Grim started up the wall. She reluctantly followed.
The rocks were slippery in the rain. Isla grabbed one and had to strain the muscles in her fingers just to hold on. By the time she moved a few feet, she looked up to see that Grim was already almost halfway up. Demon. He would leave her if she wasn’t quick enough.
She squinted through the rain as she fought to grasp the next rock. The next. Her shoes were made with special bark at the bottom that had a good grip, at least. She climbed higher. Higher.
While she moved her feet into their next positions, her fingers suddenly slipped, and her heart seemed lodged in her throat in the slice of a second it took to find another hold. She grabbed it desperately, without caring about the sharp corners.
Blood seeped down her hand, warm against the freezing rain. So much for not cutting herself. The rocks were sharp as knives. She risked a quick look down and swallowed. From this height, scraping against them would disembowel her before the fall would kill her.
Her gaze traveled up. And up. She was less than halfway done. There was no way she could make it, not without slipping again.
Isla closed her eyes. Her mind was running wild with fear and a thousand stressful scenarios that hadn’t happened yet, so she focused on her breathing. This was unfamiliar terrain, but she had climbed her entire life. Terra would have told her that any climb could be broken into smaller steps. She started up again, concentrating only on the path right in front of her. And breathing.
She inched up the rock face, fingers carefully dodging the sharpest points of the stones. They were each long and narrow, a thousand giant crystals crushed together to form a wall. Her hand screamed in pain, and red kept streaming, even after the rain cleaned it, again and again. She would need to use her Wildling healing elixir when she returned to her room.
Almost there.
Before she could reach for the final few rocks, strong arms pulled her up the rest of the way, careful not to drag her against the cliffside. Then she was unceremoniously discarded on the ground. Mud squelched below her. She imagined she was now caked in it.
She glared at Grim, hovering above. His dark hair was plastered down his forehead, over his eyes, down half of the bridge of his nose. Even without his armor, he looked terrifying. She thought about the rumor that he had killed thousands with his blade, and the fact that this might have been their last sight. A towering shadow. “You are an exceptionally slow climber,” he said. “I should have left you behind.”
He turned on his heel and continued the rest of the way.
Isla muttered words that Poppy and Terra certainly didn’t know she used as she followed him.
The banging of steel now rang through the rain, so loud, Isla winced as they got closer. Thunder rumbled above as if warring with the sound. The very ground seemed to tremble.
They climbed at a sharp incline, until finally, at the top of the hill, a structure came into view. Grim paused, his black cape whipping wildly in the wind.
The blacksmith’s house was no more than a shed. It was made of the same stone that had cut her hand, and she could only imagine the type of tools necessary to be able to not just forage those rocks . . . but build from them.
The door was open, and flashes of red flickered through the entrance. Sparks from the molten-hot flames.
Abruptly, the banging stopped.
Grim slowly turned to face her. His eyes found her hand, still dripping in blood. “You fool,” he muttered. “He will try to kill you.”
Then Grim vanished.
Isla was alone. She looked down at her hand. It had already dripped a small puddle of blood below her. Could the blacksmith sense blood?
Was he a creature?
Her eyes searched through the rain, but she couldn’t see anything. There was only one thought in her mind, carved from basic instinct and training.
Run.
She took off down the side of the hill, into a forest. She didn’t know if nature was dangerous everywhere, but she would rather take the risk of the woods hurting her over a blacksmith who sensed blood.
Her heart drummed in her ears as she fought her way through the thicket. The branches cut through her clothes. She used her arms as shields, barreling her way through.
She felt the moment the creature entered the woods. All her senses seemed to heighten in warning. The forest itself seemed to still. Chills swept down her spine. It was as if her body knew there was a predator. And she was being hunted.
There was the crack of splitting bark as an arrow lodged itself an inch to her right, into the tree at her side. It was metal tipped. It would have gone right through her neck, with better aim. She gasped and took off again.
Another arrow whizzed by, and Isla didn’t even bother to look where it went. She just ran and ran, crashing through branches and jumping over snaking vines.
The forest dipped low, and she lost her footing.
Suddenly, she was falling. She screamed out as her shoulder crunched painfully, her elbow scraped against a rock, her leg moved in an awkward direction. Her body tumbled quickly, only stopping when she hit a tree.
Then, silence as the world stilled and her pain caught up with her. She screamed soundlessly against the back of her hand. Dirt and mud caked her every inch. Her shoulder—something was wrong with it. Her entire body felt like a bruise.
Get up, that instinct in her mind said.
It was too late.
Footsteps sounded close by. Heavy steps that she heard even through the rain. Isla didn’t dare move a muscle as the predator inched closer. Closer.
He stopped right in front of her.
The blacksmith leaned down, crouched to look upon the heap that was her broken body.
That was when she struck. She gripped the dagger she always kept on her and stabbed the blacksmith right through the eye.
He roared, and Isla scrambled to her feet. It took one step to realize something had happened to her ankle. She couldn’t move—
She had to move.
Isla spotted a fence and limped forward. It was high. The gate was open. If she could just get through, maybe she could get it closed. Maybe she could figure out a plan.
She could hear the blacksmith getting up. He roared words into the rain that she didn’t understand. She didn’t dare turn around.
The whistle of an arrow, and she ducked low. It skimmed right above her head. She leaped to the side—her shoulder and ankle screaming in pain—behind a tree, and another arrow flew past.
She ran the last few steps, dragging her foot behind her, until she was past the fence. Her shaking hands hauled the gate closed and she collapsed against it.
Her teeth gritted against the pain. She closed her eyes as her body trembled against the gate. Hopefully it would hold. Her hands ran down its strange pattern. It was so smooth. Made of mismatched parts. So—
She opened her eyes. Looked behind her at the gate. And found that the entire fence was made of melded skulls and bones.
A yelp escaped her throat, and she scrambled back on the muddy ground, her fingers sinking into it. Her back crashed into something solid, and she screamed again.
Just then, the entire gate ripped off its hinges.
The blacksmith stood there, her dagger still lodged through his eye.
He was the most muscular man Isla had ever seen. His arms were enormous. He was holding a massive hammer that looked like it would go right through her body if she was hit with it. He had long, flowing black hair. Skin the pallor of a corpse.