Even as he said the words, Isla felt her muscles tightening, like every part of her was hardening into bone.
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t until you were leaving. Your face and chest are flushed scarlet. It’s a sign.” He tilted his head at her. “You feel it, don’t you?” he said. He offered her a small vial. An antidote? She swallowed it down. “Better?”
Better. The tightening loosened.
All softness left his expression. He looked down at her, at every inch of her dress, the fabric wrinkled in the places that had been gripped by the man now gurgling on his own blood at her feet.
“Hearteater,” Grim said, voice mocking, “who knew you were so desperate for pleasure?” She glared at him, and he only grinned. “If you wanted someone to bed you so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
She took a shaking breath. “I would rather die than have you touch me, demon,” she said.
He frowned down at her. “Is that so?” He dipped his head, so his cold breath was against her mouth. “All right. I will not touch you again until you ask me to. I won’t touch you again until you beg me to.”
“That will never happen,” she spat. “I hate you.”
“You can hate me, Hearteater, and still want me in your bed.”
She laughed in his face. “In your dreams, demon.”
“All of the best ones,” he agreed. His eyes seared through her as he looked her slowly up and down. “We do such depraved things, in my dreams.”
Isla opened her mouth. Closed it.
Grim leaned closer, so they shared breath. “When you finally do beg me to touch you—and you will—you won’t want anyone else to touch you ever again, Hearteater.” His voice was a dark whisper against her ear. “Late at night, you will think of me touching you. With my hands. My mouth.” Isla’s chest went tight at his words, his proximity. Her insides puddled; she was hot everywhere. “And you will dream of me too.”
Isla closed her eyes tightly, trying to force herself to be repulsed by his words.
When she opened them, both Grim and the Nightshade who had poisoned her were gone.
NEXUS
Five days remained. Isla was back on the Wildling newland. Enya was helping her make the final arrangements for the warriors to travel to Lightlark. The Sunling had already found space for them in the castle, close to Isla. They catalogued the healing elixirs that were left, after she had given a great portion of them to Calder and Soren. Reluctantly, Soren had agreed to let Calder shadow him as he treated the Vinderland. Calder was an eager learner, writing notes, which only seemed to annoy Soren.
Every remaining drop of elixir was crucial.
They both worked without speaking, exhausted, but there was no time to rest. She finished her remaining tasks and, at the end of the day, portaled them back to Lightlark.
In Isla’s overstuffed chairs, they were finally still. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Isla asked, “Do you have anyone? Anyone you’re . . . worried about, beyond Oro, Zed, and Cal?”
“You mean, do I have a partner?”
She nodded.
“Not at the moment. I’ve loved many women through the centuries, but it always seemed selfish to take a wife, knowing . . . what I do.” Knowing when she would die.
The Sunling tilted her head at Isla. Her red hair was vibrant against her pale skin. “You are different than I thought you would be. I like you, Isla, I really do,” she said, and Isla felt the same way. She wanted to tell her, but in the same breath, the Sunling said, “But I don’t like you for him.”
For him.
For Oro.
Isla’s previous love for the Sunling woman hardened into rock. “What do you mean?” she said slowly.
Enya sighed. “May I be honest with you?”
Isla nodded, even though her teeth rubbed together, painfully, behind her lips.
“Oro is king of Lightlark. His duty, from the moment his brother died, was to his people. Not himself. Not me. Not anyone he cares about. I used to hate it. I used to hate that one of the people I loved most would never truly know happiness. Now, I accept it. Because his happiness, and mine, are not more important than the happiness of everyone else on this island.”
Enya filed her fingernails against her pants. “He loves you, and that love is making him weak. If he’s not careful, it will be the death of Lightlark.”
Isla felt her face twist. “How can you say that? How can you paint love as the enemy?”
“Because I’ve watched thousands of people die, I’ve watched devastation for five centuries—all in the name of love.” The curses.
“This is different,” she said.
Enya smiled, and it was sad. She didn’t look cruel, or mean, and that made her words sting even more. “I believe those words have been spoken by every person in love since the beginning of time.”
You don’t know anything about us, Isla thought.
It would have been easy, so easy, so convenient, to ignore Enya’s words as jealousy or misguided advice.
Deep inside, if she really thought about it, she knew Enya was right.
Isla was almost done portaling the rest of the civilians. By tomorrow, only warriors would be left on Lightlark.
She was walking across the Star Isle bridge when she got the feeling she was being followed.
She focused on the ground beneath her, and she could sense the footsteps far away. Walking. Waiting.
She was about to be ambushed. She knew it, and she understood that only one group of people would be so bold, so close to the day of battle.
Isla let them capture her.
She braced herself, and the strings on the other side of the bridge snapped. It swooped down like a pendulum, and a force plucked her from the air, into a carved opening in the side of the Mainland cliff. The ones who had been following her swung in after her.
She rolled inside, her ribs screaming in protest as she tumbled before nearly hitting a wall.
When she opened her eyes, a dozen red masks looked back at her.
She smiled. “I don’t think this is going to go the way you’re hoping,” she said. Then, she twisted her fingers, and the ground grew teeth, trapping them all against the ceiling. She hadn’t killed them.
Not yet.
“Wait,” someone said. One of them fought to get their arm out between the ceiling and rock, to remove their mask. “Before you kill us, please just listen.”
Isla didn’t listen. She lashed out, the ground beneath her shook—
The person got their mask off, and Isla went very still.
“Maren,” she said.
Isla imagined she look crazed. Another Starling she had trusted, betraying her—
“How could you?” she asked, voice shaking. Maren had Cinder. She was a leader.
She had tried to kill her—
“We didn’t mean to hurt you before,” the Starling said quickly. “The Moonling who performed that did not consider the fact that you might . . . drag across the balcony. It was supposed to be simple—”
“What do you want?” Isla demanded. “You have five seconds to explain before I bring this cave down all around us.”
“Do you agree with the system of rule, Isla? You each make decisions that affect us all, whether you intend them to or not. The system of rule is a curse. Our lives being tied together is a curse.”