Isla scrambled back against the other wall she had hit, a scream lodged in her throat.
The wall spoke. It sounded bored. “You can’t have her, Baron. At least . . . not yet.” She looked up and saw Grim frowning down at her. Not a wall. She had crashed into his legs. He raised an eyebrow. “I told you not to cut yourself, Hearteater.”
The overwhelming urge to put a dagger through his eye filled her, but she couldn’t stand again if she tried.
The blacksmith—Baron—hissed and returned the hammer to a holster on his back. “Ruler,” he said, bending onto a knee. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Black diamond hilt. Twin blades. You know the sword.”
The blacksmith smiled proudly. Isla wondered if he was ever going to take the blade out of his eye. “I do. A very special weapon indeed. Among my best work.”
Grim motioned toward her. “You’ve sensed her blood. Can she help me find it?”
The blacksmith pursed his lips. Considered. “She can.”
This was why he needed her. Isla was trembling on the ground, but she found her voice long enough to say, “Why can’t he find it himself?” She wondered if the blacksmith would answer her after she stabbed him in the face. Or if Grim would even allow him to.
The blacksmith met her gaze with his now single eye, and a shiver snaked down her spine. After a moment, he said, “The sword was cursed so no Nightshade ruler can claim it. If the sword so much as senses his ability, it will disappear.”
So Grim couldn’t use his powers to find it. This was why he needed her . . . though that didn’t make sense.
Why not force one of his people to search for it? Why choose one of his rivals in the Centennial?
Before she could ask anything else, Grim said, “Do you know where it is?”
“Decades ago, I heard it had been stolen from a Skyling market. I sensed it return here, to Nightshade. Since then, nothing.” He frowned. “I can’t feel it anymore. Wherever it is . . . it’s slumbering.”
“Is there anything else we should know?”
The blacksmith opened his mouth again. His eyes darted to Isla. Then he closed his mouth. “Nothing else,” he said.
“Good. Now, return the dagger. We’ll be going.”
The blacksmith roughly pulled Isla’s weapon from his eye. What was left . . . Isla looked away to keep from retching.
He bent low to return it to her. Isla reached out with shaking fingers. Dark blood coated her blade. The rain only partially washed it away.
Before he handed it back, the blacksmith said, “You weren’t supposed to be able to do that.”
Then he walked back up through the forest to his forge, and Isla was left with burning questions.
And anger.
She turned on the ground to face Grim. “You demon. You almost got me killed. You—”
He rolled his eyes. “I was there. You were never in any danger.”
Isla’s entire body shook with her fury. “Never in any danger? My ankle—something is wrong with it. And my shoulder.” She shook her head. “Why? Why let him hunt me?”
Grim shrugged. “I wanted to see how you would fare without me. Call it curiosity.”
“Curiosity? Curiosity?” She attempted to stand, dagger gripped tightly in her hand, but her ankle rolled, and she nearly fell over.
Grim caught her beneath the arms. She tried to shake herself away, but it was no use. His grip was hard as marble.
“Why didn’t you use your Wildling powers in the forest?” he asked.
The lie came easily. “You didn’t portal directly to the house. You didn’t use your own powers. I figured . . . there was a reason.”
He just stared down at her.
She tried to move away again, then grimaced as pain shot down her shoulder. Grim held her still. He frowned. “It’s out of its socket. I have to right it.” Grim twisted her around, so her back was to him. He leaned down and said, “This will hurt.”
Before she could object, his hands twisted, and she screamed so loudly, it hurt her own ears.
“Done,” he said. “Now, there’s nothing I can do about that ankle.”
“Just—just portal me to my room,” she said. The Wildling healing elixir would take care of the swelling, but it would be weeks before she walked the same again. She would have to come up with an excuse for Terra and Poppy. Pretend she had sprained it in training, or something else.
Her teeth gritted against the pain that roared again with their landing. She looked down at herself. She was a mess. Covered in dirt and mud. She would need about a thousand baths, and a quarter vial of healing elixir.
Tears stung as she closed her eyes. Was this what it would be like working with the Nightshade demon? Getting hurt? Running for her life from an ancient being for curiosity’s sake?
She opened her eyes again and was surprised to see the Nightshade was still in the center of her room, leaking darkness everywhere.
“Can you not do that?” she snapped, watching the shadows uncurl, spreading themselves all over her stuff, only to return and repeat the process.
The shadows twitched, as if they had heard her and were offended.
Stupid. A shadow can’t have its feelings hurt.
Grim looked appalled. “You do not give me orders, witch.”
She glared at him. “I thought I was Hearteater,” she said, in about the most syrupy tone she could manage.
He glared back.
This was her chance to get answers. “Why did he have so many bones?”
“The blacksmith kills people with unique abilities and makes weapons from their blood and bones. He senses blood close by and kills anyone he can find, on the off chance they are useful.” So why had he seemed desperate to have her blood?
Isla swallowed. She could have very well joined the fence of bones and skulls. Her people would have fallen. The blacksmith was ancient. He’d seemed surprised that she was able to harm him. She had never been more grateful to have her dagger.
“So you can’t use your abilities during our search. You will have to be powerless.”
Grim said nothing.
Why was Grim the one looking for this sword? Not using his powers seemed like a massive inconvenience. Didn’t he have people for that? Didn’t he have far better things to do? She asked all these questions, in quick succession, and Grim’s annoyance grew.
“You talk too much,” he growled, and, for some reason, that stung.
Isla’s chest felt as if someone were sitting on it. “I don’t usually have people to talk to,” she murmured.
His tone didn’t get any gentler as he said, “This is too important for me to tell anyone in my court. I can’t risk sending someone else or trusting them with any of my information.” He hesitated before saying, “I’ve been betrayed in the search for the sword before.”
Someone betrayed him? Why?
Would he betray her?
Isla turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “But you trust me?”
“Absolutely not.” He took a step toward her. Another. “If you have any desire at all to survive the Centennial, you will not tell anyone in your court either.”
Her court. She didn’t even know what that was. Celeste didn’t have a court, just her string of guardians who died every few years and were replaced, an endless cycle. Terra and Poppy were the only people Isla saw regularly.