Page 57 of Broken Star

The realization is more painful than his ice-covered sword would have been if I hadn’t been in my projected form when he ran it through my chest.

“Odysseus was far less forthright about his intentions,” Circe continues, seemingly oblivious to my internal struggle. “Now tell me—how did you get the herb?”

“A messenger gave it to us,” I break in, not in the mood to listen to Riven speak anymore. “She found us before we left the mortal realm. She also told us to tell you that we seek no path, no descent—only the wisdom of those once forged in flesh.”

Circe stills, her amusement fading.

“The wisdom of the dead,” she says, as if testing the words on her tongue. “A dangerous pursuit.”

I tense. “What does that mean?”

“Since you were chosen by a goddess, I see no reason to drag this out,” she says, fire dancing along her fingertips again. “And since neither of you seem inclined to partake in a meal, we can skip the pleasantries.”

Riven folds his arms. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning,” she says, arching a brow, “that you didn’t come here for food or hospitality. You came seeking answers. And you’ll find them by speaking with spirits from the Underworld. After all, the dead know far more than the living. And unlike the living, they have no reason to lie.”

The words send an icy prickle down my spine.

Riven looks unfazed.

Of course, he does. Since he was already aware of the moly and what it would do, he likely already figured out what the riddle meant, too. And then proceeded tonot tell me.

I turn back to Circe, unable to keep looking at Riven without blasting a gust of wind at him to knock his smug self onto the sand.

“Will you help us?” I ask the sorceress, keeping my voice steady through the anger brewing inside me.

“I have no interest in angering the star goddess. So yes, I will help you,” she says, and then she goes on to list the ingredients we’ll need—the majority of which we already have.

They’re the ones the cloaked girl gave us, which I proceed to explain to Circe.

“The only thing we don’t have is the blood,” I finish. “She didn’t give us anything to sacrifice.”

Which is likely a good thing, since there’s basically a one hundred percent chance that I would have given in to the hunger and feasted on the animal before we arrived at the island.

“Not to worry,” Circe says, her golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. “There are plenty of pigs here for the sacrifice. Now, we have no time to waste. Follow me, and we’ll head to the location where we’ll conduct the ritual.”

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 stay for 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.”

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