Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(40)

This secret . . . It was too much to bear. The memories were trickling in against her will; she was defenseless against them. Isla had told Oro she trusted him. That was true, wasn’t it? If she couldn’t tell him what was happening to her, then who?

Her eyes were still closed as she said, “I’m starting to remember.”

She felt him stiffen in front of her. She opened her eyes, and Oro . . . his gaze was fire. He was angry, so angry—

Isla squirmed beneath his hands. Was he mad at her? She suddenly felt deeply ashamed for some reason, laid even more bare than she already was. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she wasn’t sure why.

Oro’s eyes softened immediately. “Isla, don’t ever apologize for something that isn’t your fault.” A muscle in his jaw shifted. “This is his fault.”

She understood now. Oro looked murderous because he wanted to kill Grim. He was the reason she was suffering.

She nodded. She agreed, and she hated him, hated him. She needed Oro to know that. “I despise him,” she said, words shaking in her mouth. “He is a monster, and I . . . I don’t want to remember.” She shook her head. “I’m trying my best to block them out, but with my powers untangled . . . I tried not to sleep, and it worked, for a while. But . . . I think things are starting to remind me of him, unlocking those memories. He went into my room during the Centennial; I don’t think that helps. He was in my mirror. It’s driving me mad. All I see when I close my eyes is him—”

“Move into my room,” Oro said immediately.

Isla blinked. “What?”

“He’s certainly never been there.” Lest she suggest moving into any other room that wasn’t his, he added, “It’s the most protected place in the castle, should he be trying to reach you through other means. You can take it. I’ll stay somewhere else.”

Isla didn’t want him to stay anywhere else. The fact that she was wearing only lace in front of him was proof of that. But Oro wouldn’t hear of it.

By that afternoon, Oro had her stuff moved into his chambers and his moved out.


The memories stopped after Isla moved into Oro’s room, and she was able to peacefully sleep through the night. It was as if the proximity to the king’s belongings, sleeping in his bed, was enough to smother all thoughts of Grim. She found a drawer that had been forgotten, filled with his clothes, and claimed one of his shirts. Then another. And another. They were massive and comfortable, and wearing them to bed helped her feel less alone.

At training, she was better able to focus. Every day, she grew stronger, her power inching forward, the blade within her sharpening.

What had started as a reaction to an attack, a desperation to open the vault and prepare against the next crisis, had started to become . . . fun.

They were sitting in a forest on the Wildling newland, Lynx watching them as they trained. She visited the leopard often, bringing gifts, all of which he rejected. She would wait at the edge of the forest surrounding the Wildling castle, offering in hand. Eventually, he would prowl out to meet her, sniff what she had brought, and walk back into the woods.

She was convinced the only reason Lynx had stuck around this long today was because Oro was here.

They were telling each other what to make, back and forth.

“A yellow rose,” Oro said, and she made it bloom in front of them.

“A sunflower,” she told him, barely containing a smile. He rolled his eyes and made it.

“A twenty-foot vine,” he said, and she made it hang from a tree, so long it wrapped in spirals on the ground.

Her lips twitched.

“What?” he asked, voice flat.

“A—a—” She couldn’t say the words before bursting into laughter. And it really wasn’t that funny. Truly, it wasn’t funny at all.

But she didn’t know how long it had been since she had truly laughed. A week had gone by without any memories. She felt lighter. Freer.

Oro seemed to like her laugh. He tried not to smile and failed, until his face was overcome with it. And she was no match for the brightness of that smile, like sunlight was filtering through his skin. His warmth grew, engulfing her like a blanket.

“What is it, Wildling?” he said, shaking his head as he watched her try to regain her composure.

She closed her eyes. Looking at his face would just make her laugh more; she was suddenly stuffed with joy. With happiness. With . . . love.

Sitting here, in front of him. Sharing a power between them. His patience, as he had helped her learn.

She breathed slowly, trying to stop herself from going into a fit again, and said, “A—” She laughed silently, shoulders shaking. “A golden blade of grass.”

She heard Oro sigh in his long-suffering way. She heard shuffling in front of her.

Her eyes were still closed when he lifted her hand, opened her fingers, and left something in her palm.

It was not a golden blade of grass. Or a golden apple.

It was a tiny rose, turned into solid gold. Petals frozen. Bulbous and beautiful. It was perfect.

Her lips parted as she looked up at him. He was smiling.

Isla had never seen him look so happy.

“Oro,” she said.

“Yes, Isla?”

Emotion made her throat go tight. Her voice was thick. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has betrayed me—”