SAPPHIRE
Circe leadsus through the dense forest, each step taking us deeper into the heart of the island.
The path is narrow, trees pressing in from both sides, their twisted limbs blackened and brittle as if scorched by fire long ago. The air here is different, too. Heavier, with an electric hum.
“The ritual site is sacred,” Circe explains as we walk, flames dancing above her palm to illuminate our way. “It’s one of the few places where the veil between the mortal realm and the Underworld thins enough to allow communication with the dead.”
I follow her closely, keeping my distance from Riven, who trails behind.
“The ritual will summon those who hold the knowledge you seek,” Circe continues as we walk. “You’ll each be granted one question. Choose wisely—the dead do not suffer fools, and they have little patience for those who waste their time.”
“One question each?” Riven asks, measured and thoughtful. “That seems limited.”
Circe laughs, the sound echoing through the trees. “The dead are not at your beck and call,” she says. “They sometimes stayfor a full conversation, but they offer wisdom at their discretion—not yours.”
The path opens into a clearing, and I stop short at the sight before us. Unlike the lush forest surrounding it, this space is barren—the ground charred black, the trees at its edges bent, as if cowering away from the perfect circle of white stones in the center.
But it’s not the appearance of the clearing that makes my heart race. It’s the sounds. Whispers drifting through the air like smoke, speaking words just beyond comprehension.
“You hear them,” Circe observes, watching my reaction. “The echoes of those who have passed. They’re always strongest here, even without a formal summoning.”
“I do,” I reply, and when I glance at Riven, the single nod he gives me shows that he does, too.
“I’ll ask about the Star Disc,” he tells me, steady and determined. “You should use your question to ask about Zoey.”
I narrow my eyes, suspicion flaring.
“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “What’s your angle?”
“There is no angle,” he says calmly, although frost crackles at his fingertips. “It’s strategy.”
“How convenient that your strategy lets you look so selfless while still getting what you want,” I reply, wind stirring around me.
“You don’t have to take the offer if you don’t want to.” He shrugs, his expression carefully neutral. “I just thought you’d be able to focus better on our mission if you know Zoey is safe.”
The casual dismissal stings, even though I know he’s not wrong.
“Fine,” I say shortly, since I’m not going to throw away this opportunity, especially not out of spite for Riven. “I’ll ask about Zoey.”
“If you two are finished,” Circe interrupts, her tone amused, “we should begin preparations. The witching hour approaches, and the veil grows thinnest as midnight passes.”
She gestures for us to follow her to the edge of the circle, where she kneels beside a flat stone that serves as a makeshift altar.
“Place your offerings here,” she instructs. “The barley mixed with honey, the cup, the wine—all of it. I’ll fetch a pig.”
Riven retrieves the items from our pack, laying them out on the stone, both of us intensely aware of the squeal that echoes through the forest as Circe selects a pig.
The undergrowth rustles as she returns, carrying a black-spotted one.
“He will serve our purpose,” she says as she kneels, tenderly stroking his head as she sets him in the center of the circle. “The blood of a sacrifice, to bridge the worlds of the living and the dead.”
I nod, steeling myself for what comes next. After all, since my potion-making abilities are stronger than Riven’s, it makes sense for me to complete this critical step. Just like how I was the one to do it with the dove.
I reach for the ceremonial dagger—one of the two daggers that the cloaked girl gave us—but before my fingers can close around the hilt, Riven swipes it out of my reach and completes the task with swift efficiency. So quickly and cleanly that the pig had no time to feel fear or pain.
Circe smirks slightly. “How merciful of you,” she muses, tilting her head at Riven. “You took his life quickly. No hesitation, no suffering. Not many show such respect for a life taken.”
Riven wipes the blade clean and steps back, refusing to look at me.
