29. Sapphire
Sapphire
The shock of cold water hits me like a thousand needles, and for a moment, I’m completely disoriented. But Riven’s hand finds mine in the darkness, anchoring me as we steady ourselves and break through the surface.
The water here is different from the mystical pond we left behind. It’s murkier. More real.
But it’s still just as cold.
Which makes sense, given that it’s January in New York City.
Without a word, we swim to the edge and haul ourselves onto the grassy bank. My clothes are soaked through, clinging to my skin. Riven’s just as drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, droplets trailing down his face.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching out to brush a wet strand of hair from his eyes .
He catches my wrist, his touch sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with being wet. “I’d say that went rather well. Dramatic and memorable—just as intended,” he says, his thumb tracing light circles on my palm. “But I’ll be even better after you use your magic to dry us off.”
“Demanding much, are we?” I smile, letting out a small, breathless laugh.
“I just endured a portal drop into enemy territory,” he says, pulling me closer. “Surely that earns me a favor?”
“On top of the one I already owe you?” I tease.
“You’ll enjoy repaying me,” he promises, and after a kiss that’s decently long considering we’re in said enemy territory and need to be aware of our surroundings, I place my palm on his chest and close my eyes, reaching for the intertwined threads of my water and air magic.
They respond instantly, and before long, we’re dry.
Even so, I keep my palm on his chest, not wanting to let go.
His eyes lock onto mine, the intense look in them sending a wave of heat through me. “Impressive,” he says. “You get better at this every day.”
“Magic lessons with a powerful, well-trained, irresistible fae prince will do that,” I say, our lips so close now that I can feel his frosty breath mingling with mine.
But instead of another kiss, his expression shifts, and he leans back, breaking the connection .
“Sapphire,” he says my name in the way he always does when he’s about to say something serious. “What happened on the Midnight Star?”
I pause to gather my thoughts—since a lot happened on the star—then launch into everything Celeste told me, condensing the flood of information into what’s hopefully something coherent.
“Celeste lives in this incredible city on the Midnight Star with buildings that looked like they were carved from crystal and light,” I say, the memory of it taking my breath away all over again. “She’s the one I saw in the woods before drinking from the stream and falling into the fae realm. That night, she gave me a piece of her magic and made me one of the star touched.”
“Star touched?” Riven’s brow furrows.
“There’s so much more to explain, but we don’t have time right now.” I reach for my bracelet and call on its magic, since showing him will be easier than telling him. “She answered my questions about the potion. Look.”
The gems glow, and a shimmering projection appears on the ground—a vivid image of the ingredients we need, along with the instructions for how to brew the potion.
“That tree,” Riven says, looking over my shoulder. “It’s behind you.”
As I turn around, a wave of magic sweeps through the air, thick and heady, wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
And then, it happens.
The carefully maintained paths of Central Park dissolve, replaced by something ancient, colorful, and magical. Trees with massive trunks and shimmering leaves stretch toward the night sky, and flowers bloom everywhere—huge and exotic, their scents heavy and intoxicating. Then there are the fireflies—or something far more magical—gliding through the air, leaving behind trails of silver and gold, like stars pulled too close to the earth.
It’s like coming home to a place I never knew I missed.
My magic responds too, the water in the air practically singing to me, begging to be shaped and controlled. I was already doing a good job at connecting with my magic in the Winter Court, but this is something else entirely.
My magic is no longer a part of me that I have to reach for.
Here, my magic is me.
Riven, however, doesn’t look as good. His cheeks are flushed, sweat already beading on his forehead.
“This place,” he says as he glares around at the beauty I was just admiring, “is not exactly ideal for ice magic. ”
“We’ll be as quick as possible,” I promise, reaching for his hand. “Especially since we were dropped off right near the tree.”
With that, I turn back around to face it.
Commanding and ancient, it towers above the surrounding forest, each curve and knot in its massive trunk telling stories older than anything I can imagine. But it’s the leaves that steal my breath away. They shimmer like molten gold caught in the starlight, each one radiating a soft glow that makes the tree seem one with the Universe itself.
Riven wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and frowns. “It looks… alive,” he finally says.
“Well, it is a tree,” I tease, although my own nerves prickle as we get closer. “And unless the Winter Court has a special brand of tree that I’m unaware of, they tend to be alive.”
“That was a wonderful botany lesson,” he says, scanning the tree cautiously. “Please, enlighten me further while I slowly melt into the forest floor.”
“Don’t go melting on me now,” I quip, although I tighten my grip on his hand, as if that will hold him together. “I’m quite fond of you in solid form.”
“Oh—I know what you like in solid form,” he replies with a smirk, and I simply roll my eyes and continue toward the tree.
At least the heat hasn’t melted his ego .
When we’re finally a few feet away, I see the thick sap peeking through the cracks in its bark.
“The amberdew sap,” I whisper, reaching out to touch it.
“Sapphire, wait—” Riven starts, but it’s too late.
The moment my fingertips graze the bark, roots thick as tree trunks burst from the earth, surging toward us from every direction, whipping through the air like massive serpents.
Silver flashes in the corner of my vision as Riven draws his blade in time to slice through the nearest root surging toward my chest. But the severed limb barely hits the ground before two more lash out to take its place.
So, he raises his hand, frost forming at his fingertips, and hurls a surge of ice magic into the oncoming attack. The roots stiffen as the frost spreads—but then, just as fast, they shudder and crack, steam rising as the heat of the tree’s magic melts the ice.
At almost the same time, I fling my hands out, summoning a wall of wind to shove the roots back. It stops them from reaching us, but it’s not enough. I try again, and again, but the tree puts up a worthy fight, determined to wrap around us and trap us in its clutches.
Riven growls and conjures a group of jagged ice spikes, launching them like a hailstorm toward the twisting limbs. They strike with deadly precision, impaling one of the roots and shattering it into splinters.
The attacks pause for a second.
Then, a thick root slams into the ground between us, splitting the earth in a violent tremor. Another comes at me, and I throw myself into a roll, barely escaping its clutches.
Miraculously, I catch myself somewhat gracefully. As I do, my water magic surges inside me, and I send a concentrated jet of it slicing through the air, aiming for the root’s base.
It connects, but it barely leaves a mark.
I glance around, but the roots are surrounding us. There’s no way out.
Riven’s sword flashes as he hacks at a particularly thick root. Ice spreads from his blade, but again, it melts before it can get a proper grip on anything.
Anger rushes through me, and I summon a gust of wind, propelling myself backward as three roots converge on my position. My dagger strikes one, but it’s like trying to cut through steel.
The root barely seems to notice.
From there, Riven and I fall into a rhythm—him using his ice to slow the roots down, me using my air and water magic to push them back. But the more we fight, the more the tree fights back. The roots move faster, stronger, their magic pulsing through the ground with an intensity that makes my head spin.
I put every bit of my training into the fight, but the roots are too big. Too fast.
“Riven, your left!” I scream as a massive root surges behind him.
He spins, blade ready, but he’s not fast enough.
The root catches his sword arm, yanking it back, and his weapon clatters to the ground as more roots wrap around his legs, his waist, and his chest. He struggles against it, trying to free himself, but any attempts at trying to freeze it with his ice magic are futile.
“No!” I blast the roots with a combination of water and air, controlling my magic enough to hit the tree and not Riven.
But they’re unstoppable.
Then, something tightens around my ankle.
A root’s coiling up my leg like a snake, its grip firm and unyielding. I slash at it with my dagger, but before I can land a second strike, another root seizes my wrist, twisting hard enough to make my fingers go numb.
My dagger falls.
More roots surge forward, wrapping around me, pulling me in, squeezing until my breath comes in short, panicked gasps.
I thrash, summoning my magic. But the roots press tighter, their magic sinking into me, like they’re trying to drain the fight from my bones.
I can’t move. Can’t win.
I’m trapped.
But I don’t have to stay trapped.
I can project. The roots won’t be able to get their grips on me when I’m in my astral form.
My star magic hums in response.
Then, in a heartbeat, I’m standing across the way—out of reach of the roots—watching as my body goes limp in the tree’s grasp.