Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(37)

It was joined by another. A man. She could barely make out their words. They were discussing some sort of strategy.

And both were getting closer. Closer.

Her starstick was lifeless in her lap. Of course it was. Of course. No time to try to coax it into working. She had to hide.

There was barely any furniture in the room. No desk to duck beneath. The bed didn’t have enough room under it.

But there was another door. She threw herself through it just as the men entered the room.

A bathroom. All black as well, though here the black marble floor was threaded through with silver veins. A massive onyx tub sat at the center. Its spout was located on the ceiling, twenty feet above. Under normal circumstances, Isla might have marveled at it—it truly was a beautiful concept, a stream of water falling from such a height into a tub, like a miniature waterfall—but right now, it was her hiding place. She tucked herself into the basin and brandished the starstick.

It was dead in her hands. Something about this place must make it difficult to use, she thought, which she probably should have considered before portaling herself here.

“Stupid,” she called herself as she willed the starstick to glow again. “Not you,” she whispered. “You’re brilliant.” The enchantment still didn’t light up. “Unless, of course, you don’t work—then you’re stupid too.”

The starstick was still dim when the bathroom door suddenly creaked open.

Isla didn’t dare take a breath. She closed her eyes tightly. Listened.

Leave, please leave . . .

The opposite of leaving. The sound of something light hitting the floor. A pause.

One step. Another.

Then, the stab of something sharp right through her chest—

Isla screamed.

Her dress was soaked through. But not with blood. She had been pierced by the cascade of water.

The stream abruptly shut off, and Isla sat up, only to come face-to-face with a ruler with a horrified expression on his face.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asked, the words sharp and filled with malice. He was shirtless.

Isla quickly looked away. She held something out toward him, palm open. “I—I came to give you something. As a thank-you—” No, she had already decided she didn’t need to thank him for not taking the thing she held most dear away from her. “—I mean, a peace offering. Here.”

She threw it in his general direction, and the only indication that he had caught it was the fact that no glass shattered against the smooth floor. After a few moments of silence, she dared look back at him. He was frowning down at the vial, which looked laughably small in his hand.

The elixir was something the Wildlings had been developing. The bud of a certain rare flower, when extracted correctly, produced an elixir that healed all wounds. There were only two problems. The first was that each flower produced only a tiny amount of useful nectar. The other was that the serum did nothing to remove pain.

“It’s a healing ointment. For—” She motioned toward his chest and winced. “For that.” Silence. He looked like a sculpture she had seen in a Wildling garden, perfect and almost scarless except for that massive cut right next to his heart. It was clear he had a Moonling treating him, or that would have been impossible. So, why hadn’t he fully treated this one yet? “For the scar,” she clarified, thinking he must be confused. “Listen. I didn’t mean to portal here before; it was a mistake. I didn’t plan on stabbing you. It was just—an instinct?” She spoke too quickly, trying to get the words out. “I came to offer peace. We don’t need to be enemies.”

I don’t need you as an enemy was what she didn’t say. The Centennial will be hard enough for me as it is.

The Nightshade didn’t say a word as he dropped the vial into the sink. She winced as the glass shattered.

Then he said, “Get out.”

The venom that filled his voice . . . He was disgusted by her. So disgusted, he had refused her gift. No, he had ruined it.

This was her fault. She was a fool to have wasted it on him.

She wanted to follow his command, get out and never come back. But, as insufferable as he was, she needed him to agree to peace. She didn’t want to live looking over her shoulder, waiting for the Nightshade to exact revenge. “What do you want, then?” she asked. “What can I give you?”

He paused. He was already halfway to the door, and she watched the muscles in his back tense. Without turning around, he said, “You are incapable of giving me anything of value.”

His words were like a slap to the face, because they were true. She was a powerless ruler of a steadily dying realm. But he didn’t know that.

“Then let’s settle it with a duel,” she said, the words tumbling out of her before she could stop them. “If I win, all ill will between us is forgotten. We can begin anew at the Centennial.”

That made him turn around. He was glaring at her. “Only a fool would believe they could best me in a duel.” He looked her up and down, his distaste only deepening.

She glared back at him, even as her confidence wavered. He was right. Why did she suggest this? It seemed impossible to beat him, but now, she had to try. “Wildlings are warriors, just like you.”

His lip curled with humor. “No, Hearteater,” he spat. “Not just like me.” He picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it back on. “Fine. When I win, you will never return here again. I’ve tired of you.”