Page 30 of Stolen Star

“Thalia,” Lysandra calls. “Step forward.”

Thalia approaches, and I catch it again—a tightness in her brow.

“Do you accept these terms?” Lysandra asks her.

“I do, Your Majesty,” she answers, her voice steady despite whatever I saw in her expression a moment earlier.

Their hands clasp, and again, the water seals the deal.

But I’m watching her now. Closely. And I won’t stop.

“Now,” Lysandra continues, pivoting with court-perfect grace, “we must discuss your journey to the Pyros Vault. Because as you know, its mortal realm counterpart in Mount Etna lies in Italy—a distance that could take weeks, or even months, to traverse in the mystical realm. Therefore, you will cross into the mortal realm and travel from New York to Italy by private plane.”

“By plane?” Thalia scoffs. “And who, exactly, is going to fly this plane? Last I checked, most fae don’t have pilot’s licenses.”

I smirk despite myself. Because her distaste is common among our kind—especially those too old or too proud to adapt.

The idea of surrendering control to a metal contraption powered by combustion? Unthinkable.

Lysandra gives Thalia a small, somewhat understanding smile.

“I know someone who does,” the queen says. “T has flown for the Summer Court, the vampire kingdoms, and several shifter territories. She’s efficient, discreet, and utterly unflappable.”

I exchange a glance with Sapphire, feeling her uncertainty through our bond. It mirrors my own. I’m not quite as accustomed to the mortal realm as I’ve had her believe, and while she was raised there, international travel wasn’t exactly part of her experience in Presque Isle. As far as I’m aware, she’s never been on a plane at all.

She simply gives me a small, encouraging smile, then shifts her focus back to Lysandra.

“When do we leave?” she asks, her voice steady despite her fear.

Love for her rushes through me all over again. It’s the type of love that doesn’t just make me vulnerable, but that makes me willing.

Willing to suffer. To fall. To be her blade, her shield, and her ruin. Anything, so long as I’mhers.

“The veil between realms opens in less than an hour. T will be waiting in Central Park, and from there, she’ll take you directly to a private airfield. Retrieve the Ember and return to us as quickly as possible,” Lysandra says, and she approaches Sapphire, placing her hands on her shoulders in a gesture that would seem motherly, if not for the calculation in her eyes. “The fate of all realms depends on your success.”

RIVEN

It’s nearlysix in the morning, the time when the veil between realms will thin and the four of us can enter the human realm. The air is cold and dark, the horizon still star-streaked in that eerie hour before dawn, where even the Summer Court feels subdued.

Ghost and Nebula stand next to us, their eyes fixed on us with solemn understanding. They won’t be coming.

Leaving our familiars behind will be necessary, since the mortal realm will weaken their magic. Plus, fae already dislike planes—a giant snow leopard and cheetah would absolutely despise it.

“One minute,” Lysandra counts down, and then the world is shimmering around us, my skin tingling as the magic takes hold and the world fades away, bringing us from the mystical realm to the mortal realm.

My skin tingles, my senses twist, and then—just like that—we’re somewhere else.

My hand, of course, stayed in Sapphire’s the entire time. It tends to gravitate toward her, even when I don’t realize it. I think some part of me would lose control if we weren’t connected. And through the bond, I know she wants me as badly as I need her.

The end of February in New York is nothing like the Summer Court. Everything isdeadin comparison, the trees bare, the grass muted. But it’s more than that. Because the air in the mortal realm feels wrong—thick and dull, lacking the vibrant currents of magic that permeate the fae courts.

“Everyone stay alert,” Maeris commands, water forming into pointed droplets that hover around his wrists, ready to strike if needed. “T should be waiting near the park’s exit.”

Thalia takes the lead, her silver-white hair almost luminescent in the darkness.

I watch her closely, that momentary hesitation during the oath-taking lingering in my mind like a splinter beneath skin.

Sapphire pauses next to me, flexing her fingers.

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