SAPPHIRE
“The duskberry growsin Queen Lysandra’s private garden,” I tell this empty version of Riven, keeping my voice steady despite the hollow ache in my chest. “At the palace.”
He frowns as he gazes over the lake, frost spreading in intricate patterns around his hands and wrists as he thinks.
“The Summer Palace,” he muses, more to himself than to me. “It’s not ideal, but even without formally announcing my visit, Queen Lysandra would be foolish to treat me with anything less than diplomatic courtesy. Doing otherwise would risk a war with the Winter Court. Plus, once we inform her of the Night Court’s activities—and about their existence in general—she’ll have no choice but to listen, since the threat they represent affects both courts equally.”
“And you think she’ll just give us access to her private garden?” I ask.
“Not immediately.” He begins to pace, the temperature dropping with each step. “But she’ll negotiate. The summer fae are proud, but they’re not stupid. If the Night Court truly intends to wage war against both courts...” He trails off, his mind clearly racing ahead to possibilities and contingencies.
I watch him, trying to reconcile this coldly logical version of him with the man who held me in the cave and the igloo, who promised to love me forever. And despite knowing that we need to be focusing on the duskberry, it’s impossible to not replay the cruel things he just said to me in my mind.
He stops pacing and fixes me with an impatient look.
“Your emotional turmoil is distracting,” he says flatly. “I need you focused. Can you handle that, or should I leave you at this tree while I speak with the queen?”
The air around us grows heavy with moisture as my magic responds to my anger.
“I’m perfectly capable of focusing,” I shoot back at him. “And you need me there. Or did you forget what an importantassetI am to you?”
“No,” he curtly replies. “Having you stand by my side supporting me while we speak with the queen makes you an extremely valuableassetwhen it comes to getting her attention. You’re imperative to this mission. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t.”
Frustration coils inside me, mingling with the ache in my chest.
I know I resolved to stop trying to make him fall back in love with me in this very moment. But I refuse to let him act like I’m some tool at his disposal. Especially not here, in the Summer Court, where I have the upper hand.
So, I immerse myself in my magic, combining the warmth of the air with the gentle pull of water, focusing on the ice twisting around his hands as I do.
Then, I channel my air magic at him in a wave of heat, combining it with my water magic to create a suffocating humidity around him.
His frost dissolves into a misty vapor.
“What the hell was that about?” he snaps, his eyes flashing with warning.
“You forget thatyou’rethe weaker one here.” I lift my chin and let the warm, humid air wrap around us, emphasizing my point. “This is the Summer Court. Your magic is dulled here. Which means you need me if you want to make it to the palace in one piece.”
He flexes his hands, straining as he summons more ice.
Only a few crystals form.
Thanks to the air I heated around him, they melt almost instantly.
Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches for his sword, but the blade’s glow is dimmer here, and we both know it.
“What are you going to do with that—kill me?” I challenge, although I pull back on my magic, since despite everything, I don’t want to hurt him. “Because I’d advise against that. You can’t risk losing your most valuable asset.”
His jaw tightens, and I can see the gears turning in his mind as he recalculates.
I say nothing as he does. I just keep my stance strong, my chin lifted, and my magic humming under my skin.
And then—slowly—he sheathes his sword.
“Well played.” His gaze drifts over me, lingering a beat too long. “Although I wouldn’t recommend making a habit of challenging me. After all, I’m the one who trained you. Your magic may be stronger than mine here, but power means nothing if you don’t know when to strike. And let’s be honest—you hesitated. Just for a second. That’s all it takes for someone like me to rip victory out of your hands in a single heartbeat.”
The weight of the moment presses in, thick and heavy, laced with warning and tearing at my heart. But he doesn’t take his sword out again. Which, I suppose, is a start.
I take a steadying breath and ground myself, fighting to focus through the pain. And thereispain. A lot of it.
