Page 84 of Fading Sun

“The ring can only be removed if we perform the ceremony to end our marriage,” he explains. “It will leave a scar on your finger, marking you as untrustworthy to every vampire in the world. Such a mark will ostracize you from our kind.”

“You forget that I’m not one of your kind.” She holds his gaze, not backing down. “I’m not a vampire. I’m Star Touched.”

“You’re the queen of the most powerful vampire clan in the country,” he says. “And, most importantly, you’re my wife. You will not remove that ring. Not now, and not ever.”

They stare each other down like wolves asserting their dominance, their chests rising and falling at the same time, as if they’re connected by far more than the matching rings on their fingers.

“I’m not here to help you mend your marital problems,” the Buddha says, breaking the moment between them. “I’m here to receive your sacrifices. So, Star Touched—what else do you have to offer?”

Amber turns away from Damien and pulls out her dagger, weighing it in her hand, the blade glinting in the light.

“This dagger has saved my life countless times,” she says, her voice soft as she examines the blade. “But there’s nothing about it that specifically ties it to me. It’s replaceable. Which means it might not be enough.”

“Very wise,” the Buddha says, and Amber puts the dagger back into its sheath, looking proud that the Buddha agreed with her decision.

Damien looks far from pleased.

He’s as rigid as ever as he stares at Amber. If he had fire magic, I’d worry he was about to combust her into flames.

He’s pissed at her for nearly sacrificing her ring.

His feelings for her run deeper than she realizes. I hope—for both their sakes—that they mend the gap between them soon.

Although, it’s more than a gap.

It’s a chasm.

It’s going to take a lot of effort on both their ends to fill it.

Next, Amber removes a photo of her with her grandmother, taken in front of a tree in her backyard in Vermont when she was young. The photo is worn, its edges curled from being handled so often.

She’ll eventually learn the truth about the day her grandmother died. I’ve seen it, though admittedly unclearly, in my visions.

But today is not that day.

Amber looks at the photo for a long moment, conflicted. “I have other photos of her,” she decides, more to herself than to any of us. “Digital copies, too. This one isn’t irreplaceable.”

With a sigh, she places the photo back in her pack, examining the other items inside it.

Then, finally, she pulls out the amber crystals she used to get us through the previous challenges. She turns them over in her hands, the golden light reflecting off their surfaces, casting a prism of colors across her face.

“These,” she says, stepping closer to the bowl. “They’re amber, which means they’re specifically tied to me. We wouldn’t be here right now if not for them. We might need them in upcoming challenges, or we might not. Therefore, this isn’t just a sacrifice of the objects themselves, but also of our possible safety moving forward.”

Without looking for our approval, she drops the crystals into the giant bowl. One by one, they plop into the gold liquid, which swirls and brightens, consuming the crystals entirely.

“Accepted,” the Buddha says.

Amber steps back, relieved.

Damien refuses to look at her.

Blaze moves forward, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small, ornate penknife.

It’s the one he used before he got the Crimson Quill. His father gave it to him when he was a child, and he used it during the ill-fated attempt to turn his mother into a witch. He also used it to heal me after the Tatzelwurm’s deadly bite—the spell that left the wind’s whispers in my mind, urging me to kill him.

He holds it up, turning it over in his hands. “This penknife has been with me through everything,” he says. “It’s the tool I used for blood magic before I received the Crimson Quill. And I don’t want it anymore.”

“Is it truly a sacrifice if it’s something you already wanted to get rid of?” I ask before he has a chance to throw it into the bowl.

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