The chamber was circular, its walls lined with shelves that held books, scrolls, and objects that defied easy description. Candles floated in the air, their flames casting warm light that contrasted with the cold silver of the stairwell. And in the center of the room, standing beside a table covered in star charts and ancient texts, was Bastian Nightcore.
He was not what Catalina had expected.
She'd imagined someone ancient and withered, bent with the weight of centuries. Instead, Bastian appeared to be in his early thirties, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes that were an impossible shade of violet. He was tall and lean, dressed in robes of deep midnight blue that seemed to shift and shimmer as he moved. There was an otherworldly quality to him—something in the way he he
