Page 32

Sapphire

I’ve been steering us by the stars for hours, following the path between the Lonely Star and the Navigator’s Star as Tiresias instructed.

All the while, Riven’s been... well, Riven.

Cold, distant, and only speaking when necessary.

He’s kept to the other end of the ship, as if space will erase everything that’s happened between us. And honestly? That’s just fine by me. Three enchanted pigs are far better company.

I crouch down, scratching behind the spotted one I’ve named Captain’s ears, which earns me an appreciative snort.

“What would you do if someone bargained away their love for you to get some tree sap?” I ask him. “It’s pretty cold, right?”

The red-eared pig makes a low snuffling noise, which I take as agreement.

“How about marrying you for political gain?” I continue. “That’s normal for royalty, I guess, but still...”

“Are you genuinely seeking relationship advice from enchanted swine?” Riven’s voice cuts through the night as he strides toward me and my three hoofed friends.

“They’re better companions than certain winter fae,” I say, fixing him with a glare that could freeze the Summer Court.

The smallest pig—the black one—wanders over to Riven and nudges his boot, earning a look of mild surprise from the winter prince.

“See? Even they think you’re being ridiculous,” he says, the ghost of a smirk curling across his lips.

“Or maybe they’re checking to see if you have a heart under all that ice,” I snap back, wind picking up around me, making the sails flutter.

Captain makes an almost laughing sound as he settles beside me, his intelligent eyes watching our exchange as if it’s the most entertaining thing he’s ever seen.

“As you can see,” I tell the pig. “He enjoys watching me suffer.”

Riven sighs and unsheathes his dagger, examining the blade with precise, measured movements.

“Princess, perhaps you could direct your theatrical monologue elsewhere?” he asks. “Some of us are trying to prepare for whatever we’ll face in the Cosmic Tides.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say with mock sincerity. “Am I distracting you from brooding dramatically?”

The red-eared pig backs away, but Captain stays put, watching us with those eerily too-human eyes of his.

Riven sheathes his dagger in one fluid motion. “I don’t brood,” he says. “I strategize.”

The black pig squeals suddenly, darting between us like it’s trying to break up a fight.

“Even the pigs think we should focus on our mission,” Riven says, although I’m no longer listening.

I’m too focused on the sky, where the Lonely Star and the Navigator’s Star are shifting, aligning themselves overhead.

Once they settle in place, the sea goes still. Unnaturally, impossibly still. No waves, no current. Just a perfect, endless mirror reflecting the heavens above.

My stomach churns with unease, my magic prickling beneath my skin.

The pigs are quiet now, huddled together near the mast.

Riven steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he studies the water. “Something’s wrong,” he says, stating the obvious.

“You think?” I ask as I scan the horizon.

Suddenly, the pigs squeal in terror and bolt for the cabin.

“They sense it, too.” Riven grips the railing, frost spreading from his fingertips onto the ghostly surface. “Something’s coming.”

As if in response, ripples begin to form in the ocean, spreading outward like raindrops.

Riven’s posture shifts, his body coiling with tension as he unsheathes his sword. “We should prepare to?—”

He never finishes.

Because a flash of silver streaks across the sky. A falling star, plummeting toward the sea.

My breath catches as it slows and drifts the rest of the way down to the ocean, hovering above the surface, its light pulsing in perfect rhythm with the others overhead.

Soon, another falls. Then another, until dozens of stars are descending in rapid succession, forming brilliant, sparkling constellations on the water.

And then, to my utter and complete amazement, a waterfall flows from the full moon’s glowing surface, merging with the ocean in a whispering hush, its silver tendrils spiraling out into a celestial whirlpool.

But it’s not a violent, churning whirlpool. It’s slow and steady, stretching the ocean apart and peeling back its surface like a curtain, revealing a shimmering void underneath.

The Charydian Rift.

It’s the most beautiful, mesmerizing thing I’ve ever seen.

“We need to stay together,” Riven says, reaching for my wrist and closing his fingers around it.

Pain slices through me as memories flood my mind.

His mocking tone when he proposed our political marriage, the cruelty in his voice when he told me I meant nothing to him, the disgust in his eyes the first time he saw me drinking blood…

They hit like knives, each one twisting deeper, shattering the already broken pieces of my heart.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, wrenching my wrist free.

His eyes flash with hurt—or something darker—but then it’s gone, buried beneath cold frustration.

“This isn’t the time for you to unleash your undying hatred on me,” he bites out, although his voice quickly softens, turning quiet and desperate. “Whatever pain my touch brings, you need to push through it. Because we can’t be separated in the Tides. I can’t lose you. And you don’t have to trust me, forgive me, love me, or see me as anything but a cold-hearted monster. I just need you safe. I need you here. With me.”

My breath catches, his words carving through every wall I’ve tried to build.

Because he’s breaking. Maybe I am, too.

And so, before I can second-guess myself, I grab his hand.

The memories strike, sharp and searing. But this time, I brace for them. And, thank the gods, they don’t destroy me.

“Don’t let go,” he says, his fingers tightening around mine.

“Trust me,” I manage, somehow able to speak through the ache in my chest. “I’m not about to float off into the cosmic void alone.”

And then gravity tilts, sending us front-first into the swirling vortex below.

The ship glides downward with eerie control, as if a cosmic hand is guiding our descent. It’s like we’re in a glowing, star-filled waterspout, where time has stopped and sped up all at once.

The pigs are nowhere to be seen. They’re probably huddling belowdecks—if they haven’t already been consumed by the Tides.

I tighten my grip on Riven’s hand, and he pulls me closer, as if he can shield me from the celestial forces that have already chosen our fate.

The last thing I see before the rift swallows us whole is the sky breaking apart and the silvery water rushing into the sunken abyss, until there’s no telling where the stars end, and the ocean begins.