Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(112)

Isla took a step back. The tip of the sword shrieked against her floor. “Wh—what do you mean?”

His eyes softened. “It’s rare, but non-rulers can have flairs,” he said. “My general had one.” His voice was gentle. “He was impervious to curses.”

The one who had made his charm.

Tears stung her eyes before she even knew what he meant, like her body had put everything together before her mind could process it.

“He was your father, Isla,” he said.

“No.”

That would mean—it would mean—

“I’m not Nightshade.”

Grim smiled. “But you are. You are.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

“I believe your father did find the sword. But he always feared I would one day share my father’s ambitions and use the dreks to conquer Lightlark.” He frowned. “He must have met your mother. And clearly . . .”

“Why would he think that?” she demanded. Her father had gone to great lengths to make sure Grim couldn’t get the sword. He must have had a good reason. She remembered what Grim had told her. “Why did your father want Lightlark so badly?”

“Lightlark is a miniature,” Grim said. “The creators of the island fled a world made up of different countries. Moonling, to the very north, buried in the ice. Sunling at the center, where the sun shined brightest. Wildling close by. Skyling, then Starling, then Nightshade at the opposite end, where it was darkest and coldest. They took thousands here, to another world, and created a smaller version of the one they left behind.”

She had never heard of that. It sounded impossible.

“Cronan, my own ancestor, wanted to go back, after he was cast out from Lightlark. But the portal is built into its foundation. Using it successfully would mean destroying the island.”

“Why doesn’t anyone know about this?” she demanded. Poppy and Terra had never mentioned any of it in her history lessons.

“Only the ancient creatures remain from that world. Over time, the information was lost, but not by Nightshade. Though, my people never attempted to try to seek out the portal again until I was born.”

“Why?”

“I have the same flair as Cronan. Portaling. The portal doesn’t work on its own, it requires someone with my skill.”

The destruction of Lightlark . . . it would doom thousands of people to death. “Why would anyone ever want to go back to that other world?”

“I don’t,” he said. “We went to war over the portal, but after the curses, when my father died, I abandoned the search myself. I only needed the sword after the dreks became a problem, to stop them.”

“Does anyone else know about the portal?”

Grim nodded. “Only one other ruler that I know of. Cleo. She is . . . very interested in using it.”

That was how Grim had the Moonling medicine. Cleo was helping him for a reason. She was trying to persuade him.

“Why would she want that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “She wants to go to that world, for some reason.”

“You won’t do it, though, will you?”

“No. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. The portal is in the Wildling palace on Lightlark. Only a Wildling ruler can open it.”

She would never do that. Tears stung her eyes. She would never doom an entire island of people.

Her throat felt tight. She finally had answers. Though, part of her wished she hadn’t asked any questions. She was happier, she thought, living in ignorance.

“Here,” she said, flinging the sword at him. She wanted to stab him with it.

Grim caught the sword and leaned it against her wall. “I told you. I don’t want to use it anymore.”

“Right,” she said, her voice cruel. “The cost is too high. Tell me the truth now,” she demanded. “What was the cost?”

“Your life.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, all she could do was stare at him as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. “My . . . life?” Her voice broke on the last word.

“I needed you to use your flair to break the curse on the sword,” he said. “It was an ancient curse. Breaking it would have either killed you on the spot, or significantly shortened your life.”

Her world had just smashed against a rock. Everything she thought she knew was shattered.

“You knew from the very beginning,” she said. Tears were hot down her cheeks. “You knew when we made the deal. That’s why you made it. You knew it might kill me. You probably weren’t even planning on going to the Centennial at all.”

He didn’t try to deny it. “That was before I knew you,” he said. “Before . . . all this happened.”

She didn’t care. She could barely even see; her tears had made everything look distorted, and she didn’t mind, because she didn’t want to look at him. “Goodbye, Grim,” she said. “I never want to see you again.”

Silence.

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

He closed his eyes against the words. For a while, he didn’t say anything. Then, very slowly, as if he was still trying to make sense of his own emotions, he said, “I’ve been stabbed a thousand times . . . but none of that hurts more than hearing you say goodbye.”