Page 31 of Burning Star

The ship rocks, and the Tides swirl around us, as if they approve of our decision.

“We need to get this ship sailing,” I say, looking up at the cosmic sea.

“Air magic should do it,” he says, sheathing his sword. “Especially since we both have it now.”

“If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to bribe Circe’s pigs to row us out,” I mutter, shooting him a sidelong look.

“They’d unionize before they lifted a hoof,” he says, threading his fingers through mine.

The instant we touch, something raw and volatile explodes in my chest. Magic. Desire. The shared heartbeat of two people who have survived too much and aren’t done burning.

“Think of Ghost,” Riven murmurs in my ear. “Of what he means to me.”

So, I do.

His ice-blue eyes, and his white fur like snow light. His loyalty carved in silence. The way he stands beside Riven—not because he’s bound to, but because he chooses to.

He’s not just a companion.

He’s proof that Riven is more than cold calculation. That beneath the armor and ice, there’s a heart that loves fiercely and unconditionally.

As I think about Ghost, the ship groans, the sails snapping with a sudden wind. My magic surges outward, and Riven’s frost answers it—two forces blending, weaving into one, spiraling through the currents of the Tides and pulling the ship forward.

When I open my eyes, Riven’s staring at me like I’m a constellation he’s terrified will disappear if he blinks.

“Don’t forget this,” he says, and while his voice is steady, I can feel something deeper beneath it. An unspoken fear. A plea.

A lump forms in my throat. “I won’t forget. I couldn’t, even if I tried.”

“Swear it,” he says, his eyes burning into mine.

“I promise,” I say, but it’s not enough.

Not for us.

So, I reach for the Star Disc, the sapphire in its center pulsing with the rhythm of our hearts.

“We need something permanent,” I decide, studying it, thinking.

Riven lifts an eyebrow. “More permanent than fusing our souls?”

“I was thinking more like vows we make ourselves,” I say, moving my gaze from the Star Disc to him. “Not ones twisted by politics, or that exist because I shoved my soul into your body to resurrect you. I want this to be ours. Chosen. Claimed. Etched into us by our own hands.”

I pull the Star Disc closer, flipping it so one of its sharp edges catches the starlight. It’s lethal and alive, humming with the energy of something older than fate. It’s so sharp that I wonder…

I meet Riven’s gaze and extend my left hand, palm up.

“Carve it into me.”

His eyes darken. “Are you asking me to mutilate you with a star-forged weapon?”

“I’m asking you to scar me with something sacred. Right here, where you told me you loved me under the water.” I gesture to the spot on my palm. “I want to carry it with me forever, even if we forget everything else.”

Slowly, he breaks into that dangerous smirk of his that precedes chaos. Or confessions. Or both.

“If we’re marking each other,” he says, brushing his thumb across my palm, “then I’m choosing the design. You may have the cosmic weapon, but I’m the superior artist here.”

I laugh, watching as he creates intricate frost patterns up to his elbows, as if reminding me of his creative talent.

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