31. Sapphire
Sapphire
“No,” I tell her, my chest tightening with panic. “You can’t just take something like that. You can’t take his love. Or my love. Or anyone’s love.”
“I absolutely can.” Her smile turns sharp and predatory. “And if you want the sap, I will.”
The roots encasing me tighten in a silent warning.
Across from me, Riven tenses, his eyes locked onto Chryserra with lethal intensity. Even now, trapped by magic that resists our powers, he’s waiting for the right moment to strike.
“There must be something else you want.” His hands flex at his sides as he tests the roots that bind him, as if sheer willpower alone might break them. “The Winter Court has vast resources. Name your price—gold, jewels, magical artifacts. Anything you want. It’s yours.”
“I have no need for material things.” Chryserra steps closer, weaving effortlessly through the tangled vines and glowing leaves. “I want to experience impossible love. I want to feel how a heart born of frost can love so fiercely, especially for something made of heat and starlight.”
No.
The word slams through my mind like a violent tide.
The roots shift again, this time around Riven, pulling tighter against his chest like they’re eager to claim him.
He grits his teeth, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t break eye contact with Chryserra. Still, I see the tension in his jaw, and the way his fingers flex, as if reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.
“And if we refuse?” I ask the nymph, although I already know the answer.
“Then you leave empty-handed.” She shrugs, the movement causing a few leaves to drift from her shoulders and fall to the ground.
“There has to be something else you want,” I plead, and the roots shift again, pressing into my ribs.
“There isn’t,” she says again.
Riven launches into more propositions, offering anything and everything, grasping for something that might spare us from this choice.
Think, I tell myself as he throws out idea after idea, searching for ones of my own.
Then, it comes to me .
I could give her my magic. Not all of it, but part of it.
Which would I want to keep? Air, or water?
“My star magic,” I say softly, and all eyes go to me. “If you could project, you could explore the world beyond your tree.”
The roots tighten, as if reacting to my words.
Riven’s body tenses.
“No,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with something more than anger—fear. “Your magic was gifted to you by a goddess. If you trade it away, you’ll never get it back.”
“You’re the one who told me that my magic doesn’t define me.” My voice is firm, unwavering, even as the roots pulse against my skin. “But love? Love is something that’s built. Fought for. It’s not something that can be reduced to a bargain. Not because it makes me whole, but because it makes me more. It reminds me that I don’t have to stand alone against the darkness. And besides,” I add, my eyes locked on his, “I’ll still be me. And I’ll still have my air and water magic. I’ll still be able to fight. I’ll still be able to stand. And I’ll have you by my side as I do.”
His jaw tightens, his muscles tensing against the roots that bind him.
“I will not let you trade away something that was gifted to you by a goddess,” he insists, not breaking, even in the slightest .
“You don’t have to let me,” I counter. “Because it’s not your choice to make.”
His gaze darkens, but he doesn’t fight me. He looks like he wants to, but he doesn’t.
I take a deep breath and look to the sky, praying that Celeste can hear me. Please understand, I think, but I get no response.
Chryserra, on the other hand, tilts her head and smiles. “It’s also up to me,” she says. “And I reject your offer.”
The roots slacken slightly, as if amused by my failure.
“See?” Riven exhales sharply, his voice laced with relief, despite the tension in his shoulders. “Even a dryad knows that taking your magic would be a terrible idea.”
But the relief is short-lived.
Because when he looks back at Chryserra, his voice is no longer bargaining. It’s resigning.
“Will I still have my memories of the moments she and I shared?” he asks. “All of them?”
My heart feels like it’s shattering, and I twist against my binds, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“No,” I say to him. “You can’t do this.”
He doesn’t look at me. His sharp, silver eyes are locked onto Chryserra, waiting, calculating, deciding.
“Your memories will remain untouched,” she says. “You’ll remember the moments you shared, but not the emotions you felt during them. It will be like watching a play you once performed in. You’ll know the lines, but the passion will be gone.”
The breath leaves my lungs all at once.
“Don’t.” I struggle harder, pushing against the roots, but they tighten again, holding me down. “There has to be another way.”
Chryserra watches me with cold amusement, like she already knows my attempts to stop Riven from doing this are futile.
“Think of it like emptying a cup,” she continues, smooth as silk. “The cup remains intact, capable of being filled again. I’m merely taking what’s inside it now.”
“But there’s no guarantee he’ll fall in love with me again,” I say, and my voice breaks—just like my heart.
“No,” she says, gentler now. “But the possibility remains. The capacity for love will still be there, waiting to be awakened.” She pauses, studying me with those unnerving green eyes of hers. “However, I do have some compassion. So, given your resistance, I won’t take his love unless you agree to the deal as well.”
Finally, I’m able to relax.
“Good. Because I don’t agree,” I say but then I feel it—the ice magic from our original deal creeping across my skin. The magic that binds me to do everything in my power to help Riven make the potion.
The magic that insists I say yes to Chryserra’s heartless offer.