Cleo looked from the vines dripping down her fingers to her face, and smirked. “Wildling,” she said. “If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead.”
A massive wave crashed against the balcony, and Isla felt the force of it in her knees. Freezing water soaked her legs, and she tried her best not to shiver.
“I heard you were locked in a glass box of a room. Is that true?” Cleo asked. Where was she going with that? How did she even know that? Isla nodded warily and watched as Cleo turned back toward the moon. She stared at it as she said, “You are a young fool, but you remind me so much of him.” Isla could have imagined it, but Cleo’s voice cracked with emotion, splitting from its normal coolness. “My son.”
The sea that had made its way through the teeth of the balcony pillars froze over. It nearly reached Isla, though she didn’t move a muscle.
Son? Cleo had an heir . . . ? That couldn’t be right; heirs weren’t allowed at the Centennial—
“He died. The curse took him.” Cleo looked down at the sea, sloshing and churning, and Isla saw a hatred there. “I did everything I could to protect him. I locked him up just like you, and I failed.”
Isla would have thought it impossible to ever feel some sort of hurt for Cleo, though her eyes burned as she thought of her son, locked in his room, and the mother who just wanted to keep him safe. “That’s why you didn’t attend the fourth Centennial,” Isla said. “You had an heir.”
“Our curse was well managed by then. It was more important to secure my realm’s future. I had an heir, because, like you said, I do everything for the good of my realm.”
It wasn’t just Isla who thought that. She remembered Oro during the Centennial saying Cleo was the most dedicated ruler of all of them. Though she’d had relationships with both men and women before the curses, she hadn’t formerly been with anyone since becoming ruler. She put her realm’s safety above all else.
“Something unexpected happened, though,” Cleo said. “I . . . loved him. I had forgotten what that felt like . . . to love someone so much, it feels like drowning.” She turned to fully face Isla, and the ice around her turned liquid, before crackling once more. Cleo had always worn dresses with a high neckline, but tonight she wore something more casual. Because of that, Isla was able to see a necklace: a simple ribbon with a light-blue stone that glistened in the moonlight. “I attended the last Centennial for him, so no one else would be taken by the curses.” She looked Isla up and down, her expression still dripping in dismay. “And because of him, I’m helping you.”
Isla didn’t know why Cleo had told her all of this now, when she had been so defensive just days before.
Cleo wanted something from her. She just needed to figure out what it was.
“The oracle,” Cleo finally said. “She’s awake and has a message for you. You’ll want to visit her soon.”
The oracle was awake. They needed her now more than ever. Hope sprouted, but was tinged with suspicion.
The oracle was on Moon Isle. Cleo could keep Isla from accessing her if she wanted.
“Why . . . why are you telling me this?” Cleo said it was because of her son, but that didn’t make any sense. Her son was dead. “Are you agreeing to be loyal to Lightlark?” She needed confirmation before she could take anything the Moonling said seriously.
Cleo looked at her and frowned. “I’m loyal only to myself,” she said.
She did not look at Isla again before a wave rushed up and took her away.
This time, Isla told Oro about her conversation with Cleo. They were rushing down the castle steps the next morning, on their way to the oracle, avoiding the craterous fissures from the drek attack, when Azul crashed in front of them with the force of a lightning strike. He was crouched, a jewel-covered hand balanced in front of him.
Ciel and Avel came down a moment later, flanking Isla.
Azul straightened, and for the first time, she could see traces of his true age in the heaviness of his expression.
“What’s happened?” Oro asked, stepping forward. He reached almost absent-mindedly toward Isla, in a protective motion, and Isla watched Azul track it.
“See for yourself,” the Skyling said, his voice grave.
In an instant, Ciel and Avel lifted Isla up, and the five of them shot into the sky. Azul’s expression was serious, but he glanced down at her as he flew above, knowingly. Warily. Then, his gaze went back to the horizon.
Isla saw it before they landed, and her mouth went dry.
A fleet like dozens of swans, positioned in the shape of a diamond, cut through the ocean, riding against the current. These ships did not have or require sails. They made currents of their own. The sea parted from their path.
The ones who controlled the decks moved in unison, in practiced motions. They had been preparing for this. Training, just like her.
Cleo was on the front-most ship. Her white dress billowed, puffed up, the only thing resembling a sail on those vessels. She turned, staring right at them.
They were not the only ones watching. She heard the islanders on the beaches below and by the Broken Harbor witnessing history unfold. Moonling was leaving Lightlark.
“They’re fleeing,” Azul said, his voice still nearly unbelieving.
“No,” a voice said, and they all turned around to find Soren standing there, watching the Moonlings fade away. “They’re joining Nightshade.”
PROPHECY
Moon Isle was melting. The previous labyrinth of ice and snow had lost its bite. The ice sculptures that had lined the walkway to the palace for centuries were nothing more than puddles. The woods were carved open, no snow to hide their inner workings. It was like the Moonlings had taken the cold with them, packed it in their ships.
Cleo had told her the night before to visit the oracle. Now, with Oro next to her, she needed to find out why.
The oracle was already thawed. She floated in the water of her glacier, edges melting.
Isla remembered what the oracle had told her and Oro months prior. So many secrets, trapped between you. But, just like this wall, they too will one day give way and unravel and fall . . . leaving quite a mess and madness.
Back then, there had been three women trapped in the glacier. Three sisters. Oro had said the other two had allied with Nightshade and hadn’t thawed in over a thousand years. Now, they were gone.
“You’re dying,” Isla said. The oracle’s power—a force in the air that Isla could almost taste now that she knew what to look for—was dimming. “Cleo injured you.”
“Don’t look so dour, Wildling. I’m ancient. We tend to die slowly. She left me alive long enough to tell you what you need to know.”
It didn’t make sense. Why would Cleo help her, then join her enemy? The oracle’s white hair floated around her face, curling in the water. Her voice was a thousand voices braided into one, echoing, smothered slightly by the wall of ice between them. “Though . . . you are the one with most of the answers this time. Not me.”
“What do you mean?” Oro demanded. Isla wasn’t sure if they could trust the oracle, but he would know if she was telling the truth.
“Her memories are the key. They unlock the world. Everything—why they are coming, what they will do with Lightlark, the weapon they already have, how to stop them—is in her mind. All she must do is remember. Everything.”