Page 67 of Stolen Star

“First Maeris, now Thalia.” His voice is too calm. Too flat. Like if he lets it shake, he might never stop. “TwoSummer Court warriors dead because of me. This isn’t the best publicity statement for my new position as the Summer Prince, is it?”

Unlike usual, his wry sarcasm isn’t enough to cover his pain.

“No,” I turn to face him fully, gripping his arms. “This wasn’t your fault. Any of it. Thalia made her choice—just like Maeris did. They died for their court—forourcourt. For their duty.”

He just shakes his head. Not in defiance, and not in disagreement, but in refusal.

Refusal to believe. Refusal to feel. Refusal to let me see what it’s doing to him. And my heart hurts when I feel the bond mute slightly again, like ice re-forming over something cracked beneath.

Next to us, the Ember of Prometheus glows with ancient fire, bathing us in its otherworldly light. It pulses before us—once, then again—like it’s alive. Like it knows what it cost to be claimed.

“It’s responding to us,” I whisper, water swirling around my fingertips, ready to react if the flame turns hostile.

Riven steps closer, frost patterns forming beautiful, intricate designs across his palms. “Then let’s not keep it waiting,” he says, glancing at my satchel, where I’m keeping the container Lysandra provided us.

The vessel is deceptively simple—a crystal orb nolarger than my palm, etched with ancient runes that pulse with summer magic. And when I open the lid, the firecomesto it. It’s like Pandora’s Box, but backward—instead of escaping, the fire is hurrying inside.

Once it’s all safely tucked away, the container seals with a soft hiss, the runes flaring and settling into a steady glow.

Riven and I are staring at it in awe when a violent shudder ripples through the chamber, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the platform beneath our feet.

“I think the Vault doesn’t appreciate us taking its treasure,” I say, securing the container in my satchel.

Riven’s gaze drifts to the spot where Thalia disappeared, his expression hardening—masking something that wants to crack through.

“We need to move,” he says. “Now.”

On the far side of the chamber, a narrow bridge of crumbling stone extends from our platform, arching over the lava toward what looks like an exit tunnel.

“That doesn’t look stable,” I say, eyeing the thin walkway with distrust.

“It’s not,” Riven agrees. “But it’s our only way out. I’ll reinforce the stone with ice for as long as possible. You keep your air magic beneath us. If the bridge starts collapsing, focus on lifting us upward, not forward. Okay?”

“Okay.” I nod and summon my air magic, wrapping itaround us both as we step onto the brittle bridge. With each step, stone cracks beneath our weight, pieces breaking away to sizzle in the magma below.

Riven moves ahead, frost spreading from his feet to reinforce the stone. “Stay close,” he calls over his shoulder. “My ice won’t hold for long in this heat.”

I focus on keeping us stable, using currents of air to balance our weight and take pressure off the crumbling path. The bridge groans with each step, the sound echoing through the chamber.

We’re halfway there. Not much longer?—

A violent quake rips through the Vault, the pedestal where the Ember hovered splitting open, lava surging upward in a towering column. The stone beneath us begins to dissolve, Riven’s ice magic barely holding it together.

“Run!” he shouts, grabbing my hand.

We sprint across the disintegrating bridge, air and ice magic working frantically to keep us from plunging into the bubbling death below. My lungs burn with each breath, the heat intensifying as the Vault continues to collapse around us.

The platform ahead is just out of reach when the bridge finally gives way.

I push with everything I have—a desperate surge of air magic—propelling us forward.

We land hard on the edge of the platform, rolling to safety as the bridge crumbles behind us.

Panting, I look back at the ruined chamber, the Ember secure against my side.

“We made it,” I gasp, relief flooding through me.

But the relief is short-lived. Because the pedestal—now split in two—erupts in a fountain of molten rock, and a monstrous form rises from the fiery column, born of fire and stone.

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