Grim. He was here.
She startled. Her heart hammered. Her gaze darted around the table, expecting to find him close by or to see some reaction from the others.
But he was nowhere. Maybe he was invisible. Her eyes strained to see even the smallest ripple in the air that might give him away. She waited for him to appear before them. Her hand inched toward Oro to warn him—
Nothing.
She knew what she’d heard. Or did she? It could have been her own mind. Grim had said those same words more than a month ago, when he was still pretending not to know her.
The truth was, he had known everything about her. They had a year’s worth of memories together that he had made her forget, to suit his own agenda at the Centennial. He had cut part of her life away as easily as Leto shearing excess fabric.
She didn’t know what she would do if she ever saw him again, but she didn’t need to worry about it at the moment.
Grim wasn’t there.
She had imagined it, then. Perhaps her mind had made up the vision in the Place of Mirrors too. It couldn’t be real. Grim wouldn’t kill innocent people to get to her.
She saw flashes of that vision again. Death. Children—
“Breathe,” she said to herself, before taking a deep breath, knowing how ridiculous it was that she had to remind herself, vocally, of a body’s basic function. Her nails dug into her palms, trying to keep herself in the moment, as if she were clinging to an anchor instead of becoming unmoored yet again in the shifting currents of her mind.
“Don’t forget to exhale too.” Oro.
Under the table, he placed his hand on her knee. His thumb stroked the inside of her thigh. She knew he meant it as a comforting gesture, but for a moment all her senses sharpened to his touch. Her eyes met his. He removed his hand.
A special drink was prepared, a Sunling specialty. Flaming goblets were served on floating platters by Starlings, who moved objects using their mastery of energy. Isla noticed they smiled at the Starling representative—Maren—in a friendly way.
Oro casually drank from the goblet, and the flames extinguished, not burning him in the slightest. The Sunling noble with the dark-red hair downed hers in an impressively short amount of time.
Would it burn her if she wasn’t Sunling? No, of course not. Oro would never serve his guests something that would harm them. She was the next one to drink from her own flaming goblet.
It tasted of honey and burned like liquor. The flames licking the edge of the goblet stroked her cheeks as she drank, then sank into the dregs of the drink before simmering away completely.
The first food course was pure Skyling. It was a floating feast, served in a flowerpot—miniature vegetables still tied to the roots, flying about, that one had to pin down with their fork to eat. She couldn’t place every food by name, but one had the familiar texture of potatoes, was violet in color, and had a surprising bite of sweetness. Some of the vegetables seemed to have minds of their own and playfully evaded capture, flying within the confines of their root leashes. Oro watched her try to pin down an especially active beet, amusement touching the corners of his mouth.
The second course was Starling. The fine silver plates contained a single orb. Once all were served, the Starlings snapped their fingers in unison, and the orbs exploded, revealing a cut of unfamiliar meat, carved into precise pieces. Large saltlike rocks formed a circle around the protein. Isla bit into one and startled when it burst like a firecracker in her mouth.
The Moonling course arrived last.
The Starling attendants mumbled apologies as they delivered the dishes, though they were clearly only following orders. Blocks of ice were presented with live fish still swimming within them. Their eyes were wide as they tried to navigate their quickly melting confines.
Isla felt the heat of Oro’s anger—almost enough to set the fish free—though his expression remained impassive.
Before Oro could say a single word, the doors of the room burst open. Isla expected to see a dramatic entrance from Cleo.
A Moonling stood at the entrance . . . but it was not the ruler. The man had long white hair that reached the middle of his torso, nearly the color of his skin, and a staff in his hand.
“Soren,” Oro said. “How nice of you to join us. I presume this is your idea of a joke?”
The Moonling man—Soren—pursed his lips. “More of a statement. Excuse my late appearance, but I find I have no appetite when I consider the state of the island, not so unlike the blocks of ice before you.”
That made them the fish.
“Cleo sent you in her stead?” Azul asked.
Soren nodded. He took the empty seat that had been set aside for the Moonling ruler.
Oro stood, and the entire center of the solid gold table dropped, forming a basin. The blocks of ice rushed to the middle, then melted, filling it. The fish swam in relieved circles.
With a look that was befitting of the cold king Isla had believed Oro to be before the Centennial, he looked at Soren and said, “Now that dinner has ended, why don’t you begin by telling us where Moonling stands?”
The Moonling’s longest finger slipped across the gem atop his staff. “You are of course aware that we have severed our bridge to the Mainland.”
“Another statement?” Oro asked.
The Moonling shrugged a shoulder. “As well as a protective measure. The curses kept people in check . . . and we are aware we have enemies on the island.” His gaze landed on Isla.
She almost wanted to laugh. That was the reason he was going with? Her? Moonling nobles had tried to assassinate her, and Cleo had, personally, nearly finished the job. She supposed it wasn’t a leap to think she, with her newfound power, would be set on revenge.
It was still a ridiculous excuse.
Oro gave him a look. “And your armada of ships?”
The Moonling noble took a leisurely sip of the flaming goblet that had now been set before him. “So we can sail to the Moonling newland, of course,” he said. “To unite our people once more.”
That might have been partially true, but it wasn’t the only reason, and Isla didn’t need Oro and his flair to know it. Cleo had begun building her army of ships during a time when faraway travel was a death sentence for Moonlings.
“Unite them how?” Azul asked. “To bring those on the Moonling newland to Lightlark? Or bring those on Lightlark to the newland?”
The room was silent, charged with energy. This was the big question, she knew, from speaking with Oro. After the curses were cast, most of the realms had fled Lightlark to create their own newlands, hundreds of miles away. Some people had remained on the island. Would the rulers decide to move back, now that the curses were over? Would they leave Lightlark for good?
“My ruler has not decided yet,” Soren said smoothly.
Oro turned away from the Moonling in dismissal to face Azul. “And the Skylings?”
Azul motioned toward his representatives. “These are elected officials Sturm”—the giant nodded, his eyes never leaving the opposite wall—“and Bronte.” The petite woman gave the ghost of a smile.
“Every Skyling will have a choice,” Bronte said. “To remain on the Skyling newland, or join us here on Lightlark.”
That seemed in keeping with their realm.
Sturm nodded. “We have already begun teaching the newer generations the art of our flight, though the journey to or from the newland is still too long. We have contraptions that offer flight by harnessing wind for that purpose.”