11. Sapphire

Sapphire

“Disappearances?” Zoey’s voice sharpens. “What kind of disappearances?”

“The kind where fae never came back,” Riven says darkly.

“The dark angels. They could be the ones taking the fae,” I say, even though I know that’s not what they really are.

They’re more like vampire fae with black wings.

However, dark angel is a fair enough abbreviation.

“I’ve never seen one before,” Riven says. “None of us have. Only the two of you, and assumedly every fae they’ve killed.”

“Or taken,” Zoey points out. “If you never found any bodies, they could have been taken.”

“Did you work as some sort of detective back in the human realm?” Riven asks, although he’s so sarcastic that I have a feeling he wants her to sit back, be human, and let him be the prince who knows all the answers.

“I binged every CSI episode in like, two weeks straight when I had the flu.” She shrugs.

He scrunches his brow, looking clueless about what that means.

“Crime Scene Investigation,” Zoey clarifies. “It’s a television series.”

“I don’t think they get Netflix in the Winter Court,” I say with a chuckle.

“It was on Hulu, not Netflix,” she corrects me, smiling.

“If both of you can put your DVRs on pause for a minute, we can discuss things that actually matter,” Riven breaks in, reminding me that while the Winter Court is his home, he’s been to the mortal realm before. “Because now that we’re fugitives, we have all the time in the world to figure out how to follow the stars.”

“Actually,” Zoey says. “Sapphire’s weirdly good with stars.”

Riven’s intense gaze shifts to me, and heat rises to my cheeks. “Is that so?” he asks.

“It’s how she was leading us through the forest during the hunt,” she tells him.

“I got lost in the woods on New Year’s Eve,” I break in, since apparently, they both need a reminder about that. “That’s how I ended up in this realm in the first place. I’m hardly an expert navigator.”

“That was in the human realm.” Zoey waves off my concern. “We’re in the fae realm now. And you were doing great during the hunt.”

“Look—following the North Star is one thing. Following some magical map in the sky is completely different,” I tell her, then turn to Riven. “Your mother must have told you more than just ‘follow the stars.’”

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes distant. “She said the stars sing to each other,” he finally tells me. “If you listen closely enough, you can hear their whispers guiding you forward.”

A chill rushes over me as I remember the way the stars pulsed during the hunt. How they drew me forward, like they were trying to tell me something—to point me to safety.

Riven’s gaze sharpens. “You hear them,” he says simply.

“Maybe.” I shrug. “A bit.”

“Sounds better than Riven’s bit,” Zoey says, and I can’t help but laugh.

He glares at her, then looks back to me. “My mother said the brightest stars are like beacons,” he continues. “But they’re not the ones that matter. It’s the dimmer ones that create the true paths.”

“Like threads of silver,” I murmur, the words coming from somewhere deep inside me. “Connecting the spaces between.”

His eyes lock onto mine. “You can see them?”

“Sometimes.” I look away quickly, since I’m not sure exactly what I see. But I also know I can hear it, and smell it, and feel it.

And I have no idea how to fully explain to them how it happens. Especially since it only just started happening to me.

“If you give me a better idea about where we’re trying to go, maybe it’ll work,” I say, although not wanting to make empty promises, I add extra emphasis on the final word. “Maybe.”

“All right.” He looks at the glowing wall, as if he can see the sky laid out on it. “She used to say, ‘Follow the brightest star to find your way north, but to find your true path, look for the four crossed stars.”

“Like the Southern Cross?” Zoey asks, excitement dancing across her eyes.

I’m not surprised. Even though I can feel the stars, she likely knows more facts about them, thanks to the “space phase” she went through sometime in seventh grade.

“She didn’t have a name for them,” he says. “But she said they would always point to where the old paths converge, where the universe knows no beginning, and no end.”

“Interesting,” Zoey says, though her tone makes it clear she doesn’t entirely understand. “Do you know what she meant by the ‘old paths?’”

“Ancient trails,” he explains. “Invisible to most, but still there if you know what to look for. They’re said to lead to places of power—places where the land remembers what came before. Where the moon, the sun, and the stars touch to create a perfect storm.”

The moon. The sun. The stars. A storm.

Something about those four things together feels strangely right.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking. “I think I might be able to make sense of it,” I tell them. “I can’t promise anything, but when I’m actually out there looking at the stars, it might be possible.”

Riven nods. “That’s the plan. We’ll rest until nightfall, and then we’ll begin.”

“I’m not tired. I’ve literally been unconscious for two days,” Zoey protests, but a yawn betrays her.

He reaches into his pack and pulls out a small vial filled with dark blue liquid. “This will help you get proper rest,” he says.

She eyes it suspiciously. “What is it this time? Truth tranquilizer? Fae Ambien?”

“Relaxation potion,” he says with an exasperated sigh. “It won’t knock you out, but it’ll help you rest properly. Think of it as more like… fae Xanax.”

“Or fae gummies,” I add, which only gets a glare from her. “It won’t hurt you. And he’s right—you need real sleep. We all do.”

“Fine.” She takes the vial with an exaggerated sigh. “But if this turns me into a toad, I’m holding both of you personally responsible.”

She downs the potion like it’s a shot of cheap vodka, and almost immediately, her eyelids start to droop.

Ghost shifts, making himself more comfortable for her to lean against.

She curls into his fur, as if she’s done it a thousand times before, and falls asleep.

I glance at Riven.

The determination in his expression is impossible to ignore, and I realize that for the first time in a while, I’m actually feeling hope.

“Get some rest, too,” he says. “You’ll need it. We all will.”

I nod, even though I know sleep won’t come easy. Too much is riding on what happens next.

But for Zoey—for all of us—I have to try.

We might not survive if I don’t.