Page 166 of Cold Stars Midnight Glow

When I’ve finished, the view through the archway—the broken castle courtyard with the destroyed fence—falls away.

In its place, Basten and I stare at a river valley.

This one, however, holds no glistening lake, no leafy trees.

It’s a shell of what it once was.

Bones and rot.

I set Tòrr’s horn down carefully at my feet and press my hands together. I draw in a breath, letting the ancient knowledge his monoceros blood awakened in me settle into my core.

Slowly, my silver fey spreads from my feet, along the broken mosaic tiles, bleeding through the portal into the poisoned Lunden Valley.

As my fey crackles over the wrecked earth, grass sprouts in its wake. The barren lake gleams once more with blue shimmering waves, as a trout jumps with a splash. Leaves burst to life on the skeletal tree branches, welcoming the birds that sweep in to settle there.

I turn to Basten, leaning into his steadying weight, with tears in my eyes.

“I can’t bring back those who died,” I whisper. “The cursed souls Woudix manipulated into terrorizing the city. But it’s a thriving, living valley again for everyone who lost their homes. Not just the refugees in Norhelm. The birds who lost their nests. The animals who had to flee their dens.”

He cups my cheek in his hand, gazing into my eyes with awe and love—and a touch of unease. “The Fae Court isn’t going to let this go. They’re going to come back at us with every army they can gather, fae and mortal alike.”

I let out a long breath. “I know. I’d hoped for peace. For a balance between fae and the mortal world. But now I see that I have to choose—and I’ll choose this every time. Humanity. Nature. Animals.” I look into his eyes. “You.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead and lets it linger, flooding me with something more than his devotion.

With love, always.

“I choose you, too,” he says. “Together. Always. Against any damn storm coming our way.”

Epilogue

SABINE

Through Basten’s love, I feel a change.

No—a new phase. Like a caterpillar shedding its old form, again and again, until a moth lifts itself for the first time into the night.

It’s something that’s always been there, I think. Something I could call forth when needed, but I was too deafened by the mortal world to hear it.

My bones shift and slide along my back in a way that isn’t painful so much as it’spowerful. My fey lines flare and blister along the sharp curve of my shoulder blades.

I drop to my knees, tearing at my gown. Shove the neckline down over one shoulder until my bare back is exposed. I clutch the scraps of fabric to my chest as I heave a breath.

Basten kneels beside me, his touch sure and grounding.

“It’s okay, Sabine. Let them come.”

And they come. They break free. Delicate, powdery soft as a moth’s, the same stone-white color as Myst’s fur—unfurling intothe beam of sunlight that shines like a spotlight down on mywings.

END OF BOOK FOUR