House of Earth and Blood

The Oracle whispered, “Shall I tell you what I see, Orion?”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

The smoke peeled back enough for him to see her sensuous lips part in a cruel smile that did not wholly belong in this world. “People come from across Midgard to plead for my visions, yet you do not wish to know?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood. “I thank you, but no.” Thanks seemed wise—like something that might appease a god.

Her teeth shone, her canines long enough to shred flesh. “Did Bryce Quinlan tell you what occurred when she stood in this chamber twelve years ago?”

His blood turned to ice. “That’s Quinlan’s business.”

That smile didn’t falter. “You do not wish to know what I saw for her, either?”

“No.” He spoke from his heart. “It’s her business,” he repeated. His lightning rose within him, rallying against a foe he could not slay.

The Oracle blinked, a slow bob of those thick lashes. “You remind me of that which was lost long ago,” she said quietly. “I had not realized it might ever appear again.”

Before Hunt dared ask what that meant, her lion’s tail—a larger version of Syrinx’s—swayed over the floor. The doors behind him opened on a phantom wind, his dismissal clear. But the Oracle said before stalking into the vapors, “Do yourself a favor, Orion Athalar: keep well away from Bryce Quinlan.”

34

Bryce and Ruhn had waited at the edge of the Oracle’s Park for Hunt, each minute dripping by. And when he’d emerged again, eyes searching every inch of her face … Bryce knew it was bad. Whatever he’d learned.

Hunt waited until they’d walked down a quiet residential block bordering the park before he told them what the Oracle had said about the Horn.

His words were still hanging in the bright morning air around them as Bryce blew out a breath. Hunt did the same beside her and then said, “If someone has learned how to repair the Horn after so long, then they can do the opposite of what Prince Pelias did. They can open the Northern Rift. It seems like one Hel of a motive to kill anyone who might rat them out.”

Ruhn ran a hand over the buzzed side of his hair. “Like the acolyte at the temple—either as a warning to us to stay the fuck away from the Horn or to keep her from saying anything, if she’d found out somehow.”

Hunt nodded. “Isaiah questioned the others at the temple—they said the girl was the only acolyte on duty the night the Horn was stolen, and was interviewed then, but claimed she didn’t know anything about it.”

Guilt twisted and writhed within Bryce.

Ruhn said, “Maybe she was scared to say anything. And when we showed up …”

Hunt finished, “Whoever is looking for the Horn doesn’t want us anywhere near it. They could have learned she’d been on duty that night and gone to extract information from her. They’d have wanted to make sure she didn’t reveal what she knew to anyone else—to make sure she stayed silent. Permanently.”

Bryce added the girl’s death to the list of others she’d repay before this was finished.

Then she asked, “If that mark on the crate really was the Horn, maybe the Ophion—or even just the Keres sect—is seeking the Horn to aid in their rebellion. To open a portal to Hel, and bring the demon princes back here in some sort of alliance to overthrow the Asteri.” She shuddered. “Millions would die.” At their chilled silence, she went on, “Maybe Danika caught on to their plans about the Horn—and was killed for it. And the acolyte, too.”

Hunt rubbed the back of his neck, his face ashen. “They’d need help from a Vanir to summon a demon like that, but it’s a possibility. There are some Vanir pledged to their cause. Or maybe one of the witches summoned it. The new witch queen could be testing her power, or something.”

“Unlikely that a witch was involved,” Ruhn said a shade tightly, piercings along his ear glinting in the sun. “The witches obey the Asteri—they’ve had millennia of unbroken loyalty.”

Bryce said, “But the Horn can only be used by a Starborn Fae—by you, Ruhn.”

Hunt’s wings rustled. “So maybe they’re looking for some way around the Starborn shit.”

“Honestly,” Ruhn said, “I’m not sure I could use the Horn. Prince Pelias possessed what was basically an ocean of starlight at his disposal.” Her brother’s brow furrowed, and a pinprick of light appeared at his fingertip. “This is about as good as it gets for me.”

“Well, you’re not going to use the Horn, even if we find it, so it won’t matter,” Bryce said.

Ruhn crossed his arms. “If someone can repair the Horn … I don’t even know how that would be possible. I read some mentions of the Horn having a sort of sentience to it—almost like it was alive. Maybe a healing power of some sort would be applicable? A medwitch might have some insight.”

Bryce countered, “They heal people, not objects. And the book you found in the gallery’s library said the Horn could only be repaired by light that is not light, magic that is not magic.”

“Legends,” said Hunt. “Not truth.”

“It’s worth looking into,” Ruhn said, and halted, glancing between Bryce and Hunt, who was watching her warily from the corner of his eye. Whatever the fuck that meant. Ruhn said, “I’ll look up a few medwitches and pay some discreet visits.”

“Fine,” she said. When he stiffened, she amended, “That sounds good.”

Even if nothing else about this case did.

Bryce tuned out the sound of Lehabah watching one of her dramas and tried to concentrate on the map of Danika’s locations. Tried but failed, since she could feel Hunt’s eyes lingering on her from across the library table. For the hundredth time in that hour alone. She met his stare, and he looked away quickly. “What?”

He shook his head and went back to his research.

“You’ve been staring at me all afternoon with that weird fucking look on your face.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, then blurted, “You want to tell me why the Oracle warned me to stay the Hel away from you?”

Bryce let out a short laugh. “Is that why you seemed all freaked when you left the temple?”

“She said she’d reveal her vision for you—like she has a damned bone to pick with you.”

A shiver crawled down Bryce’s spine at that. “I don’t blame her if she’s still pissed.”

Hunt paled, but Bryce said, “In Fae culture, there’s a custom: when girls get their cycle for the first time, or when they turn thirteen, they go to an Oracle. The visit provides a glimpse toward what sort of power they might ascend to when mature, so their parents can plan unions years before the actual Drop. Boys go, too—at age thirteen. These days, if the parents are progressive, it’s just an old tradition to figure out a career for their children. Soldiers or healers or whatever Fae do if they can’t afford to lounge around eating grapes all day.”

“The Fae and malakim might hate each other, but they have a lot of bullshit in common.”

Bryce hummed her agreement. “My cycle started when I was a few weeks shy of thirteen. And my mom had this … I don’t know. Crisis? This sudden fear that she’d shut me off from a part of my heritage. She got in touch with my biological father. Two weeks later, the documents showed up, declaring me a full civitas. It came with a catch, though: I had to claim Sky and Breath as my House. I refused, but my mom actually insisted I do it. She saw it as some kind of … protection. I don’t know. Apparently, she was convinced enough of his intention to protect me that she asked if he wanted to meet me. For the first time. And I eventually cooled down enough from the whole House allegiance thing to realize I wanted to meet him, too.”