SAPPHIRE
Riven asksZythara more questions about how to get to the Night Court, which I note as well, given my sudden gift at navigating by the stars. He’s intensely thorough about it, ensuring that whenever we try to find the Night Court, we don’t get lost. He also asks about the rulers of the court, and other questions about how the court operates.
There are a lot of details to keep track of.
“Why were you in the Wandering Wilds?” he eventually asks Zythara.
“I was sent here on an errand,” she replies.
“What kind of errand?”
“The king wanted a winter fae,” she says. “I was heading to the border to find one.”
Riven sucks in a sharp breath, clearly shocked by this information.
“How many winter fae have the night fae taken?” he asks. “And what happens to them when they’re there?”
“I don’t keep count.” She holds his gaze, challenging him to push her further. “But the queen has turned at least twenty since the Harvest Moon. Probably more.”
Horror and rage war in Riven’s eyes.
Did Zythara just shock the Winter Prince speechless?
“What does the Night Court want with winter fae?” I ask, since we’re getting close to hitting our time limit, and we don’t have a second to waste.
“Power,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We no longer want to remain concealed in the shadows, scared that when others learn of our existence, they’ll wipe us out because they fear the unknown. So, given our small numbers compared to the Winter and Summer Courts, we want power. Pure, endless power.”
“Your kind already has both air magic and water magic,” Riven says, and frost crawls up his arms, as if he’s growing restless. “How much more power could you gain?”
“The power of the Revenants.” Zythara raises her chin, as if these Revenants are things to be worshipped and feared. “When Ambrogio regains his full strength, we’ll join the Blood Coven—which we’ve been aligned with for nearly a year—and he’ll turn us into Revenants.”
“Who’s Ambrogio?” I ask.
“Ambrogio is the key to all of this.” Zythara tilts her head as much as she can in her ice prison, her expression mocking. “He’s the first vampire.”
“The one whose son turned your queen,” Riven says, studying her as he pieces it all together.
“Yes. That one,” she says, and my mind spins, desperate to learn how this all might affect Zoey.
“What will happen to the humans of the Night Court if you all join?—”
A sharp crack interrupts my words, and the ice around Zythara’s body begins to splinter, the magic of our deal reaching its end.
Our hour is up.
My throat tightens with desperation. Because there’s so much more I need to know.
Why do I have the same powers as the night fae? Am I one of them? Am I a descendant of this Ambrogio, too? Could I have been unknowingly turned by him? Or maybe I was too young when it happened to remember? Is this darkness—this insistent hunger—something I can learn to control, or will I be a slave to it forever?
The questions swirl in my mind, and I’m drowning in them, unable to separate them into coherent thoughts.
Not like it matters, since I’ve run out of time to ask.
“Time to fulfill your end of the bargain,” Riven says, pulling out the vial of relaxation potion.
He kneels next to Zythara, uncaps the vial, and holds it to her lips.
She drinks without resistance.
