Page 21 of Fallen Star

I can’t hold it back any longer.

And Riven’s too focused to notice.

So, summoning the moisture from the air, I coax it into tiny droplets and fling them toward the Stalo with as much wind power as possible.

But unlike the shadow monster, the Stalo’s skin is so hard that while the droplets pierce its shoulder and back, they don’t do much damage.

They are, however, enough to turn its attention to me.

Riven curses and slams his hand against the ground.

A wave of frost surges upward, encasing the creature’s legs once more, this time with ice so thick it cracks and groans under the strain of the Stalo’s thrashing.

From there, Riven alternates between sword strikes and ice magic, while I assault the monster with water pulled from the snow. When I’m sure Riven’s attention is elsewhere, I use subtle bursts of air to throw off the monster’s aim.

But it’s not enough. The Stalo is too tuned in—too aware of our movements, making it impossible to catch it by surprise.

Riven curses as another ice spear shatters against the Stalo’s thick hide.

Suddenly, he grabs my arm and drags me to an old, hallowed tree with space inside it for both of us—barely. “Get inside,” he says, and we dive through the opening just in time to miss getting pancaked by the Stalo’s clenched fist.

He presses his hands against the bark, and ice spreads from his fingers, reinforcing our shelter.

“Any bright ideas?” I ask, trying to ignore how close we are in this space—how his magic chills the air around us.

“Yes,” he says sharply. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You need to project. Take my sword. It’s enchanted, so it’ll be more effective than your dagger.” He hands it to me, the hilt cold and heavy in my hand. “Flash right behind the Stalo, take it by surprise, and drive the blade through its heart.”

My stomach drops, and I tighten my grip on the hilt. “Riven,” I say, scrambling for the right words. “When I project, I?—”

“I ran my sword through you, and it was like slicing through air,” he interrupts. “That thing can’t kill you when you’re in your projected form. So, flash yourself out there and kill it.Now.”

The Riven I’m looking up at right now isn’t the one who made teasing innuendos back in the cave.

This is the ice prince. The soldier who killed his knights so he could leave the Winter Court and save my life.

The monster’s fists crash into the tree again, and some of the ice around it cracks.

“Go.” Riven glares at me with so much rage that I swear he’d push me out there if it wouldn’t mean risking myactualbody.

The ice cracks further.

Without a second to spare, I look at the space behind the Stalo and project.

One second I’m inside the tree, my body pressed against Riven’s. The next, I’m standing behind the Stalo, watching it methodically hit the tree—where I just left Riven alone with my now unconscious body.

The monster doesn’t notice me standing behind it. Not yet.

Riven’s frost-covered sword hums with magic in my hands.

I rush forward, the air behind my heels, and I jump, driving the blade into the Stalo’s back, deeper and deeper, until it pierces its heart.

The Stalo roars, its body freezing mid-punch.

Frost spreads from the wound, turning the monster into an ice sculpture.

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