Just one step out of the woods. Just a few minutes walking around the village. It couldn’t hurt, could it?
She was very close to taking a step out of the forest when the choice was made for her.
“Now,” she heard, and she turned around, in time to see the hilt of a sword before it hit her forehead.
When Isla awoke, she was bound. Her hands were tied behind her, at the base of her back. Her ankles were roped together.
There were voices.
“I don’t recognize her. Do you?”
“No.”
“Good. Get your dagger.”
There was a pause. Then, “She’s Wildling.”
“So? We’re starving. There haven’t been hearts in weeks.”
Isla’s vision was still blurry, but she regained consciousness quickly. Starving.
She didn’t understand. Terra and Poppy hadn’t mentioned a shortage of hearts. She knew her people were steadily weakening since she was born powerless, but she was under the impression they still had a decently steady supply.
The women left the room she was being kept in, and Isla saw her chance. She wrestled with the restraints, but they were tied tightly. With a roll of her spine, she realized they hadn’t found her starstick. It was still tucked into the back of her bodice.
She stretched her fingers up as far as they could go, twisting her wrists painfully, seeing if she could reach it. But there were still a few inches between them.
And the women were back.
“She’s awake,” one said uncertainly. There was regret in her tone.
“Doesn’t matter,” the other replied.
The one who had reservations was her last chance. “You don’t have to do this,” she told the woman. Her vision was still blurry from the hit, her forehead pulsed in pain, but she could make out the Wildling’s features. Large, dark eyes. Small nose. Long limbs, and hair down to her waist. “I’m Wildling. Please.”
She turned to the other woman, as if to say, See? but the second one simply stuck something firmly in her mouth. A gag.
No.
Then she produced a dagger.
What a fool. She should have used her few words to tell them she was their ruler. Then they would understand her death would kill them all. She had been too worried about revealing her identity—
Too late now. With little ceremony, the woman ripped her bodice down the center. Then she began to carve through her chest.
Isla screamed an animalistic noise that made it past even the gag and scratched the back of her throat like sharp nails. She was on fire. The pain was a flame consuming her, eating her from the inside out. She could smell her own blood, and the Wildling kept sawing, through skin and tissue—
When the blade went deeper, Isla arched unnaturally, and that was when her bound fingers grazed her starstick. She screamed to the heavens, wondering if it might make it across the realms to Grim, not even knowing if that was possible.
With renewed hope, she fought against the restraints, the rope burning her wrists, until she could finally grasp the device. She wrestled one hand free, then drew her puddle behind her. She hurled herself off the table and was gone in an instant.
She couldn’t go home. Terra and Poppy couldn’t know about this. With this pain, it would be almost impossible to keep quiet. One moment she was being carved. The next, she was bleeding out in the middle of Grim’s room. He was standing in its corner, without a shirt on, clearly getting ready to sleep.
Shadows raced across the floor. He pulled the gag out of her mouth, and his eyes widened at the state of her chest.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go, I couldn’t go home,” she said, and then his arms were lifting her from the floor. “My guardians—they can’t know I—”
He made a sound like a growl and said, “You are a fool.”
“I am very much aware.”
“Who am I killing tonight?”
“What? No one.”
He looked down at her. “I don’t know how you’re still conscious,” Grim said like an accusation. Then, “Why won’t you stop bleeding?” almost to himself. The remaining rope around her wrists turned to ash.
“I just need you to do one thing for me,” she said. “Well, two.” Her breathing was labored. “I need you to get my healing elixir from my room.” She described it to him, and he was gone. A moment later, he returned with it. With a shaking hand, she poured the liquid over her chest.
Her scream would have woken up the entire Wildling castle. She shook as she applied more, until the skin began to slowly grow back. It did nothing for the pain. Grim silently offered her a roll of bandages, which she took and wrapped around herself, making a makeshift top. It soaked with blood immediately, so she added more. When she peeked over her shoulder, she saw the Nightshade was gone.
That was fine. She knew he didn’t care about her injury, so long as she lived.
He returned a little while later and all but shoved a mug at her. “Here. Drink this.”
She winced as she took it from him. “Medicine?” she asked.
“No. This has sugar that will keep you conscious. It . . . helps.” She glanced down and saw it was dark brown, and thick. Was he lying to her?
Isla dipped her nose to it to smell.
“I could kill you a thousand different ways, Hearteater,” he said flatly. “Poison would not be one of them.”
True. She took a sip, and he was right. Pain still consumed her, but this made her feel the littlest bit better.
Chocolate. It was melted chocolate and tasted like molten divinity, poured into this stone mug. The best thing she had ever tasted. She’d had chocolate a handful of times in her life, from the chefs in the Wildling palace during special holidays and from the Skyling market. But not like this. Not in a drink.
“So, I take it you like chocolate.”
“Yes,” she said, voice coming out like a croak. “Do you have something else for the pain?” she asked, desperate. “How about that Nightshade substance?” She remembered the vials in the night market. The seller had said it would take away all pain. “Nightbane?”
Grim went still. In a voice that chilled the room, he said, “You will never know nightbane.”
“Why not?” she asked. Why did he get so upset about it?
“It’s a drug.”
“What does it do?”
He frowned. “It makes you the happiest you’ve ever been and takes away all suffering.”
She blinked. “I want it.”
He gave her a scathing look. “It kills you slowly, methodically, efficiently, until you die with a smile on your mouth. With continued use nightbane is a death sentence, and everyone who takes it knows it.”
Never mind. “So why take it?”
Grim shrugged a shoulder. “I will never understand. I suppose they feel the pleasure . . . however short-lived . . . is worth it.”
Isla moved, and pain ripped down her middle. “Alcohol. Do you have . . . alcohol?” She had never tried it, but it was rumored to help with pain.
In a moment, a bottle was in her hands, and she drank a large swig.
She immediately choked. Her throat burned. It was as if the liquid was eating through it. It turned out alcohol tasted exactly like it smelled. “Why don’t you have anything but alcohol in your room for pain?”