His were wide cliffs.
He had perfect posture. The posture of a warrior. She swallowed. How many thousands had he single-handedly taken down? Even in her glass room, she had heard whispers about his malice. Some Nightshades could kill with a single touch—wasn’t that the rumor?
A shiver worked its way down her spine . . . and turned into a pit in her stomach when he led her into a dark room.
Was this where she would be executed?
She tugged her dress up while his back was still turned and risked a look at her portaling device. It was still dark, lifeless.
No.
Isla needed a plan.
The voices in her head crowded, wicked, quick to attack. What plan could she possibly come up with to have a chance against him?
She was a fool. A powerless fool.
The door closed behind her, and she jumped.
The ruler of Nightshade—Grimshaw—turned to face her. He looked her over quickly. Was he sizing her up? Deciding how he would make her suffer?
She swallowed. Took a step back.
He lunged for her.
Isla should have grabbed her dagger, but she was more shocked than she had ever been in her life, so she froze.
Froze as he pressed her against the wall, and—
He . . . he lowered his face until his lips were mere inches from hers. His eyes were hungry, full of desire. He wanted to kiss her. That didn’t make any sense.
Suddenly, all the pieces came together. Why the women in line looked so excited. Why they were speaking of hoping to be chosen. Becoming part of the ruling line. They had all clearly volunteered to be presented in front of the Nightshade ruler. He thought she wanted this. He thought she had signed up for this.
He didn’t know who she was.
She could have pushed him away. Told him the truth. But she didn’t. She was a fool. That had already been established, hadn’t it? Her entire life, she had been locked up. She had never been this close to a man before. She had never felt this way before.
His hands, so large, so callused, gripping her so strangely. His height. His eyes, dark and gleaming. Hungry. His hard body, pressed against hers, his muscles and her curves lining up so naturally. Those seemingly unimportant things—much less important than who he was, and what kind of weapons were inches away from her—became all she could think of. She went very still.
For a moment, she forgot herself. And him. She forgot everything she had ever been taught.
“Is this okay?” he asked, looking down at her. He was leaning lower, his breath grazing her lips. A shiver worked its way down her spine.
This was her chance to say no. Instead, she found herself saying, “Yes.” And meaning it.
Then, his lips were on hers.
Isla had never been kissed. Didn’t want to be kissed by her enemy, her rival, the filthy, deadly—surprisingly attractive—Nightshade. Then why had she said yes? She should push him, say something, but his lips were a key, unlocking things she had never felt. Heat, pulsing everywhere. Sparks, dancing across her skin, as his thumb pressed against the palm he held against the wall. As his teeth skimmed her lips, as his lips dipped down her neck . . .
She kissed him back. She held him just as tightly as he held her.
Her hands ran through his hair, and it was so much softer than she would have imagined. She felt her way down his neck, his chest, and he felt hard and cold as stone. His tongue swiped against the hollow of her throat, and she made a sound that shocked her.
Sensing her excitement, he made some sort of growl and hauled her up, against the wall, as her legs locked around his middle. She gasped, because in this position, she could feel him . . . all of him. Right against her. Right against her—
All at once, she remembered herself.
Remembered who he was, how she needed to get out of there now.
He was her enemy. The moment he found out who she was, he would hurt her. This could be a trick. Surely, he was going to attack her at any moment.
She needed to strike first.
Just as he deepened their kiss, she grabbed her dagger from where it was holstered on her thigh. Gripped its hilt.
And stabbed him through the chest.
There was a moment of quiet. The Nightshade ruler met her eyes, right before his chin dipped, and he slowly looked down to his chest, where the dagger still stuck out, inches from his heart.
Then, he released her.
There was no time. No time to turn around, to check if the warmth across the front of her body was shame or fear or his blood.
She ran out the door, grabbed her starstick, which somehow, mercifully, now glowed.
She drew her puddle of stars—
And was gone.
FAVORITE
Isla awoke soaked in sweat and panting. Oro was there, hand behind her head. The rest of her was draped across his lap. They were still in the forest, framed by life and decay. She imagined Remlar was lurking, watching.
She pressed her forehead to Oro’s shoulder and cried. Her Nightshade powers had been awoken, and they had begun to unravel her mind. Undo what had been done. She thought of what Grim had told her, weeks before, after the Centennial.
Remember us, Heart. You will remember. Then you will come back to me.
She would never go back to him. Nothing would change his betrayal. Nothing would change the fact that Grim seemed intent now on killing innocent people. One thing was for sure, however.
She was starting to remember.
Her powers were detangled, and Isla wondered if they would have been better left alone.
She had been going in and out of consciousness, but now all her senses came flooding back, far too sharply. They were in the Mainland woods. Oro must have flown them here. Her memory still clung to the corners of her vision, as if it had claws.
A blink, and she saw Grim again, his hands curled beneath her—
No. She pushed the image away. She wouldn’t tell Oro about it. It was the past. It didn’t matter. She had been vulnerable while her power had been unleashed, she told herself. It wouldn’t happen again.
She felt Oro’s hands smoothing down her back. “There you are,” he was saying, meeting her eyes, frowning as he checked her temperature with the back of his hand. “How are you feeling?”
Her head pounded like the sea against the cliffside, and there were voices. Whispers everywhere, from every direction. Something had filled her body to the brim. She was an overserved goblet, wine spilling down the sides.
“I feel everything,” she said. Tiny threads all around her, waiting to be pulled. Whispers from the vines beneath her hands, from the towering trees around her, from the shadows beneath them. “There are a million voices, all fighting for my attention.” Power was like a seed in her chest she had swallowed whole, and it was growing roots within her.
All her life she had wondered what it would be like to have power. All her life she’d had it, hidden deep inside. Now, it was free.
“We can find you a Wildling master,” Oro said, his voice a blade through the chaos. “I can get your portaling device. We can take you to the Wildling newland.” It made sense to train there, with her own people, but—
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to risk harming them. I—” Her touch had killed an entire forest. It was just like her Starling power exploding out of her. She had no control. Panicked, her eyes darted around. “Take me somewhere else. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
With three separate powers—Wildling, Nightshade, and Starling—the abilities seemed to be battling. When she had gotten her Starling abilities, she had felt strange but nothing like this.