“What was that?” the old Sunling said, a touch too loudly, genuinely seeming as if he had not heard her.
“This is all going very well,” Soren said offhandedly to the giant Sturm, who did not so much as blink in recognition that he was being spoken to.
“I said,” Maren started, her voice growing in intensity, frustration and anger building in her expression—
“I’ll do it,” Isla said, standing, putting a bookmark in the plaited conversations.
Silence.
“Are you certain?” Oro said, holding her gaze. He looked at her like they were the only two people in the room.
“Yes,” she said, not certain in anything but the fact that Maren clearly knew Isla was not the best leader . . . and she had asked for her help anyway. The Starlings must be desperate. She was not the right choice for this—of course she wasn’t.
No, that wasn’t right. She would become the right choice.
Isla couldn’t deny them, especially now after she’d heard of the atrocities that had gone on for the last few centuries. Who was she, if she sat and did nothing after learning of that horror? What would be the point of killing her best friend and breaking the curses if Lightlark and its people descended into chaos soon afterward?
“I will officially become the new ruler of Starling,” she said, meeting Soren’s eyes. “I will have a coronation.”
CHOICES
“I don’t know how to rule,” she admitted. Azul sat in front of her in Juniper’s old bar. The spheres of liquor behind the counter were still filled. The curved chairs and tables hadn’t collected even a spot of dust yet. The body and blood had been taken care of, but Isla was almost back to that day, weeks before, finding him dead. With Celeste.
Aurora.
The barkeep who kept secrets had died because of her. He had helped her. He was one of the only islanders who had helped her.
It made her want to be better—worthy of his sacrifice.
“A very dramatic declaration you gave. I quite liked it.” Azul leaned back in his chair, a glass of sparkling water glittering in front of him, bubbles popping and releasing a berrylike scent. “Do you want to rule, Isla?”
No. That was her first response. But it seemed too selfish to say aloud, so she said, “Do I have a choice?”
The Skyling ruler raised an eyebrow. “You always have a choice.”
Skylings valued choice over all else, as evidenced with their democracy. It was an alluring principle, Isla thought. What she wouldn’t give to hand off all this responsibility to someone else.
“Do I?” she said, her voice more grating than she had meant it. “I have ruling power from Starling now, and Wildling. Who else could rebuild them?” Azul just looked at her, so she continued. His silence angered her for some reason, because all these questions were real ones, ones she wanted answers to. “Hmm?” she said. “Should I just go back to my room and let them all die?”
“You could,” he said. Azul shrugged a shoulder, looked at a perfectly manicured nail. Every part of him was immaculate, as always. “But you’re choosing not to.” He met her eyes. “Right?”
She had requested he meet her. She had declared to the nobles and representatives that she would have a coronation. She had made not just a choice but choices.
“Right,” she murmured.
He flashed his perfect teeth at her. “Good. Now that that’s clear . . . Of course you don’t know how to rule, Isla.” The compassion in his tone caught her off guard. “When I was in my twenties, I was too busy flying off with boys and drinking every shade of haze to even think about anyone other than myself.” His smile turned sad. “When you make the choice to rule, you are making a promise that you will put your people’s well-being and happiness above your own.”
Isla frowned. It shamed her how awful that sounded.
She didn’t want to put others first, not after everything she had just been through. A person could only take so much. Her trust had been broken, along with her heart. There wasn’t much left of her to give. She wanted to be selfish with the parts that remained. Didn’t she deserve that?
“I see,” he said.
“See what?”
Azul began humming to himself, and the wind seemed to mimic it. Somehow a current was moving through the room and jostling her hair, even though all the doors and windows in the bar were closed. “Of course.”
“Of course what?”
The Skyling ruler folded his hands in front of him. “Are you close to your Wildling subjects, Isla?”
“No.”
“They didn’t know you believed yourself powerless?”
She shook her head.
“What was your relationship to them?”
Isla lifted a shoulder. “Nonexistent. My guardians made all the decisions. They ruled. Because of my . . . secret . . . I was kept far away. Only paraded on special occasions, at a distance.” She bit the inside of her mouth, a habit that would have made Poppy flick her on the wrist with her fan. “If I’m honest, they are my blood, they are my responsibility, I would do anything for them . . . but they feel like strangers.”
Azul nodded. “Of course they do,” he said, and the way he validated her feelings . . . the compassion in his voice . . . it was beyond anything she had ever experienced. “And the Starlings here, they are strangers. You don’t care about them.” He shrugged. “You don’t care about this island.”
His voice was without judgment. His eyes held no disgust. Azul only shook his head. “How could you? You’ve only been here a few months. The worst moments of your life were likely spent right here on Lightlark. You don’t have fond memories before the curses to look back on, and most of the people hate you, because of their perception of Wildlings.”
Everything was said so matter-of-factly. Isla couldn’t tell if his even tone made the words hurt less or more.
“Are you going back to the Wildling newland, Isla?”
“I plan to.” She told him about her portaling device and how she had visited. She offered to portal him to the Skyling newland when needed.
Azul’s eyes only glimmered with curiosity. “Charming,” he said. “I appreciate your offer, but I meant . . . are you returning to the Wildling newland for good?”
For good. Before, when the Centennial had ended, Isla could not fathom staying on Lightlark. Now, things were different. She was different.
“No.”
“Then this is your home now,” Azul said. “Your chosen one.” He stood, his light-blue cape billowing behind him in a breeze only he seemed privy to. “Learn to love it, and your two realms. It is up to the leader, not the subject, to connect.” He outstretched his hand. “Come with me.”
She took it without question, the rings on both of their fingers clashing together like wind chimes. “We’re not flying . . . are we?”
Azul smiled. “Do you trust me?”
“I do,” she said, and it was the truth. It was stupid, she realized, to trust anyone after everything. She knew that, but what was the alternative? Closing herself off forever? Ever since the end of the Centennial, she had felt a wall harden around her. If she wasn’t careful, it would become impenetrable.