest. Neither of the females so much as acknowledged the other, but no animosity sparked between them, either. Hunt didn’t care.

He silently scaled the stairs toward the roof, his companions behind him. They were thirty minutes by helicopter from the city. So much could go wrong before they reached it. And when they got there … it would be pure slaughter.

The helicopter’s blades whipped Fury’s black hair as she crossed the landing pad. Flynn trailed close behind, sizing up their ride, and let out an impressed whistle.

It wasn’t a luxury transport. It was a military-grade helicopter. Complete with two gunners on either door and a cache of assorted guns and weapons in duffels strapped to the floor.

Fury Axtar had not come to this meeting expecting it to be
friendly. She grabbed the headset from the departing pilot before slinging her slender body into the cockpit.

“I’m with you,” Hunt said, gesturing to the helicopter as the angels took off around them. “My wings can’t handle the flight yet.”

Ruhn leapt into the helicopter behind Flynn and Amelie, Tharion claiming the left gunner. Hunt remained on the roof, shouting orders to the departing angels.
Establish a perimeter around the city. Scout team: investigate the portal. Send survivors to triage at least five miles beyond city walls.
He didn’t let himself think about how easy it was to slip back into a commander’s role.

Then Hunt was in the helicopter, taking up the right gunner. Fury flicked switch after switch on the control panel. Hunt asked her, his voice hoarse, “Did you know about what happened on the roof with Bryce and Juniper?”

It had fucking gutted him to hear Bryce allude to it—that she’d considered jumping. To hear that he’d come so close to losing her before he even knew her. Ruhn turned toward them, his agonized face confirming that he felt the same.

Fury didn’t stop her prep. “Bryce was a ghost for a long while, Hunt. She pretended she wasn’t, but she was.” The helicopter finally pulled into the air. “You brought her back to life.”

90

B
ryce’s entire body trembled as she leaned against the glowing quartz of the Gate, exhaustion rooting her to the spot.

It had worked. Somehow, it had worked.

She didn’t let herself marvel over it—or dread its implications, when her father and the Asteri found out. Not when she had no idea how long her starlight would remain glowing in the Gate. But maybe it would hold long enough for help to come. Maybe this had made a difference.

Maybe she had made a difference.

Each breath burned in her chest. Not much longer now. For help to come, for her end, she didn’t know.

But it would be soon. Whichever way it ended, Bryce knew it would be soon.

“Declan says Bryce is still at the Old Square Gate,” Fury reported over a shoulder.

Hunt just kept his eyes on the star-filled horizon. The city was a dark shadow, interrupted only by a faint glowing in its heart. The Old Square Gate. Bryce.

“And Hypaxia says Bryce can barely move,” Fury added, a note
of surprise in her flat voice. “It looks like she’s drained. She’s not going to be able to get to the next Gate without help.”

“But the light from the Gate is keeping her safe?” Ruhn called over the wind.

“Until the demons stop fearing the Starborn light.” Fury switched the call to the helicopter’s speakers. “Emmet, radar’s picking up three war machines from the west. Any read on them?”

Thank fuck. Someone else was coming to help after all. If they could bring Bryce to each Gate and she could just muster enough starlight to flow through the Horn, they’d stop the carnage.

Declan took a moment to reply, his voice crackling through the speakers above Hunt. “They’re registering as imperial tanks.” His pause had Hunt’s grip tightening on the gunner.

Hypaxia clarified, “It’s the Asterian Guard. With brimstone missile launchers.” Her voice sharpened as she said to the Autumn King and Prime of the wolves, “
Get your forces out of the city.
”

The blood in Hunt’s veins went cold.

The Asteri had sent someone to deal with the demons. And with Bryce.

They were going to blast the city into dust.

The brimstone missiles weren’t ordinary bombs of chemicals and metal. They were pure magic, made by the Asterian Guard: a combination of their angelic powers of wind and rain and fire into one hyperconcentrated entity, bound with firstlight and fired through machinery. Where they struck, destruction bloomed.

To make them even deadlier, they were laced with spells to slow healing. Even for Vanir. The only comfort for any on their receiving end was that the missiles took a while to make, offering reprieve between rounds. A small, fool’s comfort.

Fury flicked buttons on the switchboard. “Copy Asterian Units One, Two, and Three, this is Fury Axtar speaking. Pull back.” No answer. “I repeat,
pull back
. Abort mission.”

Nothing. Declan said, “They’re the Asterian Guard. They won’t answer to you.”

The Autumn King’s voice crackled through the speakers. “No one at Imperial Command is answering our calls.”

Fury angled the helicopter, sweeping southward. Hunt saw them then. The black tanks breaking over the horizon, each as large as a small house. The imperial insignia painted on their flanks. All three gunning for Crescent City.

They halted just outside its border. The metal launchers atop them angled into position.

The brimstone missiles shot from the launchers and arced over the walls, blazing with golden light. As the first of them hit, he prayed that Bryce had left the Gate to find shelter.

Bryce choked on dust and debris, chest heaving. She tried to move—and failed. Her spine—

No, that was her leg, pinned in a tangle of concrete and iron. She’d heard the boom a minute ago, recognized the golden, arcing plume as brimstone thanks to news coverage of the Pangeran wars, and had sprinted halfway across the square, aiming for the open door of the brick music hall there, hoping it had a basement, when it hit.

Her ears were roaring, buzzing. Shrieking.

The Gate still stood, still shielded her with its light. Her light, technically.

The nearest brimstone missile had hit a neighborhood away, it seemed. It had been enough to trash the square, to reduce some buildings to rubble, but not enough to decimate it.

Move. She had to move. The other Gates still lay open. She had to find some way to get there; shut them, too.

She tugged at her leg. To her surprise, the minor wounds were already healing—far faster than she’d ever experienced. Maybe the Horn in her back helped speed it along.

She reached forward to haul the concrete slab off her. It didn’t budge.

She panted through her teeth, trying again. They’d unleashed brimstone upon the city. The Asterian Guard had blindly fired it over the walls to either destroy the Gates or kill the demons. But they’d fired on their own people, not caring who they hit—

Bryce took deep, steadying breaths. It did nothing to settle her.

She tried again, fingernails cracking on the concrete. But short of cutting off her foot, she wasn’t getting free.

The Asterian Guard was reloading their missile launchers atop the tanks. Hyperconcentrated magic flared around them, as if the brimstone was straining to be free of its firstlight constraints. Eager to unleash angelic ruin upon the helpless city.

“They’re going to fire again,” Ruhn whispered.

“The brimstone landed mostly in Moonwood,” Declan told them. “Bryce is alive but in trouble. She’s trapped under a piece of concrete. Struggling like Hel to free herself, though.”

Fury screamed into the microphone, “
ABORT MISSION
.”

No one answered. The launchers cocked skyward again, pivoting to new targets.

As if they knew Bryce still lived. They’d keep bombarding the city until she was dead, killing anything in their path. Perhaps hoping that if they took out the Gates, too, the voids would vanish.

An icy, brutal calm settled over Hunt.

He said to Fury, “Go high. High as the helicopter can handle.”

She saw what he intended. He couldn’t fly, not on weak wings. But he didn’t need to.

“Grab something,” Fury said, and angled the helicopter sharply. It went up, up, up, all of them gritting their teeth against the weight trying to shove them earthward.

Hunt braced himself, settling into that place that had seen him through battles and years in dungeons and Sandriel’s arena.

“Get ready, Athalar,” Fury called. The war machines halted, launchers primed.

The helicopter flew over Lunathion’s walls. Hunt unstrapped himself from the gunner. The Bone Quarter was a misty swirl below as they crossed the Istros.

Gratitude shone in Danaan’s eyes. Understanding what only Hunt could do.

The Old Square and glowing Gate at its heart became visible. The only signal he needed. There was no hesitation in Hunt. No fear.

Hunt leapt out of the helicopter, his wings tucked in tight. A one-way ticket. His last flight.

Far below, his sharp eyes could just make out Bryce as she curled herself into a ball, as if it’d save her from the death soon to blast her apart.

The brimstone missiles launched one after another after another, the closest arcing toward the Old Square, shimmering with lethal golden power. Even as Hunt plunged to the earth, he knew its angle was off—it’d strike probably ten blocks away. But it was still too close. Still left her in the blast zone, where all that compressed angelic power would splatter her apart.

The brimstone hit, the entire city bouncing beneath its unholy impact. Block after block ruptured in a tidal wave of death.

Wings splaying, lightning erupting, Hunt threw himself over Bryce as the world shattered.