Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(101)

Grim raised a hand. “I didn’t make them do anything,” he said. “They chose to come with me.”

No. Liar. “Why would they ever go with you?”

At that, Grim went silent.

He wasn’t telling her something. But he didn’t have to. Pieces came together, questions finding answers.

She shook her head, unbelieving. Hoping she was wrong. “You have Poppy and Terra,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You took them in.”

Grim nodded, and her tears fell freely now. The betrayal . . .

“You know what they did to me. What they did to my parents—”

“It is unforgivable,” he said. “But you need them. You need—”

“I don’t need anyone!” The words exploded out of her. The vines on her balcony rushed through the open door, spreading like fingers, devouring the room. Shadows leaked from her feet, from her hands.

Grim’s face broke in half, into the biggest smile. “Heart, you are radiant,” he said.

Her shadows lunged at him, but he stopped them with a simple wave of his hand.

Her voice shook. “You are a monster.”

Grim frowned. “Am I?” He took a step forward. “Tell me why I’m a monster. Because I brought your people to a place with more comfort, more options, more chances of survival? Because I have them all waiting for your return?”

Her return. He made it sound like a certainty, and she nearly laughed in his face.

“Because I helped them forget what they did?”

Isla froze. “You . . . what?”

“Some of your people were suffering from endless guilt. They couldn’t get past the actions they had committed during the curses. I . . . took their memories away.”

Shadows exploded out of her. She heard the mirrors in her room shatter, but they were just white noise compared to the anger that surged through her. “How could you? Haven’t you learned?”

“They asked me to,” he said. “Are you denying your people their own choices?”

She shook her head. “Why would anyone ask you to do that?”

His face hardened. It seemed he wanted to tell her something, but instead, he changed the subject. “We made a deal . . . remember? Wildling help with nightbane, in exchange for a very vague assortment of whatever your people needed.” He shrugged. “I was simply making good on it.”

Isla curled her lip in disgust. “I suppose you think that makes you generous, don’t you? Helping my people? You are not. You are a monster. You portaled the dreks here. They killed dozens of people, innocents—”

Grim bared his teeth. “I did no such thing. I told you before, dreks were buried below Lightlark and Nightshade. They must have started rising up, the same way they did on Nightshade.”

“They went to your land, like they were called—”

“I didn’t call them. They must have sensed their kind.”

“You control them,” she said. “I know you have the sword.”

At that, Grim studied her. “I do. But I did not order them to attack Lightlark. I swear it.”

Her mouth went dry. There it was. Confirmation that Grim had gotten the sword. And, somehow, he had found a way to use it.

Even if he didn’t order the attack, she had endless reasons to hate him. “You are coming to kill everyone on the island. You will murder thousands of innocents just to get it. You sent a message of ruin, of destruction—”

“No. I’m not. I warned everyone here, which is more than they deserve. They can either leave . . . or join us. It is their choice. No one has to die.”

It was almost heartbreaking how he really believed this. If only he knew what she had seen. All the death that would result from his own hand.

Her own death.

“Do you really think anyone would give up their home without fighting?”

“When fighting is futile . . . I do.”

Isla was filled with rage. Hurt.

“Heart,” he said gently. “If I wanted to take the island by force, I could. Right now. Destroy all of it and everyone, in a matter of seconds. The curses are over.” She could feel the power of him, especially now. Every ounce of it, so much waiting to be unleashed.

His eyes dipped to her neck, where her necklace had become visible, where her fingers had instinctively gone, and she ripped her hand away. “Take this off,” she said.

A wicked grin spread across Grim’s face. “You remember, do you? No . . . No,” he said. He prowled closer. Closer. “If you did, you would know I cannot.”

Talking to him wasn’t working. She could see in the set of his mouth, his eyes, he was intent on invading Lightlark. She shook her head. “Grim, please. If you care about me at all, please don’t do this.”

Grim smiled softly then. He reached out. “Heart,” he said, his voice as gentle as she had ever heard it. His fingers traced her cheek, from her temple to her lips. She was trembling—why was she trembling? “It’s because I care about you that I’m doing this.”

And then he was gone.


. . .

Isla knew what she needed to do.

Remlar was having tea in his hive. A tree grew beneath her, taking her to its highest floor, and she walked through the gaps, right to his makeshift throne. Vines were crawling in her wake, mixing with shadows.