At first, the group used the time to catch each other up on their progress. Enya determined the Lightlark civilians would have to be evacuated between the Skyling and Starling newlands. She was preparing infrastructure and supplies for them to be able to comfortably live there for however long the war went on.
Calder had been visiting the Vinderland every day, tracking their progress. So far, the flower wasn’t working. Perhaps their preparation had been wrong. They would have to figure out another way to heal them.
Then, there had been hours of quiet, as they waited.
The moment Oro walked through the door, Isla knew it was bad news. She could feel it in her core. Zed was right behind him.
“We lost Azul,” Oro said. Enya gasped. “The Skylings voted not to allow him to fight.” His eyes found Isla. “Part of the flight force made their own choice, though. If you pledge to make Starling into a democracy, they will stay.”
“How many?” Enya asked.
“One hundred.”
Mixed emotions battled within Isla. Azul was the strongest of the Skylings, a ruler. He held most of the ability in his realm. Losing him would incapacitate them significantly.
Zed shook his head. “It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.”
Azul walked in, then. He looked devastated. He closed his eyes and said, “I do not agree with this choice. I—I am truly sorry.”
Zed turned to him. “I’m staying here. I’ve made my choice. Yet you’re leaving us. For what? Democracy? Does democracy even matter, if we’re all dead?”
“Zed,” Oro said steadily. The Skyling sat down, but his glare did not diminish.
Azul shook his head. “I am truly sorry.” He looked at Isla, and she remembered the words he had once told her: It is an honor to rule but not always a pleasure.
She didn’t want to be mad at him. She agreed with his way of ruling. How could she fault him for upholding his people’s wishes?
Their wishes, though, meant she and the people she loved most might die.
Later that day, she portaled to a deserted part of the Wildling newland and raged her shadows across the dirt, letting her anger scorch the world, until she collapsed into another memory.
BEFORE
It had been a month since Grim had pushed her through the portal, along with her starstick. He hadn’t followed her into her room, so she assumed he had portaled himself back to the castle after taking the thief’s memories of their meeting away.
She had been left feverish, wanting, consumed by need—
Now she just felt empty.
Why had he left? At a time when she had most wanted him to stay?
Isla might have assumed he had gone off to find the sword without her—if he hadn’t left before she could tell him where the sword was. She knew exactly where to find it now. He knew she knew.
So why had he gone weeks without seeking her out?
Her confusion and anger soon turned to dread. What if Grim had . . . died? Word wouldn’t reach the Wildlings of Nightshade’s demise for weeks. Months, maybe.
It was this thought that made her do something careless. That night, she finally reached for her starstick, intent on finding Grim herself.
His room was empty and just the way she remembered it.
Part of her itched to draw her puddle of stars and leave again, but she decided to wait. It had been a month. She was tired of staying up late at night, wondering about his absence.
An hour became two. Then three.
Finally, the door to his room opened.
It was not Grim.
It was a woman.
Isla stood from the chair she had been lounging in, and the woman froze. Then, her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Who was she?
The woman, mercifully, closed the door, as if she had walked in on something private, and Isla portaled away.
Isla felt inexplicable rage. Had he decided to start looking for the sword with someone else? Had he cut her out of his plan? No. She wouldn’t let him. She needed him to fulfill his side of their deal.
She knew where the sword was. She would find it herself, and he would be forced to help her at the Centennial.
Isla put on the only black clothing she had—the unfortunately flimsy dress from Creetan’s Crag, with her black cape atop it, which conveniently covered the sword strapped to her back—and portaled away.
Grim’s lessons had been useful. She needed a map to find the Caves of Irida. Then she could work on trying to portal there.
That was how she ended up in the night market.
It was less than an hour to sunset, and the place was still surprisingly busy. A few carts began packing up for the night. Some people ventured inside large buildings that looked mostly abandoned.
They made a good vantage point. All she needed to do was spot a map shop from above and wait until sunset to sneak inside and find what she was looking for. That way, she wouldn’t risk running into trouble again.
She left the market and entered the closest building. The ground floor seemed to be an extension of the shops, a place to trade when the sun went down. It was bustling with the sounds of carts being pushed inside from out, haggling, and whispers.
No maps sold, though. Higher. She needed to go higher and get a better view of the market outside.
The stairs creaked but were empty. So was the second floor. There were just a few boxes and barrels lining the large room, all the way to windows caked in dust. She rubbed her cape against one and peered outside. Shops were folding closed.
In the corner of her vision, she spotted it. A stall with elixirs sold at the front and parchment in the back. A large map took up its entire back wall—
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Then, “What do we have here?”
Isla turned to see the room was now quite occupied. A dozen Nightshades stood around. Had they been invisible when she walked in? Or had they soundlessly followed her?
She drew her sword. One of them laughed. Her own shadow behind her whipped like a viper and knocked her blade away.
Shadow-wielders. Her chest filled with dread.
Isla quickly turned, deciding to take her chance on the window. She was only on the second floor—
Before she could break through the glass, shadows wrapped around her ankle and dragged her across the room.
Her cheek hit a snag on the floor and tore open. Broken glass stabbed through her hands and her thin dress.
When she was forced to her knees, blood dripped down her chin and chest. She couldn’t even move her fingers.
Her cape was ripped away from her by invisible hands, and she gasped at the cold. The man was circling now, a predator leering at his prey.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She spat at his feet, and one of his shadows slapped her in the face. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll ask again,” the man said. “Who. Are. You.”
Why did he care? Why was he doing this to her?
She didn’t say a word and cried out as another shadow struck her. It was sharp as a blade. Blood dripped down her shoulder. If she didn’t heal her cheek soon, it would scar. Another hit sent her crashing to her glass-filled hands in front of her. She screamed as the glass embedded itself deeper. Another flash of shadows, and she gasped for air.
The man bent down and grabbed her face roughly in one of his hands. Her entire body was shaking. She was going to die. She was such a fool. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with the Wildlings who’d tried to carve out her heart? Why had she believed that she could do this herself?