Nightbane by Alex Aster - Amulet Books 2023 PDF

OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, ev...

OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress. ISBN 978-1-4197-6090-7 eISBN 978-1-64700-633-4 Text © 2023 Alex Aster Book design by Chelsea Hunter Published in 2023 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below. Amulet Books® is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc. ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com OceanofPDF.com  For Rron— you make the real world better than a fictional one OceanofPDF.com My bane and antidote, are both before me. —J. Addison, Cato: A Tragedy, 1713 OceanofPDF.com  VAULT Isla Crown tasted death on the back of her tongue. Moments before, she had unlocked the hidden vault in the Place of Mirrors. Inside, power churned, whispering in a language she didn’t understand, calling to something deep in her marrow. It felt urgent, obvious, like the answer to a question she had somehow forgotten. The rest of the abandoned palace was falling apart, but this door had remained closed throughout the curses. Her ancestors had fought to keep it a secret. Her crown was the only key and Isla thought, as she pulled the door open with a scream of a creak, that they must have hidden it away so thoroughly for a reason. Her heart raced as she peered inside. But before she could get a look at anything good, a force battled through the gap, struck her in the chest, and sent her careening across the room. The door slammed closed. For a moment, there was silence. Peace, almost, which had become the most coveted and rarest of luxuries. It was all she dared wish for nowadays. Peace from the pain that pulsed through her chest, where an arrow had split her heart into two. Peace from the thoughts that ravaged her brain like insects feasting on decay. So much had been lost and gained in the last few weeks, and not in equal measure. For that one second, though, she was finally able to empty her head. Until it cracked against the stone floor, and her peace was replaced by a vision of carnage. Bodies. Bloodied. Charred. She couldn’t see what realms they were from; she could see only their skin and bones. Darkness spilled around the corpses like knocked-over pots of ink, but it did not settle, or puddle, or disappear. No. This darkness devoured. It finished off the rest of the bodies, then turned its attention to her. The tendrils climbed, cold and damp as lifeless limbs. Before she could move, the shadows parted her lips and forced her to drink them. She gasped for air, but all she tasted was death. Everything went black, like the stars and the moon and the sun were just candles that had been blown out, one by one. Then, the darkness spoke. “Isla.” It had his voice. Grim’s voice. “Come back to me. Come back—” A blink, and she was back in the Place of Mirrors, all refracted sunlight and skeletal branches scraping against the remaining glass, reaching for her like hands. And Oro. He was there in an instant, cradling her in his arms. He was not one for dramatic reactions, which only made his expression of horror more concerning. Isla reached up and found blood running from her nose, her ears, her eyes, down her cheeks. She looked at the blood on her fingers, and all she could think about was what she had seen. What was that? A vision? A warning of what Grim would do if she didn’t return to him? She didn’t know, but one thing was clear: as soon as she had opened that door, something had slammed it closed again. Something was in that room. And it didn’t want Isla to find it. OceanofPDF.com  TRUTHS AND LIES “It rejected me,” Isla said. It didn’t make sense. The power called to her; she could feel it. So why had the door slammed closed again? The king’s golden crown gleamed as he tilted his head back, studying her. He was standing as far from her place on the bed as the room allowed. It didn’t matter. Even from feet away, she could sense the thread that tied them together. Something like love. Something like power. Oro finally spoke. “You’re not ready. I don’t think your crown is the only key. If it wasn’t meant to be easily opened, the vault’s door could be charmed to admit only a Wildling ruler.” “I am a—” “One who has mastered their abilities.” Oh. Isla laughed. She couldn’t help it. Of course the island would continue to come up with ways to make her feel inadequate. At this point, it was like a game. “If that’s true, then I guess it will remain closed,” she said, staring intently at a spot on the wall. The only Wildling masters still alive were her guardians—and if she ever set eyes on them again, she would kill them for murdering her parents. And for all the lies they had fed her. Silence came to a boil and spilled over. She could almost feel Oro’s concern in the air, a heat tinged in worry. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of all the things she had been through, being swept across the room by a snobbish door was far from the worst. She hated his concern, and she hated herself for the anger that had hardened inside her like a blade, that struck out at even something as innocent as worry. Lately, though, she couldn’t seem to control any of her emotions. Sometimes she woke up and didn’t have the energy to even get out of bed. Other times, she was so angry, she portaled to Wild Isle just to have a place to scream. “I will teach you,” he said.  “You’re not a Wildling master.” “No,” he admitted. “But I have mastered four realms’ powers. The abilities are different, but the execution is similar.” His voice was gentle, gentler than she deserved. “It was how I was able to use your power.” It was how he was able to save her. She would have been boiled alive by the core of the island if Oro hadn’t used the bond between them to claim her powers in the Place of Mirrors. That had been the moment her feelings for him were revealed. The fact that he could access her abilities meant she loved him. Though she didn’t even know what that—love—was. She had loved her guardians. She had loved Celeste. She had, at some point, loved Grim. The vision. Death and darkness and decay. Was it a threat? A glimpse of the future? The weight around her neck felt even heavier now. The necklace Grim had gifted her during the Centennial had been impossible to remove, and yes, she had tried. It had a clasp, but so far it had refused to open. It seemed there was no real way to take it off. Only she could feel it. Oro didn’t even know it existed. Isla wondered if Grim was like that necklace—insistent and refusing to let her go. Would he kill people just to have her? “I have to tell you something.” She considered keeping it to herself. If it had involved only her, she might have. She had broken the curses. She deserved more time to recover. Her cuts and bruises from the Centennial had disappeared, but some wounds were invisible and took far longer to heal than broken skin and bones. “In the Place of Mirrors... there was a vision.” He frowned. “What did you see?” “Death,” she said. “He—” She found herself unwilling to speak his name aloud, as if that alone might summon him from the shadows, bring him to life in more than just her mind. “He was surrounded by darkness. There were dead bodies everywhere. The shadows were reaching at me—” She winced. “It looked like... war.” It looked like the end of the world.  Sharper heat swept through the room, the only sign of Oro’s anger. His smooth face remained expressionless. “He won’t stop until he has you.” Isla shook her head. “I chose you... He feels betrayed. He might not even care about me anymore.” Oro didn’t look convinced. She closed her eyes. “Even if he did, do you think he would start a war over me? Risk his own people?” “I think that is exactly what he would do,” Oro said, his gaze faraway, as if lost in thought. “Isla. You need to start your training, and not just to get into the vault.” Training. That sounded like far too much effort, she decided, for a person who had to bargain with herself just to leave her room every day. She didn’t use to be like this. Training had been hammered into her like gemstones into a blade’s hilt. It was part of her very essence. Now, she was just tired, more mentally than physically. All she wanted was time to recover, and why did even thinking that make her feel like the most selfish person on Lightlark? Luckily, she had an excuse other than her own unwillingness. “You know I can’t.” As king, Oro was the last remaining Origin who could wield each of the remaining Lightlark powers—Skyling, Starling, Moonling, and Sunling. It was supposed to be impossible for anyone other than his line to be born with more than one ability. According to Aurora—whom she had once thought to be her best friend, Celeste—her Wildling and Nightshade gifts were tangled together in a way that made them largely useless unless a Nightshade released them. “My powers—” “I have a plan for that.” Of course he did. Her teeth stubbornly locked together. “I don’t have time to train. I have to get back to the Wildlings.” “They will need you to be at your utmost strength.” Why was he so set on her training? And why, truly, was she so against it? “It’s a distraction,” she tried. “I can learn later. After they’re taken care of. After we’ve figured out the Nightshade threat, if my vision is even real.” “You have the power of a Starling ruler now, Isla,” Oro said gently. When Isla killed Aurora, she had used an ancient relic called the bondmaker to steal all the Starling’s power. The action served as a loophole to fulfill the part of the prophecy that stated a ruler had to die to break the curses. A ruler’s power functioned as the life force of their people. All Starlings would have died along with Aurora, if Isla hadn’t stolen that power. Now, she was responsible for two realms, when she wasn’t even qualified to rule one. “Your Wildling and Nightshade powers might have stayed dormant all this time,” he continued, “but this will not. The abilities are too great. If you don’t learn how to control them, they will control you.” That seemed unlikely. In the last couple of days, she had casually tried to use her Starling powers. To move a quill. To make a burst of energy off her balcony. Nothing. She would have doubted that the bondmaker had even worked if the Starlings weren’t still alive. “Isla,” Oro said, and the tender way he said her name dulled the defensive edges of her anger and pain, just a little. “Yes?” He took a step, then another, until she was bathed in his warmth, even though he was still farther than she would have liked. Oro studied her from the foot of her bed. “Say you’ll train with me. And mean it.” “Fine,” she said quickly, just because she knew it was what he wanted to hear. Just because nowadays, she would do anything to stop thoughts about the Centennial and what had happened. “I’ll train with you. I mean it.” “Your excitement is overwhelming,” he said flatly. “I am excited,” she said through her teeth. His look sharpened. “You do realize I know you’re lying?” Of course he did. That was his flair, the extra power rulers often carried from distant bloodlines. She imagined fate laughing at the irony of their pairing: a liar loved by someone who could sense the truth. Instead of glaring at Oro, she was happy to turn the attention back to him. Curiosity made for the best distraction. Wasn’t that all life was, she reasoned, painful moments strung together by distractions? “What does it feel like?” she asked, sitting straighter on the bed. The thin sleeve of her dress dipped down her shoulder. She watched him track its fall. “What does what feel like?” he asked, eyes lingering on her newly bare shoulder.  Something thrummed in her chest. She hadn’t often noticed Oro staring at her. Until the moment when Aurora confirmed the king loved her, she hadn’t even thought he had liked her. One of her bare legs ran the length of the bed, slowly, until her toe reached the floor. Her dress rode high up her thigh, and she could feel the heat of his eyes on her. She did the same with the other leg, until both feet were by the bedside. He studied her, top to bottom, and suddenly the vault was forgotten. Her inadequacy—forgotten. The betrayals? Forgotten. Part of Isla wondered if he was still just looking at her to see if she was okay, but no, no, it was far better to believe he was watching her for other reasons. “When someone lies to you. What does it feel like?” She drifted over to him, barefoot, her back slightly sore from her rough landing. Her head pounded in pain, the wound just recently healed by her Wildling elixir, but she ignored it. He remained very still as she stopped before him. “Does it hurt?” She tilted her head. “Does anything really hurt you?” The look he gave her made it clear he wasn’t going to answer the second question, so she tried the first again. “Do the lies hurt?” Oro was so tall, he had to crane his neck down to look her right in the eyes. He reached out and ran his thumb across the divots of her crown. “It depends on who’s telling them.” Guilt sank its teeth into her chest. The idea that her lies had hurt him inexplicably made her hurt as well. Was that what it meant to love someone? She had lied to him throughout the Centennial, but he had never lied to her. She knew that now for certain. He was the only person she trusted in the world, though she realized trusting anyone after what had happened was astronomically foolish. Was that love? Isla placed her hand on his chest and felt him stiffen. He was warm in a comforting way that made her want to feel his bare skin beneath her fingers. He did not move an inch as she got closer—and closer still. They had barely talked about the connection between them, the undeniable thread. He had let her have her space. She had wanted to take things slow. Not rush in, the way she had with Grim. But at that moment, she didn’t want any space between them. She stood on her toes, wanting to bridge the gap between her lips and his, finally, but no matter how long she stretched her neck, she couldn’t reach him. Oro stared down at her and frowned. “Is this your attempt to distract me?” Absolutely. She didn’t want to master her powers. She didn’t want to think about any of her newfound abilities. Once she started, she would have to think about things—and people—that had scarred her, perhaps beyond repair. “Yes. Let me?” He lowered his head. His golden crown winked in the light. Then his hands were on her waist. His fingers were long across her back; she arched into his touch. He grabbed her, so tightly she gasped— But before she could wrap her legs around his waist, he carried her to the bed...... and dropped her back onto the sheets. By the time she made a sound of protest, he was at the door. “Rest, Isla,” he said. “The dinner is in a few hours.” She groaned. It was the first time representatives were all meeting, to discuss the aftermath of the curses. “Then, we’ll begin our training.” OceanofPDF.com  FLOATING FEAST “Make me look like a sword,” Isla had told the Starling tailor Leto. “One that’s more blood than blade.” A mixture of Wildling and Starling. That was what she wore as she swept into the dining room. The Sunling nobles had arrived early with their ruler. They were already seated when Isla walked through the doors, and when their eyes went straight to her—sharp and hungry—she had the unnerving feeling of being the very thing they had come to pick at and consume. Before, she might have cowered under their scrutiny, but now she strode to the table like she didn’t notice. What could anyone on this island do or say to her that they hadn’t already done? Moonling nobles had tried to assassinate her. The others had already judged her down to the bone. In the marketplace, most people avoided her, still hating Wildlings because of their bloodthirsty curse, even after it had been broken. Her new red, metal- woven dress whispered against the smooth floor, feeling almost like chain mail, fighting against the silence shrinking the room. She quickly marked the Sunling nobles as she passed them by. A man with long golden hair tied into a braid and dark skin, wearing a solemn expression. A tall woman, made up of about a thousand freckles, her hair the color of rust. A man who looked old—remarkable, given that even Oro looked young, and he had been alive for more than five centuries—his spine curved toward the table as if emulating the top of a question mark. He smiled at her, light skin crinkling, but it tipped more toward amused than friendly. Oro sat at the head of the table, and he was also watching. The king would have looked exactly like he did at the beginning of the Centennial, at that first dinner, if not for his eyes. Back then, his eyes had been hollow as honeycomb. Now, they burned right through her with an intensity that made any previous thoughts unspool around her. He almost imperceptibly traced her with his gaze. Her bare, tan shoulders. The silk-and-steel corset. The slit in her dress revealing knee-high boots she’d had made, because they were more practical than her heels or slippers. Her long brown hair, with tiny red flowers woven through the ends. She watched him back, for just a second. His broad shoulders. Golden hair. The sharp panes of his smooth face. He had been paler before, after so many years without sunlight, but now he was glowing, radiant. He was so beautiful, it almost hurt looking at him. She didn’t remember noticing how attractive he was at that first dinner. Was that love? Oro looked away quickly. As she took her place next to him, the doors opened, and a breeze blew her hair back, bringing with it the comforting scent of pine and the prickling chill of mountain air. Azul swept in with the current, feet never touching the floor. He was joined by two others, not nobles but elected officials. Skylings ran their realm as close to a democracy as was possible in a system where rulers were born with the bulk of the power, power their people’s lives hinged on. While Azul’s hair was as dark as his skin, the woman behind him had hair the color of the sky itself, complete with a bit of white mixed in—a sign she was ancient, just like the curved-over Sunling. Unlike the old man’s, though, her posture was perfect. Her skin was deep brown, and she was small in stature. The Skyling next to her was built like a tombstone, as solid as if he were carved straight from the Singing Mountains. He was white as the cliffs of Lightlark, and so tall Isla couldn’t see the color of his hair from the way his face was angled as he stared straight ahead. He was large enough to carry three swords on his belt comfortably, and he dwarfed all of them. Isla had the unpleasant thought that her own sword would look something like a quill in the giant’s grip. Azul came around the table to greet Isla, though his seat was on the other side of Oro. “Your style has changed,” he mused. His, happily, had not. The ruler of Skyling was wearing a tunic with shards cut out of its sides and bulbous sapphires in place of buttons. He wore a ring on every finger. It was her first time seeing him since the Centennial had ended. You should have sought him out, her mind whispered. Another failing.  She wanted to ask how he was doing after watching the specter of his long-lost husband disappear once the storm cleared. She wanted to apologize for believing even for a moment that he was her enemy. She wanted to ask him how the Skylings were faring in the aftermath. Before she could get a word out, Azul said, “We could make time to meet, if you would like.” “I would like that very much,” she said. “Good.” He dipped his chin and whispered, “Beware. Someone is always watching.” He was right. Conversation had started up, but she could still feel attention fixed firmly on her. In the days that she had spent in her room after the end of the Centennial, Oro had told the island’s nobles and representatives that Isla had broken the curses and gained the power of a Starling ruler. The news had swiftly spread among the people of Lightlark. The leaders sitting around her now had watched her stumble her way through most of the Centennial’s trials. They must have wondered how she, out of all the rulers, had been the one to finally put an end to the curses. Just as Azul was seated, the doors opened once more, and a single Starling walked through. She had light brown skin, dark eyes, and a sheet of shining black hair. Her clothes were faded silver, more storm cloud than freshly sharpened blade. She froze as everyone turned to face her. Less than a second later, she recovered, walking with her head high. Because of their previous curse, Isla knew for certain that the Starling was younger than twenty-five, close to her own age. They locked eyes, and the girl frowned. Still, Isla felt an understanding pass between them. Two people who felt remarkably out of place. “Maren,” the Starling said simply before being seated, by way of introduction, and then she proceeded to focus very intently on the curved edge of the solid gold table. Only one chair remained empty. Cleo’s. It didn’t seem like the Moonling would be joining them. Chimes rang through the golden room, marking the hour. Oro stood. “After five hundred years of suffering, the curses plaguing our realms have been broken, thanks to Isla Crown, ruler of Wildling.” She felt eyes on her again. “Over the last centuries, our priority was survival. Today, we meet to discuss how we move forward. I see an opportunity for growth in every sense of the word. To get there, we must deal with the aftermath of five hundred years of our people divided and our powers constricted in the face of new threats.” He looked around at them all. “First, let us celebrate the end of much of our suffering by sharing a meal.” Oro was seated, and conversations began, but Isla focused only on her unsteady breathing. Nerves rolled through her stomach. The attention had already been turned to her. Soon, there would be questions. What if she answered wrong? No one knew about her past with Grim. No one knew she was secretly also a Nightshade. If they did, they might have imprisoned her right then and there. Nightshade had been their enemy for centuries. They had been at war right before the curses. If her vision was to be believed, they might soon find themselves in another battle against them. “We are monsters, Hearteater,” someone said in her ear. “Or, at least, that’s what they think.” Grim. He was here. She startled. Her heart hammered. Her gaze darted around the table, expecting to find him close by or to see some reaction from the others. But he was nowhere. Maybe he was invisible. Her eyes strained to see even the smallest ripple in the air that might give him away. She waited for him to appear before them. Her hand inched toward Oro to warn him— Nothing. She knew what she’d heard. Or did she? It could have been her own mind. Grim had said those same words more than a month ago, when he was still pretending not to know her. The truth was, he had known everything about her. They had a year’s worth of memories together that he had made her forget, to suit his own agenda at the Centennial. He had cut part of her life away as easily as Leto shearing excess fabric. She didn’t know what she would do if she ever saw him again, but she didn’t need to worry about it at the moment. Grim wasn’t there. She had imagined it, then. Perhaps her mind had made up the vision in the Place of Mirrors too. It couldn’t be real. Grim wouldn’t kill innocent people to get to her. She saw flashes of that vision again. Death. Children—  “Breathe,” she said to herself, before taking a deep breath, knowing how ridiculous it was that she had to remind herself, vocally, of a body’s basic function. Her nails dug into her palms, trying to keep herself in the moment, as if she were clinging to an anchor instead of becoming unmoored yet again in the shifting currents of her mind. “Don’t forget to exhale too.” Oro. Under the table, he placed his hand on her knee. His thumb stroked the inside of her thigh. She knew he meant it as a comforting gesture, but for a moment all her senses sharpened to his touch. Her eyes met his. He removed his hand. A special drink was prepared, a Sunling specialty. Flaming goblets were served on floating platters by Starlings, who moved objects using their mastery of energy. Isla noticed they smiled at the Starling representative— Maren—in a friendly way. Oro casually drank from the goblet, and the flames extinguished, not burning him in the slightest. The Sunling noble with the dark-red hair downed hers in an impressively short amount of time. Would it burn her if she wasn’t Sunling? No, of course not. Oro would never serve his guests something that would harm them. She was the next one to drink from her own flaming goblet. It tasted of honey and burned like liquor. The flames licking the edge of the goblet stroked her cheeks as she drank, then sank into the dregs of the drink before simmering away completely. The first food course was pure Skyling. It was a floating feast, served in a flowerpot—miniature vegetables still tied to the roots, flying about, that one had to pin down with their fork to eat. She couldn’t place every food by name, but one had the familiar texture of potatoes, was violet in color, and had a surprising bite of sweetness. Some of the vegetables seemed to have minds of their own and playfully evaded capture, flying within the confines of their root leashes. Oro watched her try to pin down an especially active beet, amusement touching the corners of his mouth. The second course was Starling. The fine silver plates contained a single orb. Once all were served, the Starlings snapped their fingers in unison, and the orbs exploded, revealing a cut of unfamiliar meat, carved into precise pieces. Large saltlike rocks formed a circle around the protein. Isla bit into one and startled when it burst like a firecracker in her mouth.  The Moonling course arrived last. The Starling attendants mumbled apologies as they delivered the dishes, though they were clearly only following orders. Blocks of ice were presented with live fish still swimming within them. Their eyes were wide as they tried to navigate their quickly melting confines. Isla felt the heat of Oro’s anger—almost enough to set the fish free— though his expression remained impassive. Before Oro could say a single word, the doors of the room burst open. Isla expected to see a dramatic entrance from Cleo. A Moonling stood at the entrance... but it was not the ruler. The man had long white hair that reached the middle of his torso, nearly the color of his skin, and a staff in his hand. “Soren,” Oro said. “How nice of you to join us. I presume this is your idea of a joke?” The Moonling man—Soren—pursed his lips. “More of a statement. Excuse my late appearance, but I find I have no appetite when I consider the state of the island, not so unlike the blocks of ice before you.” That made them the fish. “Cleo sent you in her stead?” Azul asked. Soren nodded. He took the empty seat that had been set aside for the Moonling ruler. Oro stood, and the entire center of the solid gold table dropped, forming a basin. The blocks of ice rushed to the middle, then melted, filling it. The fish swam in relieved circles. With a look that was befitting of the cold king Isla had believed Oro to be before the Centennial, he looked at Soren and said, “Now that dinner has ended, why don’t you begin by telling us where Moonling stands?” The Moonling’s longest finger slipped across the gem atop his staff. “You are of course aware that we have severed our bridge to the Mainland.” “Another statement?” Oro asked. The Moonling shrugged a shoulder. “As well as a protective measure. The curses kept people in check... and we are aware we have enemies on the island.” His gaze landed on Isla. She almost wanted to laugh. That was the reason he was going with? Her? Moonling nobles had tried to assassinate her, and Cleo had, personally, nearly finished the job. She supposed it wasn’t a leap to think she, with her newfound power, would be set on revenge. It was still a ridiculous excuse. Oro gave him a look. “And your armada of ships?” The Moonling noble took a leisurely sip of the flaming goblet that had now been set before him. “So we can sail to the Moonling newland, of course,” he said. “To unite our people once more.” That might have been partially true, but it wasn’t the only reason, and Isla didn’t need Oro and his flair to know it. Cleo had begun building her army of ships during a time when faraway travel was a death sentence for Moonlings. “Unite them how?” Azul asked. “To bring those on the Moonling newland to Lightlark? Or bring those on Lightlark to the newland?” The room was silent, charged with energy. This was the big question, she knew, from speaking with Oro. After the curses were cast, most of the realms had fled Lightlark to create their own newlands, hundreds of miles away. Some people had remained on the island. Would the rulers decide to move back, now that the curses were over? Would they leave Lightlark for good? “My ruler has not decided yet,” Soren said smoothly. Oro turned away from the Moonling in dismissal to face Azul. “And the Skylings?” Azul motioned toward his representatives. “These are elected officials Sturm”—the giant nodded, his eyes never leaving the opposite wall—“and Bronte.” The petite woman gave the ghost of a smile. “Every Skyling will have a choice,” Bronte said. “To remain on the Skyling newland, or join us here on Lightlark.” That seemed in keeping with their realm. Sturm nodded. “We have already begun teaching the newer generations the art of our flight, though the journey to or from the newland is still too long. We have contraptions that offer flight by harnessing wind for that purpose.” Oro nodded. He made to face his own representatives when Azul said, “There is something else. Rebellion on the island is brewing. Our spies have heard the whispers, carried along the wind.” Oro frowned. “What do those whispers say?”  “The people are not pleased with how long it took to break the curses, or our decisions as rulers.” “Which realm?” Oro asked. “All of them. The ones on Lightlark, at least,” he said. His gaze shifted to Soren. “Yes, even Moonling.” Rebellion. Would the people of Lightlark really attempt to overthrow Oro, or any of the other rulers? Without heirs, their rule represented a total monarchy. Rebellion was futile, when killing a ruler would result in the death of everyone in their realm. Their expressions were grave, but no one looked too surprised. It made Isla think rebellion was not a new concept on Lightlark. “I plan to visit all the isles and newlands to address the people directly,” Oro said, his eyes meeting Soren’s. “Hopefully, it will give everyone a chance to air their grievances.” He nodded at his representatives. “Enya, Urn, and Helios join me,” he said. Sunlings didn’t have a newland—all of them had stayed, along with Oro, who was both ruler of Sunling and king of Lightlark. “As many of you know, they serve the Mainland court as well. We are focused on shifting our infrastructure and routines back to normal after being nocturnal for five hundred years.” His eyes briefly met Isla’s before he said, “We are also preparing our legion. With the curses broken, we can only assume Grimshaw will take it as an opportunity to attack.” This was in response to her vision, Isla knew. Oro was taking it seriously. Soren frowned. “You believe he has the same ambitions as his father?” Grim’s father went to war against Lightlark, Isla knew, decades before the curses. Nightshade wanted control of the island. “Perhaps,” Oro said. “All we know for certain is that Nightshade is more powerful than ever now that the curses are broken and our realms are divided. We must work together again to present a united front.” There were murmurs of agreement, and hushed whispers that sounded curious about the idea of a Nightshade attack. “Speaking of working together...” Soren said. His attention turned to Isla. “All of the Wildlings fled Lightlark. How is your realm faring?” After the curses, Isla had injected power into her lands, to save her people while she recovered. Late at night, with her portaling device, she had visited them in secret. “Wildlings have begun shifting their primary food source.” She saw clear disgust on Soren’s face, which she guessed had to do with the fact that her people had previously subsisted on human hearts. “My people have already started harvesting their own crops, but we will need aid to achieve an assortment of diet and agriculture now that they are dependent on farming. I—” “How many of you are left?” Soren interrupted. She frowned. “I’m not sure. As you know—” “You’re not sure?” Soren asked, eyebrow raised. She could feel her face go hot. It was a reasonable question. The kind a good ruler would know the answer to. “Do most of your people know how to wield power?” “I don’t know.” “How is housing? What has the rate of reproduction been in the last century?” “I will have to find out,” she said through her teeth. “Do you—” “Enough,” Oro said. He turned to the Moonling. “Soren, I’m sure Isla would love to have you visit the Wildling newland if you are so curious about her people.” Soren looked like he would rather stick his fork in his eye, but he went silent. Isla’s gaze didn’t leave the table. Her throat felt tight. Her breathing was constricted, as though her lungs had shrunk to half their normal size. She didn’t deserve to be a ruler. She had known that for a while, but Soren’s line of questioning had thrown her lack of wisdom in sharp relief. Poppy and Terra had ruled the realm while she trained for the Centennial, and now they were gone. She had banished them. For the first time, Isla wondered if that had been a mistake. The Starling representative who had announced herself as Maren cleared her throat. There was an intensity to her, an energy that coursed through the room. “For centuries, we have been an afterthought. A blip in your ancient lives. We have been treated as disposable by many. Taken in the middle of the night. Subjected to labor, and torture, and sometimes worse.” She looked at the king. “You executed those found guilty, but so many fell through the cracks.” She grimaced. “Star Isle is in ruins. I can’t imagine the newland is faring much better.” She looked to Isla. “We need a ruler.” How could the Starling seriously be looking at Isla for help, after seeing how badly she had just recounted her own realm’s condition? Soren frowned. “What you ask is impossible. One cannot be the ruler of two realms.” “She did receive the full power of a Starling ruler,” Azul remarked. Soren barked out a laugh. “The girl can’t even rule her own realm. Now you’re ready to give her two?” “The girl has a name—and a title,” Oro said, his voice cutting through the room. “You will address her with the respect you give all rulers, or I will use you as kindling for the castle hearth.” Isla stiffened. Oro’s defense had been sharp. She glanced at the faces around her, but they looked abashed rather than suspicious. Soren’s eyes flashed, but he bowed his head in respect. “Forgive me, King.” “Don’t apologize to me,” Oro told him. Soren begrudgingly turned to Isla and said, “I apologize, Ruler.” Isla just stared at him. He turned back to the king. “With respect,” he said, his s pronounced in a particularly serpentine manner, “it does not seem wise to give a single ruler that much power...” He hesitated, considering his words. “You, King, are the only one meant to preside over multiple realms.” Oro’s look at the Moonling was just one shade away from casting flames. “Azul is correct. She has the full powers of a Starling ruler, and, might I remind us all, is the sole reason any of the Starlings are still alive.” He turned to Isla. “The responsibility is hers to accept.” Isla was silent. She couldn’t decide like this right now. As much as she wanted to put a dagger through him, Soren was right. She had just demonstrated, very publicly, that she had no idea how to properly rule a single realm, let alone two. Two of the weakest realms, the most ravaged by the curses; the ones currently in need of the most support. “How would that work?” the woman with the dark-red hair said. Enya. Her voice was raspy and deep. She carefully appraised Isla, tilting her head to the side. “Would she be coronated? Officially announced as ruler? She already has the power; it would simply be a matter of ceremony.”  “The public will not like it,” the Skyling woman—Bronte—murmured, though not unkindly. She was simply voicing a fact. “Of course they won’t like it,” Maren murmured under her breath. “It would make it more difficult for them to continue to exploit us.” “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.” OceanofPDF.com  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. She had asked Azul for help. The least she could do was let him in. They stepped out the back door of the bar, into an alleyway. He offered his other hand. “May I?” She took his hand. Then she was in the air. And Azul’s flying was far smoother than Oro’s had ever been. In the aftermath of the curses, Sky Isle was transformed. The city built below had been abandoned for the one floating above, just as most of the Skyling people had promptly deserted walking in favor of flying. A castle sat nestled comfortably in the clouds, with spires pointing at the sky like quills ready to decorate a blank page. A waterfall spilled from the front of the palace in an arc that reflected every color imaginable, into a shimmering pool below. And they were all flying. It looked natural, like the air was so much empty space finally being put to good use. Isla had only ever seen Oro fly—and now, Azul. She hadn’t expected there to be so much flourish. Flying seemed to be a bit like handwriting; everyone had their own signature. Some were graceful, like Azul, to the point of making it all look like a choreographed dance. Others were more like Oro, brusquely taking steps in the sky, as if walking on an invisible set of bridges no one else could see. Some weren’t really flying at all. They glided on contraptions with wings, using their control over wind to power the inventions. Azul had wrapped her in wind. She floated right beside him—with her hand fully clenched around his wrist, just in case—taking it all in as best as she could. “Your realm’s curse...” “Was one of the better ones,” he filled in. Not being able to fly for five hundred years certainly must have been terrible for a society that had clearly woven their power through the fabric of their day-to-day, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as dying at twenty-five or eating hearts to survive. That didn’t mean it wasn’t deadly, though. “Azul. The day it happened—” “We lost many of our people. They all just... fell from the sky.” Isla closed her eyes. The thought of them, without explanation, falling to their deaths... She clutched Azul’s wrist harder. “Flying comes naturally to us; even those with the smallest shred of power can do it. Those who weren’t skilled enough—or quick enough—to use wind to cushion their fall... perished.” They had reached the castle. Instead of landing in the clouds—which Isla didn’t trust in the slightest—they continued floating, right through the entrance.  The ceiling was nonexistent. One could float right in and through the palace in one smooth motion. The castle had hallways but no stairs. To get to the different levels and out of the main atrium, one had to fly. She could see why this palace had been abandoned after the curses. Isla wondered how many important resources Skylings had suddenly had no access to, for years, because of their curse. The first time she had visited Sky Isle, she had marveled that the highest building in the city had a spire that reached the very bottom of the castle above it. Now, she realized that was the only way for them to reach what had been lost. They’d had to build to it. The air felt thinner so high up, and it was cold enough to make her skin prickle, though the Skylings didn’t seem to mind it. They all wore light blue in honor of their realm, in fashions with much more range than she had seen from other realms. Dresses didn’t seem to be so popular, which she imagined was a practical choice. Even now, Isla was grateful her dress and cape were heavy enough to keep her modest as she floated around. Skylings nodded at Azul with respect, with joy, smiling, clapping him on the back as they passed him by. Most nodded at Isla as well. Some stared curiously. Others smiled openly. They flew to the top of the castle and through its ceiling to view the palace and its floating city from above. He motioned toward the hundreds of people in a market that looked miniature from their height, then to a string of mountains miles away. Sky Isle went on and on, farther than she could see. “They are my purpose,” Azul said. “It was not easy to leave Lightlark after the curses, but my people voted, and most wanted to leave the uncertain future of the island. I’m proud of the Skyling newland, and all we created in the last few centuries, but there is no doubt that our power’s heart is here.” He took a deep breath, like he could smell and taste and feel that very power, thrumming across the isle. He looked at her. “I can’t teach you how to rule, Isla. You must figure that out yourself. All I know is that I put their interests and well-being far above my own. Every day. They are what kept me going, even in my grief.” He glanced at her sidelong. “Now that the curses are over, there will be pressure for you to have an heir.” Isla whipped her head to face him. “What?”  “Your people will want to secure their future.” He sighed. “Many precautions were put in place in the last few hundred years to ensure the safety of rulers. My people voted for me to almost constantly be surrounded by a legion for protection. I was not permitted to travel to other newlands.” That made Isla’s own travels with her starstick seem that much more reckless. For a moment, she began to understand why Poppy and Terra had been so strict. Isla did not want to create an heir. She wasn’t ready. Did that make her horrible? Even more selfish? She also didn’t want to live the rest of her life insulated and heavily guarded, knowing her death would mean the end of all her people... “There are other ways to have an heir, beyond the obvious,” Azul said. “It is possible for rulers to transfer power, through a love bond, or special relics.” Like the bondmaker, Isla thought. “The cost is high, however. Permanently transferring ability shortens a ruler’s life significantly.” That didn’t seem like a viable option either. She had barely had a life. She wanted to be able to live it. “You look like you’re about to be sick,” Azul said. “It’s the height.” Azul made a sound like he knew the truth. “It is an honor to rule but not always a pleasure, Isla.” He squeezed her hand. “Go, visit your people. Face them. Be honest with them. You are their ruler. Whether or not you have deemed yourself worthy, you are all they have.” That, Isla decided, was what she was most afraid of. OceanofPDF.com  CORONATION There were fewer Wildlings left than she thought. Months before, she had addressed her people. Now, only a fraction remained. They looked weak. There were details she hadn’t noticed before, when she had been so focused on her journey to the Centennial. Now, she saw the signs clearly. A woman with short hair, crudely cut, wore a torn top that revealed all-too-visible ribs. Another looked far too pale, lips chapped, face devoid of color. They had learned to make enough food; she had seen them. She supposed it would take some time for consistent nourishment to make them healthy again. Some details were the same. A portion of her people had animal companions near them, just like the day she left. Wildlings were known for their affinity with creatures. Poppy had a hummingbird that flew around her hair. Terra had a great panther. She had always wanted an animal companion. It would have made her life far less lonely. Terra had always said no. Isla opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, they did something she couldn’t have expected. Didn’t deserve. One by one, they bowed. “No, I—” They had never done that before. Isla had never demanded it. It wasn’t a custom she was used to. She didn’t like it. Anxiety thrummed across her skin, and she wanted to yell that they should be screaming at her, calling her names, telling her everything she had done wrong up until this point. They looked like they were still dying. She was a failure, not a hero. Isla stepped back, words caught in her throat, when a woman with a capybara next to her said, “You broke the curses. You did what all other rulers for centuries could not.” She frowned. “How do you—how do you know that?”  “Terra told us.” Terra? The name was a dagger to the chest. How had her guardians even known she was the one to break the curses? Why had Terra told them, after being banished? Had she defied Isla’s order? Was she still here, on the newland? “Where is Terra now?” the woman asked. “She was here... and then she vanished. And Poppy?” No. Not still here. “I don’t know,” Isla said honestly. She thought about telling them about the banishment, but she needed to first get a sense of their allegiance. Would they be loyal to her... or to the guardians who had mostly ruled the Wildlings since her birth? “Please stand,” she said. She told them everything else. That she’d believed she had been born without powers. That she had a device that allowed her to portal at will. That she now had Starling power. When she was finished, she said, “I have not been a good ruler. I don’t know your struggles. Speak candidly, please. I know you must have questions. Ask them. Tell me what you need.” Something flickered in her vision. Isla turned, and for the slightest second, she saw Grim, standing among the crowd, watching her. She froze. Panic dropped through her stomach. A blink, and he was gone. Someone asked a question, and she didn’t hear it. She shook her head. “Sorry, what did you say?” Her ears were ringing. First, the vision in the Place of Mirrors. Then, his voice in her head. Now, she was seeing him... What was next? What was wrong with her? “I asked what is happening on the island.” She wondered how much she should say. “There is uncertainty on Lightlark right now. The realms are divided. There are signs of rebellion. We also have reason to believe Nightshades might try to attack Lightlark, like they have in the past.” She attempted a smile. “Once all of that is dealt with, I hope to have us all back on Lightlark one day,” she said. “This has been our home for five centuries, but it is weakened. Lightlark is where we have always belonged.” There were some murmurs, but no one spoke out against her. She hoped that was a good sign.  She answered their questions as best she could, then sought out a woman who wore purple flowers through the ends of her hair, the color of leadership. She was tall, with light skin, dark hair, and sharp eyes. Her name was Wren, and Isla learned she led one of the larger villages on the newland. “Why are some people standing apart from the rest?” Isla asked. Her people were not as united as they had seemed months prior. Some were huddled together, but others stood on the outskirts. Wren looked at her for a moment. “I mean no disrespect,” she said. “But you didn’t have the curse. You don’t know what it’s like to have to kill others for food. To go hungry because there simply wasn’t enough.” She shook her head. “Most of us did things we’re not proud of to survive.” Tears burned Isla’s eyes. All her life, she had thought it a horror being locked in her room and training so rigorously. It was nothing compared to what her people had gone through; she knew that now. “What do you need?” she asked. “How can I help you?” Wren pressed her lips together. “We have slowly learned to make food. It has been good for us, I think, figuring things out on our own. Any challenge now... it is a mere shadow of what we endured.” “You must need something,” she said. “Some of you still look starved. I can bring more food. Bring people to help teach you to make other crops or help reconstruct houses.” She had seen the state of the villages during her travels with her starstick. Some buildings had stood the test of time, and others had fallen to pieces. “I can—” Wren cut her off. “How are the Starlings?” “I don’t know. I’ve asked, but I haven’t yet visited the newland or isle.” “Help them,” she said. “We are resourceful. Older. They are so young. They need you more than we do.” She smiled sadly. “It would help,” she said. “With the guilt. To know in some way, we are aiding another realm, instead of...” Killing them. Isla nodded. “I’ll be back,” she said. “With help and resources, after my coronation.” Wren nodded. “We will be waiting.” Bells rang at a distance. The air was sharp with salt from the sea and burned honey from the fair that had cropped up at the base of the castle, all carts filled with varieties of roasted seeds and bands holding their instruments, but not playing them, not yet. Isla stood at the top of the stairs, just beyond the shadow of the doors, just out of view of the thousands of people waiting below. It was the day of the Starling coronation, and it seemed everyone on Lightlark was in attendance. Well, almost everyone. “No sign of Moonling,” Ella said quietly behind her, because Isla had asked her to look. The young Starling had been her assigned attendant during the Centennial. Now, Isla employed her to be her eyes and ears wherever she could not see or hear. The bells came to an end. It was time. Isla stepped forward. Strings of silver beads made up a dress like spun starlight. Her cape glistened in a ripple behind her as she walked down the stairs. It was still a shock to wear a color she had only dared to use on her prohibited excursions beyond her own realm. It felt wrong, it all felt so wrong, like she had taken her friend’s life, robbed her of her silver, and put it on herself. Was that what these people thought? That she had killed Celeste— Aurora—for the power? She looked to the crowd for answers, stomach tensed, braced. Their faces were a mosaic of surprise, curiosity, hate, disgust, trepidation, vitriol — Breathe. Isla took another step, and her foot nearly missed the stair completely. She briefly considered gathering her gown in her hands and running back upstairs, locking herself in her room and going anywhere, anywhere, with her starstick. She wasn’t worthy of any of this. She didn’t deserve to rule anyone. She didn’t even know herself. Part of her past was missing, and that person—the one who had supposedly loved a Nightshade—felt like a stranger. She was sad all the time, and there were so many emotions pressed down, in the deepest depths of herself, that she knew one day would overpower everything else and claw their way out—  She felt it: a thread of heat, steadying her. It was honey in her stomach, a beam of sunshine just for her. Him. She met Oro’s eyes. The king was her destination. He stood tall and proud and golden, at the very bottom of the steps. There was a silver crown in his hands. He looked at her like it was just them, no crowd, no crowns. She took another step. Another. Until she was standing in front of him. Oro didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She could read a thousand words in his amber eyes, like you can do this. I’m here for you. The past few days, she had been avoiding him, knowing he would want her to begin her training. She felt ashamed. Her people needed her to be strong. He just wanted to keep her safe. He raised the crown high above her, not wasting a moment, knowing she wanted this to be over as soon as possible. “As king of Lightlark, I name you, Isla Crown, the ruler of Starling.” He placed the crown on her head. It was done. There was a rumbling. Oro had turned to address his people, but he paused, his brows coming together slightly. Nervous murmurs spread through the crowd. There was a second of stillness, the island righting itself, and the people silenced, their momentary curiosity instantly forgotten. But Isla watched Oro, and his expression remained the same. Her hand inched toward the blade at her side. Before her fingers reached the hilt, the island broke open. The ground beneath her feet parted like a screaming mouth. She would have been swallowed if she had not been on its edge, on a part that rose like a sharpened tooth. Her body soared back with the force; she closed her eyes. Pain across her side was the only sign she had landed. Screaming sliced the air in half as a scar tore across the castle steps in a rippling sweep, stone crumbling and falling away. Both were drowned out by the screeching. Winged, monstrous creatures howled as they barreled through the open fissure. Their necks were short, their limbs long. Their tails were nearly nonexistent. Their anatomy almost resembled people, except for their faces —which were pure reptile—their black scales, and, of course, their wings.  In a few moments, they were everywhere. Dozens of the creatures dropped down, aimed at the crowd. Isla put a hand above her, as if it would be any type of shield against the teeth that curved out of the beasts’ mouths like slanted blades. Before the beasts could reach them, a blanket of flames erupted into a barrier. Oro. The heat was scalding, steaming Isla in her clothes. When the fire was pulled away, the creatures were gone, reduced to ash that rained upon them. Dozens were killed. Before anyone could run for shelter, more creatures emerged. The scar had to be closed. The beasts were rising in endless sweeps, squeezing through the gap. Groaning, Isla pushed herself up to her arms. Oro was leaned over his knees, clutching his side. Any injury to the island hurt him as well. It must have felt like he was also being peeled open. Face twisted in pain, he lifted his hand and created another barrier, but the creatures closed their wings together in response, making themselves into sharpened arrows, talons at their fronts like blades. With cries that threatened to crack the sky into shards, they barreled through the protective sphere— And feasted on them all. Bones crunched, blood splattered, limbs were torn away. The beasts crashed down, undisturbed by Sunling flames, Starling sparks, or Skyling wind. Their talons tore through flesh as easily as swords through sand. Azul shot up into the air, with a legion of Skylings surrounding him. They fought with bursts of wind, shooting the creatures down from the sky or slamming them against the island until they went still. Sunlings wielding swords covered in flames guarded people huddled behind the carts in the fair. All the islanders fought back, but many were no match for the creatures, whose hides resisted most uses of power. Before their strategy could be changed, most of them were torn in half by powerful jaws. Some islanders stopped using their abilities altogether, as it marked them as targets, and pressed themselves to the ground or ran. Just like at the ball months before, Isla watched it all unfold, a helpless spectator. No. They might hate her, this might never feel like home, but she had to do something. Isla stood on weakened legs, blood hot on the side of her face. She placed a hand over her heart. The heart that had been torn in two by an arrow. The one that was healed by the heart of Lightlark itself, the one that was linked to Oro’s own ability. A heart that had, more times than not, failed her. “Please,” she whispered, eyes on Oro, who was oscillating between killing swarms of beasts attacking his people and trying to close the scar the winged creatures were still flying through in droves. She could help him. Wildling power included controlling rock and land. If she could manage to grasp some of that power, she could help all of them. Isla closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing. Nothing. She stretched out her trembling hand. “Come on.” Nothing. The powers she had been born with were twisted together, making them harder to access. Her Starling abilities were not, however. They were there, just below the surface. She summoned them. Nothing happened. Perhaps she could focus on the link between her and Oro instead. Use his power. She looked at the king, whose arms were both shaking with effort, one outstretched at each side. She felt it. Tried to grasp it. Nothing. She shook her hand toward the cut in the ground, picturing herself sealing it shut with ice or burned rock or energy, willing with every bit of her being for it to close. “Come on!” she bellowed. Nothing. Her yell had attracted the attention of the closest winged creature. It opened its mouth, and a severed arm fell to the ground. Then, it lunged at her. Isla didn’t have a chance to scream or attempt to use power again. With just a flap of its wings, it was right above her. She saw the creature bare its teeth, open its massive jaw. An inch from swallowing her head whole, the creature froze. Its wings moved slowly as it closed its mouth and lowered its face, as if to inspect her. Isla didn’t know why, but she reached toward it, until the very tips of her fingers grazed the space between its eyes—entirely too aware eyes.  The beast blinked. Then, it opened its mouth again— And screeched. The sound nearly popped her ears, and everything around her muted. She gritted her teeth, readying herself to be eaten alive. But the creature only turned its head and left, with another screech. The rest followed. Isla watched them flee to the horizon, calculating the direction they were going. Nightshade. They were going toward Nightshade. No. She remembered her vision in the Place of Mirrors... Grim attacking with shadows that killed everything in their path. She had convinced herself it was a figment of her imagination, but— Maybe it was real. By the time the beasts were just a smudge in the distance, Oro had closed the opening in the ground. Screams still pierced the air, along with the metallic scent of blood. The back of Isla’s throat burned with inhaled ash. The injured... their wounds didn’t look normal. Their skin looked ravaged by shadows. The lesions were growing, moving, slowly decaying everything in their path. “You did this.” The voice sounded smothered, faraway. Isla turned. A woman was standing in a sea of bodies, not far at all, pointing a finger right at her. “It didn’t attack her. She was communicating with it!” She took a step backward. “What? I didn’t—” A man joined the woman. “I saw it. She’s allied with the Nightshades, isn’t she?” Isla shook her head. “This ceremony was a setup, so we could all be here at once. So the beasts could attack us.” “No, of course not,” she said, barely hearing her own voice, taking another step back. No one was listening to her. Isla’s heart was beating too fast; she was hyperventilating, and still none of the air seemed to be reaching her lungs, and she was suddenly light- headed— “Enough.” The word was an order and silenced the crowd. Azul dropped down from the sky, landing in a crouch that shook the ground with power. He had one of the creatures’ heads in one of his hands, cut neatly by the sword on his waist, dripping in dark blood. He turned to look at Isla for just a moment, and she worried his face might be full of suspicion, but he only looked curious. A hand hot as fire gripped her shoulder. She turned to see Oro, searching her face, looking her over, checking for serious injury. Only when he seemed satisfied did he turn and begin yelling orders. Isla could barely hear a word that came out of his mouth. The world had started tilting. In response to one of Oro’s dictations, Azul flew from what was left of the steps in the direction of the isles. “Wildling elixir,” she said to herself, knowing this was how she could help. People were dying all around her—they needed to be healed. She had never seen injuries like this, but the healing serum had never failed her. If she could get to her starstick, she could portal to the Wildling newland and get more. She made her way up the steps, narrowly avoiding the closed scar, walking over corpses of the creatures that Oro had killed. They sat charred and steaming. She didn’t even make it to the doors of the castle. At the top of the steps, Isla fell to her knees. Her legs had gone numb. Panic closed in around her. She couldn’t breathe. Blood. Everywhere. So many dead. She hadn’t been able to save them. If she hadn’t been so selfish, so weak; if she had started training like Oro had insisted, she could have helped, she could have been more than just a blight. She thought of her vision again and Grim’s voice. Come back to me, he had said. That was what he wanted. The creatures were clearly summoned by Grim. There was a reason they hadn’t hurt her. Her breathing was labored. She heard Ella saying her name, attempting to pull her up. Her eyes closed, and all she saw in her mind was the woman pointing at her, declaring her the cause of all their suffering. Isla couldn’t help but think that maybe she was right. OceanofPDF.com  INSIGNIA The Insignia glowed faintly as if whispering a welcome. Isla hadn’t stood on the marking since the day she had first arrived on the island. The symbol was simple—a circle that contained illustrations representing all six of the realms. This was a neutral place to meet and speak on the Mainland, with the castle standing watch, a beast of stone, towers, and fortress walls. Isla shifted on her feet, over the rose of Wildling. Oro was across from her, on the sun. Azul stood on the bolt of lightning. Cleo emerged in a crashing wave, straight from the ocean. Seafoam still puddled at her feet. The last time Isla had seen her, Cleo had tried to kill her. The Moonling turned to look at Isla, and her eyes gleamed, as if she was relishing the same thought. Her white dress had a high neckline and sleeves that ran all the way to the floor, covering the etching of the moon. Whatever she hoped to find in Isla, she was clearly disappointed, because Cleo frowned and turned to Oro. “How, exactly, did she stop it?” Her voice sliced through the silence and a wave crested high behind her as if to meet it. She commanded the seas. All the water in the world bowed before her. “I’m standing right here,” Isla said. She was more than capable of speaking for herself. Cleo only slightly shifted direction to face her again. She smirked. “How did you, once supposedly powerless, now all-powerful”—the ruler made even the word power sound pathetic when related to Isla—“stop the dreks?” Dreks. Was that what they were called? How did Cleo know what they were? She probably should have come up with a response to the question if she was going to insist on being the one to answer it. She swallowed. “I—I don’t know. I touched it.” Cleo said every word like it was its own sentence. “You touched it.”  “Yes,” Isla said through clenched teeth. The Moonling turned back to Oro. “How many more do you want us to heal?” she asked the king, and Isla understood that she had been dismissed. Forty-five people were dead. More were still fighting for their lives. She had gotten Wildling healing elixirs from the newland, but they needed more help. Oro had summoned Cleo through Azul, and she had taken her time arriving to the palace. “Fifty-four are critically injured,” Oro said. “We will provide healers.” Oro nodded. “You’ve visited the oracle, I presume. Were you able to wake her?” The oracle was on Moon Isle and only rarely chose to unthaw. The Moonling shook her head no. Oro would know if she was lying. “We all know this was likely an attack from Nightshade. We need our realms united. Where do you stand?” he demanded. “I haven’t made my decision to stay or to leave.” Oro’s expression did not shift an inch. He had been expecting this. “What is the true purpose of your army and ships?” “To protect Moonling’s interests when I do make my decision.” “Make it soon,” Oro said. “This is not the time to flee to your newland.” Azul spoke up. “Cleo, you aren’t actually considering leaving.” Cleo whipped to face him, her dress a white puddle beneath her feet that shifted, liquidous. “We have long been too dependent on this land. The curses are broken. It could be an opportunity for more. Perhaps the island should fall.” Azul stared, unbelieving. “If Lightlark falls, the realms will follow. Our power is strongest here. Our future is here.” Isla remembered what Azul had told her during the Centennial—Cleo hadn’t attended the previous one. This was not a sudden decision. Cleo had thought about leaving for a while. Why? It didn’t make sense. Oro’s eyes were pure intensity. “If we go to battle with Nightshade, which side will you be on?” Leaving Lightlark for the Moonling newland was one thing... choosing to stand against it was another.  Cleo raised her head. Her chin pointed in the king’s direction, sharp as her tone. “The winning one.” A hundred-foot wave crashed against the cliff, spilling onto its lip, right over the Moonling ruler. When the water pulled back, she was gone. The Moonling healers had never seen anything like the drek wounds. They were able to slow the decaying of the skin, but, in the end, her Wildling elixirs were what was able to remove the marks completely. She portaled back to her newland several times throughout the night, and her people had willingly given their own stores of the elixir. They were down to just a small patch of the rare flowers. Most people were saved. The rest had succumbed to their wounds. Isla walked to her room slowly, Oro at her side. The moon trailed them both through the windows as they made their way up the castle stairs. She leaned against her door when they reached her room. “Cleo called them dreks. Have you heard of them before?” “No. Moonlings have always prized their histories and historians. She might have read about them.” He was studying her again. She had caught him doing it, every few minutes, since the attack. It was as if he needed to constantly reassure himself that she was uninjured. “I’m fine,” she said gently. She looked down at herself and winced. She was covered in blood, after helping the healers. It wasn’t hers. “I know,” he said, but his brow didn’t straighten. Worry was etched into each of his features, and not just for her, she knew. “You did everything you could,” she said, reaching up to touch his face, because she was known for giving far more grace to others than to herself. Her fingers were covered in blood—she dropped her hand before it reached his cheek. “Those creatures...” Oro closed his eyes. She would bet he was replaying the events in his mind. When he opened them, she saw guilt in his expression. He blamed himself for every single death. She wanted to take that pain. She wanted to think of anything that could make him feel better. Before she could say anything else, he brushed his lips to the crown of her head and said, “Goodnight, Isla.” OceanofPDF.com  RISING UP It was the middle of the night when the balcony doors to Isla’s room burst open. The ocean rose like a hand, and it dragged her out of bed. She gasped in shock, salt water scorching her throat and nose and lungs. Her shirt scrunched up, her stomach raked against the stone terrace, and she had enough good sense to cling to the balcony pillars, but the sea was too strong. It pulled her hundreds of feet down, straight to its depths. She choked on lungsful of water, sure she was going to die, until her vision went dark. When it returned, she was on her knees, hearing the word, “Now,” and then the water was being pulled back out of her as quickly as it had been inhaled, salt scraping against her throat. The high ceiling was stone. Stalactites hung from the top, sharp as icicles. She was underground. No one would hear her screams. Her eyes still burned from the sea, but she blinked frantically past the sting, looking for a way out. Shadows glinted all around, and suddenly her captors came into focus. They were wearing masks—monstrous red masks that hid their faces completely. Her kidnapper and the one who had revived her were clearly Moonling; they had to be, to use the sea to their advantage as they had. The rest were not. Isla spotted the blue hair of Skyling. The gold and red tresses of Sunling. No Starlings she could see. Their clothes were all the same shade: beige. A color that had not officially been claimed by any of the realms. “Are you sure?” She could just make out the words of a muffled voice. “Perhaps if we waited—” “There’s no time,” another, louder voice said. “The drek attack is just the beginning. This happens now.” At first, Isla’s mind had gone straight to Cleo, but now she wondered if the rebels were behind this, the ones Azul had mentioned at dinner. Did they think she was responsible for the dreks? Is that why they were hurting her? Isla opened her mouth, to say anything, but her throat was raw. Nothing came out. She had no weapons. She was already covered in blood, the skin of her stomach scraped clean. Salt stuck in the wounds. If her hands weren’t tied together behind her back, she could have reached for her invisible necklace, clutched the stone, and watched Grim turn all of them to ash. Should you ever need me, touch this. And I will come for you, he had said when he had given it to her. The fact that she was even considering it worried her. Isla should have listened to Oro from the beginning. Her life was not her own. Were none of them Starling? Why would they want her to die, when it would mean the death of so many others? She heaved again. “Don’t move,” someone commanded as some in the group inched forward. She watched them approach and counted her last moments down in her mind. Cold hands gripped her raw skin— The world exploded. At their touch, energy rippled out of Isla like the consequence of throwing a stone in a still pond. Power burst in every direction, sending everyone around her soaring. She heard the crunch of bones as some were catapulted against the stone walls. Screams. She saw the red of the masks mixed with blood. Someone had been thrown directly into a stalactite, pierced right through their skull. “I didn’t—” Her voice was barely a rasp. She hadn’t tried to hurt them, even though they’d clearly intended to hurt her. She didn’t wait to see if they recovered. The energy had torn through her restraints. Isla ran. The tunnels were dark and musty; she heard the crash of the sea somewhere nearby. There were multiple directions, but she made a choice and kept going, eventually on an incline. She needed to reach the surface. The rebels—were they right behind her? She didn’t stop to listen. Sharp stones stabbed her bare feet until everything began to go numb. Her clothes were drenched in blood, fabric stuck against her wounds.  Just when she wondered if she would be trapped forever beneath Lightlark, there was a path so vertical, she had to climb it on her hands and knees. A wooden door, barely the size of a cupboard, was at the top. She burst through, into an abandoned shop, covered in cobwebs, dust, and broken glass. Some of it cut her feet as she ran through the door, right into one of the forgotten corners of the agora. The harbor was to her left. She saw the broken ships, some on their sides, some no more than a pile of wood. Down. She needed to go down to the heart of the market. For a moment, her fingers inched toward her necklace, her mind going there again. The rebels could be chasing her. Grim would end them all in a moment. A shiver snaked down her spine. That was the problem. What was wrong with her? Isla dropped her hand and raced down the narrow stone road, past shops long closed. It was late, and the streets were empty, except for a patrolling Sunling guard. When he saw her, his eyes went wide in alarm, and Isla wondered if she should be afraid. Could he be working with the group that had taken her? Some of them had been Sunling, after all. Before she could worry too long, the guard swept off his golden cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Only then did Isla realize she was in her soaking nightclothes, her body nearly completely visible beneath them. The cloak was warm, and Isla sank to the ground wrapped inside it while panic spilled around her as more Sunling guards were called. Someone shouted to alert the king. She knew Oro had received the news when a tidal wave of heat raged across the island. When Oro had found Isla, shaking and raw skinned, he had looked like he wanted to bring the entire island down. The very ground beneath their feet had shaken as he had said, very calmly, “Who did this to you?” By the time he had ripped the abandoned house to pieces, the rebels were gone. He had ordered his guards to search the tunnels, and they had found hundreds of passages that no one officially knew existed. Now, in the throne room, everyone was quiet with fear. Isla had never seen Oro so angry. The only person who dared even look at her was Soren.  “Treason has been committed,” Oro said, his eyes pure fire. His voice thundered through the room. He was standing in front of his throne, addressing a hall filled with all the nobles and representatives across the island. Azul stood down the steps, to his side. Isla was next to him. Her skin had been scraped away; parts of her stomach had needed Wildling elixir to piece back together. The salt water had made the pain unbearable. Every sweep of the fabric of her dress even now was torture, but Isla wanted to stand here, in front of them, as a demonstration of strength. “A ruler was attacked. Let it be known that anyone who is found associated with this group of rebels will be strung across the cliffs in the Bay of Teeth.” It was a torturous death, according to Azul. Sea creatures as large as entire parts of the castle lived there, in waters so deep it was rumored no one had ever seen their bottom. “Any ill will toward the Wildling realm stops now. A Wildling broke your curses. This Wildling is the reason Lightlark still stands. You will treat her and her realm with respect, or you will find another place to live.” The representatives quickly filed out of the throne room when the king was finished. Soren was last to leave, and Isla had the unsettling feeling that he was going to talk to her. In the end, he simply turned and left. Azul approached, with two guards behind him. “This is Avel and Ciel,” he said. “Two of Sky Isle’s best warriors. They have volunteered to be in your service for as long as you require them.” Guards. They wanted to keep her safe. Avel was a towering blond woman, with her head shaved nearly all the way down. Ciel was the same height, with the same color hair, though his grew long. Their features were almost identical. Twins, she assumed. The idea that someone outside of her realm, who had no link to her at all, wanted to help her... it made her eyes burn with emotion. Not everyone on this island hated her because she was a Wildling, she thought. Not everyone wanted to hurt her. “Are you sure?” Isla asked them. In unison, they knelt in front of her, bowing their heads and offering their sapphire-tipped daggers. “You broke the curses, Ruler. We are forever in your debt.” Isla shook her head. “No. No—you are not,” she said. She thought about the rebels and their attack. “But I will accept your services, at least for the time being.” She thanked Avel and Ciel, then asked them for privacy. They stood watch outside the doors of the throne room. Only she and Oro remained inside. By the time she walked up the steps to Oro, he was sitting slouched over, his head lowered. One of his hands dragged down his face. He startled as she knelt before him, so their gazes could be level. His eyes were bloodshot and devastated. “I will find them,” he said. She put her hand on his cheek. For a moment, he stiffened, like he wasn’t used to being touched—who would dare touch the king?—but a second later, he leaned into her palm. “I know,” she said. “If they had killed you, I—” He closed his eyes, and the heat of his anger was like a wall, mixed with the tinge of something heavier. Sadness. “I know,” she said again, because she would feel the same way if something happened to him. Their love was a shining link between them. She felt it, lustrous, as she leaned her forehead against his. “I’m here. We’re both here. We’re both fine.” His eyes dipped to where her dress had partially fallen open, showcasing some of her remaining scars, including the one over her heart, where an arrow had pierced her during the Centennial. No amount of elixir had been able to fade it. She leaned back so the dress fell closed again. “The healers said I won’t even have a mark from the attack by the end of the week.” She had been treated by some of the Moonlings who had remained in the castle with those injured by the dreks. “You shouldn’t have a mark to begin with.” “Oro,” she said. He didn’t meet her eyes. He was looking past her, likely imagining the dozens of ways he was going to torture the rebels once he finally found them. “I want to start my training.” That got his attention. “With the dreks, I tried—” She winced against the memories of limbs being torn away, of screeches blowing out her eardrums. “I attempted to use the powers. I really did. Even with people dying around me, I couldn’t summon my abilities. I couldn’t save them.” She grimaced. “But then, underground... I didn’t even try, I didn’t even think about it, and I became a weapon. I’m glad I did, but you were right. I want to learn to control my powers so they don’t control me.” He nodded, looking determined, relieved, like she had given him something to do to help keep her safe. “You said you had thought of a way to attempt to untangle them?” she asked. His relief faltered. “Yes,” he said. “But you’re not going to like it.” OceanofPDF.com  UNLEASHED Remlar was grinning like someone who had boldly declared the future, then watched it come true. Oro’s glare did nothing to dim that smile. “I told you she would return willingly,” the winged man said. During the Centennial, he’d told them, I want the Wildling to visit me. Once this is all over... she will come willingly, I assure you. He had known, Isla realized. Back then, when he had said that she was curious... born so strangely, she had believed Remlar was talking about her secret, her powerlessness, but now she understood. He had known then she was Nightshade. “Tell me, King, you weren’t that naive,” Remlar said. “She is so very clearly touched by night.” “Enough.” Oro’s voice was sharp. “Can you unravel her powers?” Remlar nodded. He was an ancient creature. Isla didn’t know the extent of his abilities, but she sensed he was older than she could even imagine. He had dark hair, like Grim’s. Was he truly a Nightshade? How was that possible? “Do it,” Isla said. Oro looked at her. “You have a choice. You don’t have to—” “I know,” she said. Then, again to Remlar she said, “Do it.” Before Remlar could move an inch, Oro took a step toward the winged figure. “If you hurt her,” he said, voice lethally calm, “she will kill you. And then I will find a way to revive you so I can kill you again with my own bare hands.” The threat made Isla’s own mouth go dry, but Remlar, who clearly had put a very low value on his life, just grinned wider. “I would expect nothing less, King,” he said. “But she has nothing to fear from me. She’s one of us.” Us. It was foolish, but something in her swelled at the word. When so many had rejected her, someone—even someone like Remlar—claiming her... it felt good.  He walked over to her, clicking his tongue. His wings twitched as he studied her, mumbling to himself. His skin was the blue of a bird’s egg. His stride was feline, graceful, and his eyes were as sharp as his teeth. His grin became wicked. “You might want to run,” he said casually to Oro. “Or, better yet, fly.” Isla didn’t know if Oro heeded his warning. With one rapid motion, Remlar placed one hand against her forehead and another against her heart, and her vision exploded. Pain tore her in two. Her scream was a guttural rasp; she could hear it even above the ringing in her ears. Tears swept down her cheeks. She fell to her knees. Her left hand struck the ground, and darkness erupted from her fingers. It ate through the nature in its path; everything living became cinder. Trees fell and disappeared; the air went gray with swimming shadows. Her right hand landed, and from it a line of thousands of flowers billowed, rising from the ground in waves, blossoming in rapid succession. Roses, tulips, marigolds—they made a blanket across the forest, color streaming. The world died and came to life in front of her, and she kept screaming until her voice disappeared in a final croak. It might have been seconds or minutes, but eventually, everything settled, and she stood. One side of her was total desolation—the other the very definition of fertility. Oro was in front of her in a moment. “Isla,” he was saying, but it was just a whisper at the end of a tunnel. She took one step forward. Teetered. “Look at me, love,” he said. Love. She held on to the word like an anchor, but the thread between them slipped through her fingers— Darkness won the war and swallowed her whole. OceanofPDF.com  BEFORE Isla took the steps two at a time—she really shouldn’t have come. How had she been so foolish? Terra had always warned about Nightshades. They were the villains in all her stories. The monsters. She really hadn’t meant to. She had meant to portal somewhere else entirely, but one thought, while her puddle formed— Here she was, in the most dangerous place in the world. Running from a group of guards, around dark stone corners, in halls that echoed and closed around her in cavernous arches. Isla turned into a narrow hallway and crashed to her knees. “Come on,” she growled, pressing her starstick firmly against the ground. No puddle formed. Isla didn’t want to wonder what would happen if she wasn’t able to travel home. Nightshade lands were thousands of miles away from the Wildling newland... It would take months to return by ship, and how would she even pay for passage? She didn’t have any jewels on her. Now that she thought about it, no one in their right mind would agree to take her anywhere, anyway. If anyone figured out who she was... she was dead. The Centennial was just a year away. The Nightshade ruler was a monster. He had been invited to attend the event for the first time, according to her own invitation. What would he do to her if he found her? Kill her immediately as the first step in breaking the curses? Imprison her? Torture her? She swallowed. She had thought of her own room as a prison... how foolish she was. There were much worse places to be trapped. Yells. Steps. The clatter of armor. Instinct took over. She lunged for a door—and it was unlocked. Before the guards could spot her, she threw herself inside. Another hallway.  Voices outside. Already. There were several more doors. She tried all of them. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. The voices were closer. Without thinking, she started pounding on the last door, desperate, frantic— It opened. A woman stood there. Her arms were crossed. “You’re late,” the woman said. “Put this on and join the rest.” Isla had no idea who the woman thought she was, or who the rest were, but she knew luck when she saw it. The woman all but shoved her into a different room. And Isla was so grateful, so afraid for the guards to find her, that she stripped off her clothes in the dark and put on whatever the woman had given her—fabric that was tight against her body. All Isla cared about was that it would make her look like the rest of the Nightshades. Even if the guards did find her here, she would blend in. Especially if she was joining people wearing the same thing. The door swung open, and Isla nearly brandished the dagger she had kept strapped to her thigh, alongside her starstick. It was just the woman. She had paint on her finger, and before Isla could object, she unceremoniously smeared it across her mouth. “Go,” she said, pushing her toward another door. A dozen other women were waiting on the other side. All dressed like her. She nearly sighed in relief. She blended in perfectly... especially with the red on her lips. All she had to do was find her way back outside, where she could try her starstick again— “Into position!” Position? The women suddenly straightened into a line, one she quickly joined, wondering what in the world was happening. Was this a fighting legion? If so, why were they wearing dresses?  Was this some sort of rehearsal? She swallowed. If it was, she would be found out momentarily. She obviously wouldn’t know any lines for a play, or choreography for a dance... “I hope I’m chosen,” a woman to her left whispered to someone who seemed to be her friend. “I hope I’m chosen,” she replied. “This is my fourth time hoping to get noticed. It would be an honor to be part of the ruling line.” Ruling line? Isla turned to the women to ask them what was happening, and why they looked so excited, when the door in front of them opened. He walked in. Isla froze. She knew who he was instantly. Something about the way the air moved around him, about the resonance of his step. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, a foot and a half taller than her at least. He had relatively long black hair like spilled ink, falling across his forehead, curling around his ears. His mouth seemed set in a permanent frown. Unimpressed. He was the king of nightmares, a demon. The ruler of Nightshade. She was dead. He had found her out. They had trapped her; the woman must have recognized her somehow, alerted the guards— What an idiot. Poppy and Terra had taken such great pains to keep her safe, and she had disobeyed their orders, for what? To experience something new? How selfish she was. Her fingers inched toward her thigh. She wouldn’t have a chance against the ruler of Nightshade, against any ruler—no matter how well she could handle a blade, power was power—but she would die with dignity. Fighting. Just as her pointer finger found the smooth metal, his eyes met hers. She stilled. His look was strange. There was no hint of fury, or even satisfaction. Just a slight widening of his eyes—a curiosity. That didn’t make sense. If he was about to kill her, wouldn’t he announce his intention? Slay her where she stood, in front of all the others?