Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(14)

“Fifty-four are critically injured,” Oro said.

“We will provide healers.”

Oro nodded. “You’ve visited the oracle, I presume. Were you able to wake her?”

The oracle was on Moon Isle and only rarely chose to unthaw. The Moonling shook her head no.

Oro would know if she was lying. “We all know this was likely an attack from Nightshade. We need our realms united. Where do you stand?” he demanded.

“I haven’t made my decision to stay or to leave.”

Oro’s expression did not shift an inch. He had been expecting this. “What is the true purpose of your army and ships?”

“To protect Moonling’s interests when I do make my decision.”

“Make it soon,” Oro said. “This is not the time to flee to your newland.”

Azul spoke up. “Cleo, you aren’t actually considering leaving.”

Cleo whipped to face him, her dress a white puddle beneath her feet that shifted, liquidous. “We have long been too dependent on this land. The curses are broken. It could be an opportunity for more. Perhaps the island should fall.”

Azul stared, unbelieving. “If Lightlark falls, the realms will follow. Our power is strongest here. Our future is here.”

Isla remembered what Azul had told her during the Centennial—Cleo hadn’t attended the previous one.

This was not a sudden decision. Cleo had thought about leaving for a while. Why? It didn’t make sense.

Oro’s eyes were pure intensity. “If we go to battle with Nightshade, which side will you be on?” Leaving Lightlark for the Moonling newland was one thing . . . choosing to stand against it was another.

Cleo raised her head. Her chin pointed in the king’s direction, sharp as her tone. “The winning one.”

A hundred-foot wave crashed against the cliff, spilling onto its lip, right over the Moonling ruler.

When the water pulled back, she was gone.


The Moonling healers had never seen anything like the drek wounds. They were able to slow the decaying of the skin, but, in the end, her Wildling elixirs were what was able to remove the marks completely. She portaled back to her newland several times throughout the night, and her people had willingly given their own stores of the elixir. They were down to just a small patch of the rare flowers.

Most people were saved. The rest had succumbed to their wounds. Isla walked to her room slowly, Oro at her side. The moon trailed them both through the windows as they made their way up the castle stairs.

She leaned against her door when they reached her room. “Cleo called them dreks. Have you heard of them before?”

“No. Moonlings have always prized their histories and historians. She might have read about them.” He was studying her again. She had caught him doing it, every few minutes, since the attack. It was as if he needed to constantly reassure himself that she was uninjured.

“I’m fine,” she said gently. She looked down at herself and winced. She was covered in blood, after helping the healers. It wasn’t hers.

“I know,” he said, but his brow didn’t straighten. Worry was etched into each of his features, and not just for her, she knew.

“You did everything you could,” she said, reaching up to touch his face, because she was known for giving far more grace to others than to herself. Her fingers were covered in blood—she dropped her hand before it reached his cheek. “Those creatures . . .”

Oro closed his eyes. She would bet he was replaying the events in his mind. When he opened them, she saw guilt in his expression. He blamed himself for every single death.

She wanted to take that pain. She wanted to think of anything that could make him feel better.

Before she could say anything else, he brushed his lips to the crown of her head and said, “Goodnight, Isla.”





RISING UP


It was the middle of the night when the balcony doors to Isla’s room burst open. The ocean rose like a hand, and it dragged her out of bed.

She gasped in shock, salt water scorching her throat and nose and lungs. Her shirt scrunched up, her stomach raked against the stone terrace, and she had enough good sense to cling to the balcony pillars, but the sea was too strong. It pulled her hundreds of feet down, straight to its depths.

She choked on lungsful of water, sure she was going to die, until her vision went dark.

When it returned, she was on her knees, hearing the word, “Now,” and then the water was being pulled back out of her as quickly as it had been inhaled, salt scraping against her throat.

The high ceiling was stone. Stalactites hung from the top, sharp as icicles. She was underground. No one would hear her screams. Her eyes still burned from the sea, but she blinked frantically past the sting, looking for a way out. Shadows glinted all around, and suddenly her captors came into focus. They were wearing masks—monstrous red masks that hid their faces completely.

Her kidnapper and the one who had revived her were clearly Moonling; they had to be, to use the sea to their advantage as they had. The rest were not.

Isla spotted the blue hair of Skyling. The gold and red tresses of Sunling. No Starlings she could see. Their clothes were all the same shade: beige. A color that had not officially been claimed by any of the realms.

“Are you sure?” She could just make out the words of a muffled voice. “Perhaps if we waited—”