Page 21 of Stolen Star

“What else do we need to know?” I ask.

“Not much.” Lysandra’s expression grows grave. “Only that the Vault doesn’t just guard the Ember. It tests those who seek it.”

“Tests how?” Riven asks, his voice tight.

“That’s all our scholars were able to find,” she replies with a shrug. “The last group who sought the Ember never returned.”

I reach for Riven’s hand, our fingers interlocking as our magics swirl together.

“We’ve survived worse,” I say to him quietly. “The Tides. The gods. Even death.”

From the way he pulls me close, I can tell he knows what I mean. He feels it in the bond—the memory of mydying body in his arms, the taste of his blood in my throat, and the fusion of our souls.

We’ll get through this, just like how we’ve gotten through every other crazy thing the universe has thrown at us these past few weeks.

From there, we continue strategizing, but my mind is already racing ahead. To the Pyros Vault, to the Ember, and to Zoey, still trapped in the Night Court.

Hold on, Zoey,I think.We’re coming for you. Just hold on a little longer, and then you’ll come back with us, and you’ll finally be home.

ZOEY

Five days have passedsince I drew my future with the blood-filled pen Aerix gifted me. Five days since I showed him where I truly belong—not cowering behind him, but riding beside him.

He’s said nothing about it.

Absolutelynothing.And while I continue to draw for him daily, I don’t draw the future anymore. I return to what I’ve always done—memories of the two of us together—of how majestic he is when he has his wings out for me to see and touch.

It pleases him… but with every day I draw, the lines grow more harsh and jagged, the page at the mercy of my anger and frustration.

No matter how much of my frustration comes out through my art, Aerix says nothing. He doesn’t even respond to the pressure I put on the harpsichord’s keyswhen I play songs I’m sure sound like far from music to his ears.

Now, I’m seated in a plush chair across from where he feeds from Sophia. Her eyes are half-closed, her expression a mix of shame and ecstasy as his fangs pierce her neck. Air magic swirls around them both, cold and controlled, but Aerix’s gaze—hungry and haunted—never leaves mine.

This has become a daily routine, but the ritual no longer disturbs me. Instead, a strange, possessive pride fills my chest. Because his mouth may be on her neck, but his attention is mine.

“Enough,” he eventually says to her, pulling away, his wings rustling behind him. “You’re dismissed.”

A thin line of blood trails down her neck, and she avoids my eyes as she presses her hair to the already healing wound.

“Not yet,” she says, surprising me. “I’d like to speak with Zoey alone.”

Aerix’s wings bristle, frost forming at his fingertips.

“Is that so?” His tone is deceptively light, but I recognize the dangerous undercurrent.

She needs to be careful what she says next.

I lean forward, curiosity burning through me as I focus on Sophia. “What do you want to talk with me about?” I ask her.

She meets my gaze directly, something defiantflickering in her eyes. “Something personal. Woman to woman.”

Aerix’s laugh is sharp and cold. “How quaint.” He crosses to me, his fingers trailing across my collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You may speak in Zoey’s quarters, if she pleases. Ten minutes.”

The question hangs between us, and I nod, unable to resist the mystery.

“Ten minutes,” I repeat, and he trails his finger along my cheek, as if he’s pleased with me.

Then, he motions at the door to my quarters, and I lead Sophia inside, the door closing behind us with a soft click.

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