Page 73 of Broken Star

Riven steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he studies the water. “Something’s wrong,” he says, stating the obvious.

“You think?” I ask as I scan the horizon.

Suddenly, the pigs squeal in terror and bolt for the cabin.

“They sense it, too.” Riven grips the railing, frost spreading from his fingertips onto the ghostly surface. “Something’s coming.”

As if in response, ripples begin to form in the ocean, spreading outward like raindrops.

Riven’s posture shifts, his body coiling with tension as he unsheathes his sword. “We should prepare to?—”

He never finishes.

Because a flash of silver streaks across the sky. A falling star, plummeting toward the sea.

My breath catches as it slows and drifts the rest of the way down to the ocean, hovering above the surface, its light pulsing in perfect rhythm with the others overhead.

Soon, another falls. Then another, until dozens of stars are descending in rapid succession, forming brilliant, sparkling constellations on the water.

And then, to my utter and complete amazement, a waterfall flows from the full moon’s glowing surface, merging with the ocean in a whispering hush, its silver tendrils spiraling out into a celestial whirlpool.

But it’s not a violent, churning whirlpool. It’s slow and steady, stretching the ocean apart and peeling back its surface like a curtain, revealing a shimmering void underneath.

The Charydian Rift.

It’s the most beautiful, mesmerizing thing I’ve ever seen.

“We need to stay together,” Riven says, reaching for my wrist and closing his fingers around it.

Pain slices through me as memories flood my mind.

His mocking tone when he proposed our political marriage, the cruelty in his voice when he told me I meant nothing to him, the disgust in his eyes the first time he saw me drinking blood…

They hit like knives, each one twisting deeper, shattering the already broken pieces of my heart.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, wrenching my wrist free.

His eyes flash with hurt—or something darker—but then it’s gone, buried beneath cold frustration.

“This isn’t the time for you to unleash your undying hatred on me,” he bites out, although his voice quickly softens, turning quiet and desperate. “Whatever pain my touch brings, you need to push through it. Because we can’t be separated in the Tides. I can’t lose you. And you don’t have to trust me, forgive me, love me, or see me as anything but a cold-hearted monster. I just need you safe. I need you here. Withme.”

My breath catches, his words carving through every wall I’ve tried to build.

Because he’s breaking. Maybe I am, too.

And so, before I can second-guess myself, I grab his hand.

The memories strike, sharp and searing. But this time, I brace for them. And, thank the gods, they don’t destroy me.

“Don’t let go,” he says, his fingers tightening around mine.

“Trust me,” I manage, somehow able to speak through the ache in my chest. “I’m not about to float off into the cosmic void alone.”

And then gravity tilts, sending us front-first into the swirling vortex below.

The ship glides downward with eerie control, as if a cosmic hand is guiding our descent. It’s like we’re in a glowing, star-filled waterspout, where time has stopped and sped up all at once.

The pigs are nowhere to be seen. They’re probably huddling belowdecks—if they haven’t already been consumed by the Tides.

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