“Then it seems I have a few more lessons to teach you,” he said. In an instant, he had his own blade in his hand and he was on her, sword moving so rapidly, she could barely keep track of it. He grunted commands while he fought, criticizing her technique, chastising her every move.
“Dead,” he said, slicing the thinnest of lines across her chest with his sword. It cut through the fabric of her shirt but did not pierce skin. That kind of control was extraordinary. One inch off, and her insides would be spilling out. She reached out to block him again.
His blade sliced against her stomach, forming another slash in her clothing. “Dead,” he said again.
She tried her best to cut him, but no matter how hard she fought, how much she tried to trick him, his blade was always there, sending hers away.
Isla gasped as his sword swept across her throat. This time, he did cut her. The smallest drop of blood dripped down her neck. “Very dead,” he said, his voice just a whisper, far too close.
A growl sounded deep in her chest. The demon could have killed her by accident. Enraged, she fought harder, advancing, cutting the air between them to pieces. She wanted to cut him to pieces.
He blocked every blow, but there was an opening. She saw it, and took it, and cut the smallest rip in his shirt.
Isla grinned and was unceremoniously knocked on her back. He had kicked her feet out from under her.
She made an awful sound as she fought for breath. Grim leaned over her. “Another lesson. Sometimes your opponent will let you get a hit in, as a distraction.” His blade traveled up her chest, right to the center of her breast. He tapped once and said, “Dead.”
Isla glared at him. “I get it. You could kill me any number of ways, including with a sword. Teach me to be better.”
He did. They spent the rest of the night dueling in that room. He taught her moves that were ingenious. He taught her how to fight without a sword as well.
“Always go for the nose,” he said.
By the time the sun came up, and Isla was due in her quarters for even more training, she was dripping in sweat. “Thank you,” she said, even though she knew he wasn’t training her for any other reason than because he needed her to find the sword. You’re no good to me dead, he had said.
“The celebration on Creetan’s Crag is in three days,” he said. He stepped close, narrowing his eyes. “Before then, do me a favor, and don’t die.”
CREATURES IN THE WOODS
Grim had taught her to defend herself. She blinked away tears as she wondered if he would ever guess he would become her greatest threat. In the future, he killed her. She saw it clearly.
Why would he hurt her, after taking such pains to keep her safe? It was counter to everything she knew about him.
Though, perhaps she had never truly known him at all.
When Isla crossed the Star Isle bridge, the air felt taut with energy. It smelled faintly of metal. Just like when Celeste used to get worried and upset.
She ran the rest of the way to the ruins where the Starlings lived, and there, she also smelled blood.
“What happened?” Isla demanded.
“The creatures,” Maren said. “A little girl . . . about Cinder’s age . . .” Her voice cracked at the end.
Leo was there, a reed sticking out of his mouth. He chewed it with nervous fervor. “She went into the woods, and this is all we found.”
A cloak sat on the floor. It was soaked in blood. Someone cried out. A sister, or friend, she didn’t know.
Isla shut her eyes tightly. She had promised to protect them.
She looked around at the Starlings. They were young. Scared. They were staring at her, and she remembered what Ella had said. You gave us a chance to live. To most of us, you are a god. A savior.
It was her duty to see if she could possibly save the little girl.
With more resolution than she felt, Isla asked, “Where can I find these creatures?”
None of the Starlings would walk beyond the first silver stream of water that cut the isle in half. It looked like a piece of ribbon, glittering below the sun.
Everything was silent.
Ciel and Avel circled above. She told them to keep their distance. Surprise would be an advantage.
“If you see them, you’re already dead,” one of the Starlings offered, and she expected fear to curl in her stomach.
It did not. She had seen her own death in her head. She had faced many dangers already. Those thoughts kept her moving forward, through the stillness of Star Isle.
A bird with silver wings cut through the sky like a pair of swords. She recognized it immediately. Celeste—Aurora—had told her about the bird. A few of them had made it to the Starling newland. It was a heartfinch, named so because they always traveled in pairs and often leaned their beaks together in a manner resembling a heart.
This one was alone.
Isla’s fingers slipped down the hilt of her blade at her waist, by habit. The ability in her chest thrummed, as if in warning, and she let it warm her, like drinking a hot cup of tea.
The crumbled wall is your last chance to turn around, Leo had told her around his reed. After that . . . you belong to them.
They looked nervous that Isla was going to confront the creatures. She would show them she was capable of protecting them.
The wall was no more than a few scattered silver stones, with an arch that had partially collapsed. There was a puddle of something at its entrance. She leaned down and dipped a finger inside.
She didn’t need to smell it to know it was blood. It had gone cold.
Just as she straightened, squinting behind her to see Ciel and Avel circling in the distance, it began to rain.
Of course, she thought, glaring up at the sky, wishing she was a Moonling so she could at least direct the water around her. She was no such thing, so she shook her head and resigned herself to being soaked. Water splashed in the puddle of blood, overflowing it, making it run down the mossy cobblestone, through the gaps between them in lines like veins. She studied it for a moment, her stomach turning, then stepped through the remaining half of the arch.
Isla walked for nearly an hour without incident. She had reached the forest where the creatures were said to live. It was nothing like the other Star Isle woods she had visited during the Centennial. Where that one had been sparse, this one was overgrown. Wild. The silver trees had leaves sharp as blades. Their trunks were braided together into thick knots, their roots were the width of her arms. Thorned brambles made up much of the space between them. She would have exerted much of her power to clear a path, but she didn’t need to. She happened upon a wide, clean pathway cut right through the forest, as if made for her. There were no roots or errant flowers or weeds on it. It was smooth. Recently used.
That didn’t make sense. Was there a community living out here? Were they like the Vinderland? Outcasts who had renounced all realms a millennium ago?
Isla gripped her sword hilt again.
She felt little connection with this place. It seemed defensive, a fortress. Lightning struck, slicing the sky in half. Thunder clapped, and more rain showered down, pelting her through the treetops.
She whipped around.
Out of the corner of her eye—she swore she saw movement, far above. Her sword made a high-pitched scratch as she unsheathed it and leaned into her stance.
Seconds passed. Nothing moved. The flash of motion she had seen had been high above her, past even the treetops . . . She squinted through the rain, but the trees were empty. The leaves were too sharp, she reasoned. No people or animals could comfortably climb them. They would cut themselves. Right?