4. Sapphire

Sapphire

Someone tugs at my shoulder, rolling me over, startling me so much that I nearly jump out of my skin.

Suddenly, I’m not looking up at whoever found me in the woods.

I’m looking down at him. From up in a tree. Specifically, the silver-leafed tree that just tried to kill me.

Or… did it kill me?

Because right now, I’m looking down at my possibly dead body, and at the man crouched beside it.

Not just any man.

The man from the bar.

He’s studying me—no, my body —his eyes narrowed in concentration as he checks for a pulse. I can’t bring myself to speak, or to scream down at him to let him know I’m okay. Because I’m clearly not okay. My dead body at the base of this tree more than speaks for that .

Because that’s what happened, right? The fall killed me? I hit my head and died?

I look down at my hands, and while they seem relatively normal, I swear there’s a silver sheen to my skin. Sort of like the skin of the woman who tried to kill me, although not anywhere close to as intense.

As I continue to examine this strange ghostly form of myself, another figure moves into view.

Not a person.

A huge white leopard, its fur blending into the snow so perfectly that it looks like a creature sculpted from the ice itself. It prowls forward, toward the man from the bar, and panic surges through me.

It’s going to kill him.

I have to save him.

Suddenly, I’m pulled back into my body like a snapped rubber band.

I sit up and gasp for air, and my arm flies out, as if trying to shield the man from an attack.

“No!” I scream, and water explodes from the stream, slamming into the leopard in a violent wave, knocking it back and drenching all three of us in the process.

The cold crashes over me, seeping through my clothes, and I crabwalk backward as quickly as possible to get away from the beast.

The man’s also soaked. He’s glaring at me, the calm, brooding expression from the bar replaced with something much colder.

Most alarmingly, he’s holding a sword in front of him, and his knees are bent, as if he’s ready to attack. And it’s not pointed at the leopard, who’s now retreated to his side.

It’s pointed at me.

“You’re in winter territory,” he says, low and dangerous. “What are you doing here, summer fae?”

“What?” I push myself up to stand, my brain spinning, unable to keep up.

“Don’t play dumb. I know what you are,” he says, gesturing at the stream. “You just used your water magic.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I remain still, overly aware that if I make any sudden moves, this man might attack me with his sword.

Not to mention the leopard next to him, which he seems completely unconcerned about.

This is insane.

Absolutely, completely insane.

He steps closer, his gaze sharp, although my focus is mainly on the tip of his sword. “You revealed yourself when you attacked Ghost,” he says.

“Ghost?” I ask.

“My cat.” He raises an eyebrow, a flash of what might be considered amusement crossing his face .

“Your cat,” I deadpan. “The one you lost, and then found near the bar.”

“Correct.”

“Your cat is a leopard,” I say, unsure why this is surprising me more than his holding a sword and accusing me of using magic.

Not to mention the little detail about how I died and came back. And, judging by how I’m feeling right now, I’m completely unharmed.

“I was dead. I was up there watching you when you found me,” I say, pointing to the top of the silver-leafed tree. “Then I saw the leopard—your cat— and I somehow came back. To help you.”

“By drenching us with water?” he asks, and as ridiculous as this conversation is, I’m glad it’s stopping him from lunging at me with that sword.

“I didn’t touch the water, so I don’t see how I could have splashed you with it,” I tell him, although now that I’m thinking about it, I did feel… connected with the water when it came at them. “If I did something with it, I didn’t realize it. Everything’s a bit hazy right now. It must be a side effect from dying.”

“You weren’t dead,” he says simply. “You had a pulse.”

“Well, I sure looked dead from where I was standing. Well, sitting.”

His expression hardens, all traces of amusement gone. “You’re playing at something—trying to distract me,” he says. “Clearly a spy from the Summer Court.”

“Is this some sort of game?” I ask. “Run around with a sword and pretend the forest is a magical realm?”

“Everything’s a game in our realm,” he replies swiftly. “You, of all people, should be well aware of that.”

Part of me wants to argue with him. To tell him he’s insane.

But there’s no denying there’s something different in these woods. The snow sparkles unnaturally, like tiny crystals of magic have settled into it. The air hums with energy, and a shimmer weaves through the trees, giving the moonless sky a silvery hue.

It’s magical. Completely, undeniably magical.

Just like the man with the silver eyes in front of me.

“I don’t know anything about magic, or fae, or other realms,” I tell him, desperate now—and wishing he would put away that sword. “I’m just a bartender from Maine, okay? I’ve lived there my whole life.”

His grip on his sword’s hilt tightens, his gaze locked on mine.

“So, you communicate with your kind from Maine,” he decides.

“I have no ‘kind,’” I say, unable to truly process how ridiculous it is that he’s talking about me as if I’m some sort of alien. “I’m not a spy, or a fae. I’m a human. One who just had a rather dramatic breakup with her boyfriend, who then left her alone in the woods. I was trying to head back to the parking lot, but I got lost, and then I followed the sound of the stream…”

He says nothing, simply staring at me over the top of his blade, as if sizing me up.

As if I’m the crazy one here.

“You met me a few hours ago,” I point out. “I’m a bartender at the Maple Pig. Why would I be working there if I was some sort of spy?”

“Spies can be planted anywhere,” he says simply. “Including bars in Maine. In fact, bars are some of the best places to plant spies. Many secrets are spilled when people let their guard down over one too many drinks.”

He’s not wrong.

So, quickly, I wrack my mind for a way to prove I’m telling him the truth. “I can show you pictures of my life. On my phone. Just… don’t come at me with that thing.” I glance at the sword to make it clear what I mean. “Okay?”

“I don’t need pictures,” he says. “You clearly believe what you’re telling me.”

“Really?” I ask, stunned. “You believe me? Just like that?”

“Fae can’t lie,” he says, although he makes no effort to put away the sword. “We can only say the truth—at least what we believe is the truth. Which means you believe what you’re telling me.”

“I believe it because it is the truth,” I insist.

“Given your demonstration of your magic just now, you’re a summer fae,” he continues, completely brushing off what I’m saying. “But you clearly don’t know it. Which means you must be a changeling.”

“I don’t know what that is,” I say, even though I feel like I should know what it is—like a fairy tale half remembered from childhood.

“You wouldn’t.” He chuckles. “That’s sort of the point of it all.”

I narrow my eyes at him and return my focus to his sword. “Will you please put that thing away?” I ask, as if saying it nicely will sway his decision.

“Sure.” He slips the sword into his sheath, as if he didn’t need it in the first place.

I start to thank him, but it should be a given that you don’t go around waving a sword at a stranger who hasn’t done anything worse than splash you with a bit of cold water.

He doesn’t deserve my thanks.

“Much better,” I say instead.

“My weapon might be sheathed, but unlike you, I’ve known for my entire life that I have magic,” he replies. “I don’t recommend making me demonstrate the precision of my training. ”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I say, and he watches me, his eyes sharp, the air between us growing colder by the second.

Finally, he speaks again.

“Being a changeling means a fae went to the mortal realm and switched you out with a human child of the same age,” he explains.

“No way. That’s insane,” I say, although… is it really?

I’ve never met my mom. And I felt that connection with the water. As if I was controlling it…

“What’s going through that pretty blonde head of yours, Sapphire?” he asks, and it strikes me that this is the first time during this entire conversation that he’s used my name.

But I’m not going to let the sudden familiarity shake me.

Because that’s what he’s trying to do, right? Catch me off guard so I accidentally spill something he thinks I’m hiding from him?

“I’m thinking that this might not be impossibly crazy,” I admit. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s definitely crazy. But maybe not impossibly so. And I’m also thinking that I want to go home.”

“Presque Isle isn’t your home,” he says, not seeming moved in the slightest. “It’s just where you were placed.”

“No,” I insist. “It is my home.”

“If that’s what you say. ”

“Why were you there, anyway?” I ask him. “In my home?”

“Like I told you, my cat was missing.” A flicker of amusement touches his lips, and he glances at Ghost. “I went looking for him.”

“That’s it?” I eye the leopard—who thankfully seems to be relatively tame—unconvinced. “You’re telling me you wandered into my bar because your leopard went for a stroll?”

“It’s technically not your bar,” he says. “You don’t own it. You just work there.”

I clench my fists by my sides, and wind rushes through the trees. “That is so not the point,” I say, somehow stopping myself from pouncing and trying to claw his eyes out.

Probably because he’d poke mine out with his sword before I could get within a foot of him.

“Then what is the point?” he asks calmly.

“The point is that you’re accusing me of being a spy in your realm, yet there you were, hanging out in the town where I live, in the bar where I work. And you haven’t even told me your name.”

“I’m not accusing you of being a spy,” he says. “I accused you of being a spy. Past tense.”

Irritation courses through me, and the water in the stream rushes faster .

Maybe I could splash it at his perfectly smug face again.

But, as tempting as that is, I take a few deep breaths and control myself. Mainly because I don’t want him bringing out that stupid sword again.

I also don’t want his cat leaping at me and ripping my throat out.

“Fine,” I say. “But you still haven’t told me your name.”

He pauses for a moment, and I wait semi-patiently, not wanting to accidentally say something that distracts him again.

“I’m Riven,” he says, and then he tilts his head toward the leopard, who’s still standing close to his side. “And, as you know, that’s Ghost.”

The leopard simply watches me, as if he’s trying to figure me out as much as Riven is.

“Nice to meet you, Riven,” I say, and leopard’s tail flicks, causing me to quickly add, “And Ghost.”

Ghost sits straighter, looking pleased—and undeniably majestic.

“He likes you,” Riven says. “And I trust his judge of character. So, now that I’ve heard your plea, I’d like to offer you a deal.”