Page 12

Sapphire

“Who are you?” I say to the cloaked girl, my grip firm on my dagger, water droplets rising in the wind as my magic responds to the threat.

She pushes back her hood, revealing dark curls streaked with gold, and bright green eyes that catch nonexistent light. But what unsettles me most is her composure—she’s staring down two powerful, armed fae without a hint of fear.

“Names aren’t important right now.” She glances at the sky before returning to me. “Time is.”

Riven steps closer, the temperature around us dropping by a few degrees. “You’re standing in front of two armed fae,” he says the same thing I was thinking. “You should be more concerned with surviving than making demands.”

The girl doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

“If either of you were going to attack me, you would have done so already,” she says, speaking with the certainty of someone who’s seen this conversation play out before.

Riven tenses as he analyzes her, searching for a weakness, a lie in her stance.

But even as frost climbs up his blade, the girl is unfazed. Unreadable. Clearly not human, but not quite fae, either.

But I make no moves—not to kill her, and not to lower my weapon.

Instead, I glance at Riven. Because despite how much I hate him, he’s the one who’s experienced with this whole “navigating through the supernatural realms” thing.

He simply nods, keeping his gaze fixed on the girl, making it clear that if she makes one wrong move, she’ll be a beheaded popsicle.

She makes no sudden moves.

“The Winter King’s madness grows stronger each day,” she says, steady and sure. “The Night Court’s alliance with the Blood Coven strengthens. And your friend...” She glances up, checking the sky again, then focuses on me. “Zoey’s in more danger from the darkness by the minute.”

“What do you know about Zoey?” I ask, but Riven continues with his questioning before she can answer.

“Did someone send you here? From the Winter Court?” he asks her, giving me a warning glare while also keeping her under the threat of his blade.

Despite how unreadable he’s been lately, his meaning now is clear.

Don’t trust her. Not yet.

“You want me to prove myself,” the cloaked girl says, as if she can read his mind.

Who knows—maybe she can.

Calmly, she returns her focus to me, as if she’s growing impatient with Riven.

Her and I both.

“Zoey has a scar on her knee from when she was eight,” she says easily, as if reading from a script. “You were there when she fell. She tried to jump the railing behind the convenience store, but her foot caught, and she went down hard.”

I smile at the memory.

“Sapphire,” Riven brings me back into focus. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” I tell him, and my heart breaks when I find him studying me with what could be concern. “No one knew about that but me and Zoey. We lied and told her mom that she got hurt in their backyard.”

He nods, apparently satisfied with that answer, and I turn my focus back to the girl.

“Where’s Zoey?” I ask her. “How do you know her? Is she?—”

“That dagger won’t be enough,” she cuts me off, sharp and precise, reaching into her cloak. “You need the Star Disc—a weapon forged by Celeste, imbued with power beyond anything your blade can offer. Forged for you.”

She narrows her eyes, as if daring me to lie and say I don’t know what she’s talking about.

Joke’s on her, though, since I can’t lie.

“Go to Lost Pier in Montauk,” she continues, speaking so quickly that we don’t have time to ask more questions. “When night falls, you’ll find your spectral ship. Follow the Algol Star to find the island you seek, and once you’re there, tell the sorceress that you seek no path, no descent—only the wisdom of those once forged in flesh. I’ve written it—and other things you’ll need to know—down for you. Be honest about your identities when you speak to her.” She pulls a set of keys and a folded map out of her pocket, holding them out to us. “You’ll find the car on West 74th Street, between the trees and the old brownstones. It’s a red Prius—it’ll be hard to miss. But you need to leave. Now. The storm’s coming, and you have to be gone before it hits.”

“What storm?” I ask, tightening my grip on my dagger.

“Don’t worry—nothing like the one that trapped you in that cave.” She shrugs, as if those days in that cave are common knowledge instead of a secret world where Riven and I once lived.

Pain rips through me at the memories of when it was just me and him in a dreamlike bubble of time designed purely for us.

No, I tell the wave of heartbreak. Not now. Now when we’re finally getting closer to Zoey.

It obliges, but only for enough time for me to breathe again and register the hope rising inside me. Because if this girl magically knows about private moments I’ve had with Zoey and Riven, and if she knows what we’ll be facing next, maybe she has insight to some other questions of mine, too.

“Can the sorceress reverse the dryad’s deal?” I ask her, my heart racing at the possibility of Riven remembering whatever feelings for me he might have had.

“And Eros’s lead arrow?” Riven adds, which makes me glance at him in surprise.

Why does he care about the arrow?

The answer slams into me the moment I see the hard, determined look in his eyes. Because if the arrow’s spell is reversed, it won’t hurt me every time he touches me. If it doesn’t hurt me when he touches me, I’ll be more likely to give in to his endless attempts at seduction. Which I’m sure would make him—mainly, a certain part of him that he didn’t want me to break last night—very, very happy.

“I don’t know everything.” The girl shrugs, the simple motion yet another blow to my heart.

Riven seems unfazed, instead snatching the keys and the folded map from her hand. “Sapphire,” he says, snapping me back into the present. “Get out of that infuriatingly frustrating head of yours and focus. We’re wasting time.”

I flinch, the wind blowing harder around me.

He doesn’t care about reversing the deal. Why would he, when he doesn’t remember what he lost?

“I’m sorry that I can’t help with more,” the cloaked girl says, although her smile quickly switches from an apologetic one to an amused one. “But I wish you the best of luck, Prince Riven Draevor and Princess Sapphire Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor of the Winter and Summer Courts.”

“That name alone could take over an entire realm,” Riven says, and a laugh escapes me at the sheer absurdity of the titles I’ve racked up in the past two days.

Most noticeably, the one that keeps repeating in my mind like a cruel joke that will haunt me forever.

One that zaps whatever humor existed in the situation away in an instant.

“I’d prefer it without your name tacked onto the end.” I glare at him, shoving my dagger into its sheath.

“It doesn’t matter if you prefer it or not,” he says, slipping the map into his coat. “Because if keeping you alive means having my name eternally tied to yours, then I’ll take your resent with no regrets.”

I glance up, expecting mockery, but there’s none. Just the barest flicker of something behind his silver eyes—something that disappears the second he turns away.

“Now, are you coming, Princess?” he asks, and just like that, the mockery’s back in full force. “Or would you rather stand here making a new best friend?”

Before I can reply, the cloaked girl steps closer.

“You two can keep flirting with knives and insults later,” she says. “But if you’re still standing here by the time the storm hits, you won’t make it to Montauk—let alone to the Night Court.”

“You’re just as frustrating as he is,” I grumble, although her only reply is an even more frustratingly knowing smile.

Riven exhales, long and slow, then tosses the keys up and catches them again.

When they land in his palm, the metal is covered in ice.

“Let’s go before your frustration makes the storm even worse,” he says, and the cloaked girl has the audacity to nod in agreement.

“Fine.” I huff, and with one last encouraging nod from Mysterious Cloaked Girl, Riven and I set off, with the cold wind at our heels.

As we run, something flickers behind us.

An orange glow. Fire?

But when I glance over my shoulder to check, it’s gone. Just shadows stretching across the park.

Riven notices my hesitation.

“What?” he asks.

“I thought I saw—” I trail off, scanning the darkness one last time. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

A cold unease curls in my stomach, but I shove it down and keep running.

Finally, we emerge onto a quieter street lined with brownstones.

“There.” Riven jerks his chin toward the curb.

A red Prius is parked between two trees, and Riven wastes no time unlocking it. He wrenches open the driver’s side door and slides in, and I barely manage to throw myself into the passenger seat before he’s turning the key in the ignition.

“Seatbelt,” he says, not looking at me as he shifts into gear.

“I don’t take orders from you,” I snap back.

He slams his foot onto the gas pedal at the same time as thunder booms overhead, lightning brightening the entire sky.

I curse as the car rockets forward, tires screeching against the pavement. “What the Hell, Riven?”

“My driving is impeccable, but I like you better when you’re strapped in,” he says in amusement, although his eyes stay locked on the road, refusing to look at me.

I glare at him, but buckle in anyway, bracing myself as he weaves effortlessly through the city traffic as the approaching storm fades behind us, swallowed by the ominous stretch of darkness ahead.