Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(36)
Isla shook her head. This isle needed far more help than she had realized.
A thought prodded at her. “Why haven’t you let Cinder leave Star Isle?”
Maren looked at her with what could only be described as contempt. “I told you all during the dinner. During the curses, the other isles treated Starlings as disposable. Our lifetimes are—or have been—just a blink compared to others’. We were often taken. Abused. Killed, even. Especially since many of us haven’t learned to wield . . . there’s not much in the way of protecting ourselves.”
“Not anymore,” Isla promised. “I won’t let anyone harm any of you,” she said, and she meant it, though she didn’t know how she was going to keep that promise.
Maren smiled, but it was tight, like she didn’t quite believe her.
When she returned to the castle, Oro was waiting for her. His posture was rigid, as if worry had hardened his body into stone. His eyes lit in relief when she approached. “How did it go?” he asked.
She let him into her room and told him everything. He listened and asked a few questions, but she could feel him studying her. Finally, he took her hand. Smoothed his thumb across it. “I’m worried about you,” he said.
Isla frowned. She motioned toward herself. “Oro, I’m fine—”
“You’re not sleeping well . . . it doesn’t seem like you’re eating well either . . . You seem haunted,” Oro said. “What is haunting you, Isla?”
Her mouth fell closed. She wanted to tell him. She really did. But part of her thought if she said the words aloud, it would make the memories more real, and they would come at her at full force. She didn’t want to remember. She just wanted them to stop.
Oro was right, though. She was being haunted.
It wasn’t what was haunting her, but who.
She didn’t want to think about Grim right now. The only time her thoughts of him stopped was when she was with Oro.
She took a step toward him, and she changed the subject. “I missed you, the last few days,” she said, and it was the truth. Spending time with the Wildlings was important, but she had started to expect Oro’s presence. He was always there for her. So patient when they practiced. Even now, he recognized the signs that she wasn’t fine, when no one else did. He knew her.
Isla wanted to know him.
“I missed you too,” Oro said, looking surprised the words had fallen out of his mouth. He frowned, clearly frustrated that she had shifted the conversation.
She stared at his mouth. That mouth. How was it possible that they both knew they loved each other, yet they hadn’t so much as kissed?
Her heart began beating unsteadily. She wanted to know what it was like to touch him. She wanted to feel his heat against her bare body as they explored each other’s every inch in the dark.
Before she could say or do any of the things that had raced across her mind, Oro pressed his lips against the top of her head, said, “You need to rest,” and left.
She might have been more annoyed if he wasn’t right. Her body felt like it weighed a million pounds.
That night, she was so exhausted, she fell into her deepest sleep in weeks.
BEFORE
Isla was a fool.
That was what her own mind told herself, anyway, repeatedly, its favorite lullaby. Terra might have judged her harshly, but Isla was her own worst critic.
She was trying to be nicer to herself lately, so she might have convinced herself she was not a fool if she wasn’t objectively doing something astronomically foolish.
Her puddle of stars rippled before her, a slice of midnight. Her guardians were away for the day, visiting a local village. This was her chance. Before she could stop herself, she threw herself through, right into the Nightshade ruler’s room.
It was just how she remembered it.
Black marble floors. High, vaulted ceilings. A bed with simple black sheets.
Only one thing was missing: the towering ruler who had pressed her against that very wall, and—
She shook the thought away and gripped the vial in her hand. She was here for a very specific, very stupid reason. A few days prior, the Nightshade had appeared in her room and tricked her into revealing her portaling device. Before he could take it from her, she had cried and begged him to let her keep it. It hadn’t been one of her proudest moments.
Grim had called it his, and after witnessing his portaling power, she could only conclude that he must have enchanted it. Objects could be infused with power, she knew. It had a cost, though, shortened life, depending on how much ability was given.
Why had Grim made a portaling device? And how had it ended up in her room?
In the end—shocking her and likely him—he had disappeared, without taking it . . . which made her feel inexplicably guilty about having stabbed him in the chest. She didn’t like to be in someone’s debt, so she had brought something for him, as a peace offering.
So where was he?
Isla stood in the center of his room for half an hour, pulse racing, expecting to find a blade against her throat at any moment. Every minute that passed convinced her more how foolish this errand was. The starstick was hers now, but somehow she had convinced herself that him not stealing it from her was something to be thankful for.
Stupid. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. She was just about to form her puddle of stars and retreat to her room when she heard his voice.