The portal rippled closed behind her, choking the cheers into silence. Only Isla’s ragged breath remained. She took a single step forward, and light like a thousand dying stars and suns blinded her.
She teetered to the side. An arm reached out to steady her.
“Open your eyes,” a voice said, dark and striking as midnight.
Isla hadn’t even realized they were closed. With a blink, the world stumbled then steadied, this portaling far worse than using her starstick.
The face belonging to the man looking down at her was amused. And familiar, somehow. He was so tall Isla had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes, black as coals. His hair spilled ink across his pale forehead. Nightshade, no question. Which meant . . .
“Thank you, Grimshaw,” Isla said firmly. She quickly straightened and looked around, hoping no one had seen her stumble. She could practically hear Poppy and Terra in each of her ears, scolding her.
But besides Isla and the Nightshade, the cliff was empty. She turned, and a tiny choking sound rasped against the back of her throat. The sea raged angrily hundreds of feet below. She had almost joined the jutting rocks and ended her plans at saving her people before the Centennial had even started.
Ended all her plans.
“That would have been inconvenient.” The Nightshade ruler grinned, revealing a single dimple, completely out of place in his cruelly cut face. “Call me Grim, Isla.”
Grim. What a terrible word, Isla thought, worn with pride. Still, the name suited him. There was something grim beneath that grin, a faint shadow that might become monstrous in the dark.
“Have we met before?” It wasn’t that he knew her name, no. That was expected. It wasn’t even that he pronounced it perfectly, like a snake’s hiss, with all the letters sounded out. There was something else . . .
That grin faltered. “If we had”—his eyes dipped for just a moment—“it wouldn’t have been just once.”
Isla could feel her face get hot beneath his gaze. Other than rare, closely monitored interactions or her secret travels to the other newlands with her starstick, she hadn’t spent much time with men.
Especially men who looked like him.
Especially men who didn’t seem to be terrified of her and her Wildling curse.
She frowned. He should be afraid. If a Wildling wished, they could make a person fall off a cliff in pursuit of them. Their power to beguile was impossible to resist—though forbidden during the hundred days. The Nightshade must have thought he was safe.
He was not.
Each Centennial was a giant game, a chance to gain unparalleled ability. It was said that whoever broke the curses by fulfilling the prophecy would be gifted all the power it had taken to spin them—the ultimate prize.
Was his flirting meant to distract her? Isla glared at him.
And Grim grinned even wider. Interesting.
Every hundred years since the curses had been cast, the island of Lightlark appeared for just a hundred days, freed from its impassable storm. Rulers of each realm were invited to journey from the new lands they had settled after fleeing Lightlark, to try to break the curses binding each of their powers and the island itself. Every realm except for Nightshade, that was. Nightshades had the power to spin curses, making them prime suspects for having created them in the first place, though they denied it. This year, it seemed as though the Lightlark king was desperate.
It was the first Centennial Nightshade had been invited to.
Grim took her arm once more. Before Isla could object, he gently moved her to the side. A moment later, the giant marking on the edge of the cliff—an insignia representing all six realms—glowed gold, and someone else appeared from thin air, right where Isla had been.
A pale-blue cloak cracked with wind before settling against bare, very dark shoulders and muscled arms. The man had eyebrows larger than his eyes, a sculpted chin, and perfectly coiffed stubble that framed his pink mouth. Azul, ruler of Skyling. Isla had known their names since the time she could talk. Azul and Grim were both ancient, more than five hundred
years old. Alive the day the curses had been cast. They were legends— compared to them, she was no one.
Centuries were apparently not enough time for Azul and Grim to have become friends. The Skyling nodded curtly at the Nightshade, and Grim’s smile turned wicked. Mocking. Azul turned to Isla and bowed fully, reaching for her hand.
“Nice to have new Wildling blood this Centennial,” he said. His bright eyes met hers, then studied her fingers, each covered in rings with gems as big as acorns. Though the rest of the realms liked to view Wildlings as savages, their wealth was unquestionable. Control of nature had its advantages. “Clouds, I’ve never seen a diamond that big.”
To Isla, it was just a rock. Pretty, of course, but nothing in spades ever seemed too special. Jewels were made when great power was wielded over nature, and over the centuries the glittering gems had bloomed beneath the ground in the Wildling newland, rising up eventually, blossoming like flowers. It was difficult not to trip over some sort of precious stone in Isla’s lands, which she only knew from texts, and certainly not from personal experience.
As far as Terra and Poppy were aware.
Terra always said those glittering rocks were the reason they had such a steady supply of hearts. Thieves from other realms, foolish and bold and wicked, sneaked onto their territory for the diamonds.
Isla smiled. So, the Skyling liked jewels. She slipped the ring right off her own hand and onto Azul’s longest finger without missing a beat. “It compliments you much more than it does me.”
Azul looked like he might object—but didn’t.
Someone else appeared, stepping easily past them, as if walking through portals was as seamless as the tide coming in. She turned to Isla. Her frown seemed to come as easily as most people’s smiles. “So, this is the new pet?”
An ember lit in Isla’s chest. The rest of the realms viewed the women warriors as savage temptresses, predators that lured lovers, then feasted on their hearts.
And Isla really couldn’t blame them. Because that was very nearly the truth.
But Wildlings were so much more. At least, they had been. And still could be.
Though part of her wanted to say something she would likely regret, Isla knew the ruler wanted her to bite back. She was trying to tempt the monster out of Isla, to show the rest of them she was nothing more than a bloodthirsty beast. Instead, Isla bowed. “An honor to meet you, Cleo,” she said, nodding her head in slight reverence. Cleo was the oldest among them, even older than the king of Lightlark, who also ruled over all Sunlings. Her age was at odds with her perfectly smooth, youthful face. Though most of the rulers were hundreds of years older, it was almost difficult to tell the difference between them and Isla. Almost.
Instead of making another insult, Cleo simply raised her chin at Isla and sneered, looking at her green dress as if she had stepped onto the island naked. Compared to the Moonling’s clothing, she might as well have. Cleo’s white gown had long sleeves like milky beams of moonlight, a neckline that reached her chin, and a cape that completely covered three-fourths of her body. The skin Isla could see was so fair, her veins shined through, blue streaks on a slab of white marble. She was not only many shades lighter than Isla but also far taller. Her face was long and pointed in three places, cheekbones and chin, sculpted like a diamond.
The insignia glowed a final time, and a girl stepped forward, stumbling ever so slightly. She was the silver of stars, from her long, straight sheet of hair to her twinkling dress to her gloves, which reached her elbows. She smiled sheepishly at them, heart-shaped face going wide, then stood tall. “I suppose I’m the last to arrive?”
Cleo channeled her distaste right at the girl. The ruler of Starling, like Isla, was new. Starling’s curse had been one of the cruelest. No one in their realm lived past the age of twenty-five.
Isla stepped forward and offered her hand. “Celeste, is it?” The Starling smiled warmly. “Hello, Isla.”
“Enchanted,” Grim said, offering a bow that seemed to mock the one that Azul had given just moments before.
The Skyling frowned for just a moment before he offered Celeste his own fingers, now glimmering with Isla’s diamond. “More new blood. I have a good feeling about this Centennial.”
Cleo raised an eyebrow at him. “She better hope so,” she said, nodding at Celeste. “She won’t be here for the next one.”
The Starling’s face fell. And the Moonling simply turned around, her white cape floating slightly behind her.
“Don’t feel too special,” Azul said with a wink. “She’s this unpleasant to everyone.”
The rulers began the path to the palace, and Isla’s heart tripped in anticipation. She had been so focused on them, she hadn’t gotten a chance to truly take in her surroundings. The rest of the century, the island was encased in its storm. But now the clouds had cleared.
Lightlark was a shining, cliffy thing. Its bluffs were white as bone, and sunlight rained down in sheets of misted gold. One of the original sources of power, its ground still thrummed with it, singing to Isla in a humming siren song. She could feel its force with each step, each breath. She drank the island in greedily, like the wine she was never allowed to touch. Equally addictive and dangerous.
Poppy’s lessons ran through her head, facts on paper that were now real and solid before her.
Thousands of years ago, the island was cut into several pieces, so each realm could claim a shard. Nightshades left the island shortly afterward to form their own land. Wildlings left after the curses. The pieces that remained were Star Isle for the Starlings, Sky Isle for the Skylings, Moon Isle for the Moonlings, and Sun Isle for the Sunlings. Then, there was the Mainland, where all the realms had traditionally gathered together. It was the Centennial’s base.
It was also historically home to Lightlark royalty.
The Mainland castle loomed nearby, set high on a cliff like a crown jewel, jutting precariously out over the sea. Large enough to be its own city. Which was good, considering its main inhabitant could not leave it.
Not during the day, at least.
Isla must have been staring at it, because Celeste sighed next to her. “Do you think he’s watching us?” she said quietly.
He. The Sunling ruler and king of Lightlark. The last remaining Origin, with blood from each of the four realms that still had a presence on the island. He could wield each of the four Lightlark powers.
And, by all accounts, he was insufferable.
On Lightlark and beyond, love had a price. Falling deeply and truly in love meant forming a bond that gave a beloved complete access to one’s
abilities. They could do whatever they wished with it. Wield it, reject it. Even steal it.
Knowing very well how many people wanted access to his endless stream of power, the Lightlark ruler was untrusting. Paranoid. Cold. Isla dreaded meeting him. Especially given the first step of Poppy and Terra’s plan for her.
She stared back at the castle and resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, she broke through her mask of charm and made an obscene gesture at the palace.
The game had officially started. “I hope so.”
Crowds awaited them at the castle doors. Starlings. Moonlings. Skylings.
On the night of the curses, five hundred years before, all six rulers perished. Their power and responsibility were transferred to their heirs, and all of them except for the new king fled the island’s instability to create the newlands, hundreds of miles from the island and each other.
Some subjects had remained on Lightlark.
Once, Isla had asked the Wildling Eldress why anyone would stay in the near constant cursed tempest that had overtaken it.
Power is in the island’s blood and bones, she had said. Lightlark lengthens our lives, gives us access to a power much greater than our own. And more than that, to many . . . Lightlark is home.
No Wildlings remained. She would get no aid from her people. She was alone.
“Don’t worry,” a deep voice said mockingly at her side. “I don’t have any adoring fans either.”
The crowd watched Grim with a healthy mix of fear and disdain—Isla studied their reactions carefully. He looked like night come to life, his clothing shadow spun into silk. If Wildlings were looked down upon on Lightlark, Nightshades seemed to be outright hated. And, according to Terra and Poppy’s lessons, never fully accepted on the island. They had their own land, a stronghold they had maintained for thousands of years.
The war between Nightshade and Lightlark hadn’t helped either.
Isla didn’t meet his gaze, though she felt his eyes all over her. It was unnerving. Her skin felt inexplicably electric. “I’m sure you get more than
enough attention back home.” She smiled politely at the crowd, testing their own reaction to her. Some of them returned the gesture warily. Others visibly recoiled from the sight of her, the heart-devouring temptress. She wasn’t surprised. Everything she represented was forbidden. A Moonling woman covered her child’s eyes and made a figure in the air, as if warding off a demon.
“I do,” he admitted. “Yet, I’m left . . . unsatisfied.”
Isla ignored him. She wasn’t going to play this game with him, whatever it was. She had her own game to play.
The interior of the castle looked like a sun had burst inside and bathed the walls in its glow—an ode to the Sunlings who had built it. Everything was gold. Buttery sunlight spilled from long windows, coating the foyer in glittering light that reflected off the smooth, shining floor. Isla squinted as if she was still outside. A raging fire burned in a ring high above them on a chandelier, flames peaking in place of crystals.
The Sunling ruler was not there to greet them. He couldn’t be, even if he wanted to, which Isla truly doubted. Sunlings had been cursed never to feel the warmth of sunlight or see the brightness of day—forced to shun that which gave them power. The king of Lightlark was trapped in the darkness of his chambers, only able to surface at night. In that, Isla supposed they were similar. She had spent a lot of time trapped inside too.
A woman in Starling silver bowed before them. Behind her, a small group of staff echoed her movement. Each ruler received an attendant for the entirety of the Centennial. “It would be our pleasure to escort you to your chambers.”
Each ruler was led away to completely different parts of the castle. Far from each other. Isla didn’t know what to think about that. Intentional— every detail at the Centennial was intentional, that was what Terra had taught her.
A young Starling girl walked toward her slowly, slightly sideways, the way a child might approach a coiled snake. “My lady,” she said, voice so soft Isla had to lean in to hear her, which only made the girl flinch. Isla resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Did the girl actually think she would feast on her heart in the middle of the foyer? Her kind was wild, but they weren’t animals. “Follow me.”
“Isla,” she said at the girl’s stiff back as she raced away with a noticeable amount of trouble. Isla would likely need the girl’s help during some point—which meant she would need to earn her loyalty somehow. “You can call me Isla.”
“As you wish,” the girl murmured.
She led Isla up a sweeping set of stairs that ran through the center of the castle and down an impossible tangle of hallways that jutted over and across each other like bridges. But, unlike her palace in the Wildling realm, this one became more and more enclosed the deeper she went. It reminded her of a maze in a cave. Or a prison. She suddenly imagined the king as an ancient beast, trapped in the dark. Lost in the labyrinth that was his castle. They reached a stretch without a single window. The halls grew colder, the walls thicker.
The girl stopped in front of an ancient stone door. With about all the strength it seemed she could muster, she pushed it open.
Someone had managed to plant a tree right in the middle of the room, an oak with blush-colored blossoms and blooming fruit Isla didn’t recognize, its roots dug right into the stone floor. Ivy crept across the ceiling in a pretty design, leading to the wall her bed rested against, which was covered in leaves down to the floor.
There was more. Isla walked across the room and onto a wide, curling balcony that jutted right over the sea. Dangerously so. Waves churned below. The castle was a curious child perched at the top of the mountain, leaning way too far over the edge.
Isla frowned. “How sturdy is this?” It seemed like the balcony could break off at any moment, or that the castle itself could simply slide off the cliff during a storm.
“As sturdy as the king himself, I suppose.”
Right. Isla knew that from her lessons. The king of Lightlark didn’t just control its power—he was its power. If something happened to him, the entire land would crumble away, and every Lightlark realm would fall. That was why he trod so carefully. Not in fear of being killed, but in fear of someone stealing that terrible power right from under him.
Another similarity. Isla couldn’t fall in love either.
Well, she could, but everyone lived in fear of a Wildling loving them.
Their curse made love a death sentence.
Not exactly the fodder for romance, admittedly.
It hadn’t been an issue so far, in Isla’s relatively short, halfway-contained life. Yet—
How cruel would a king who had been afraid to fall in love for more than five hundred years be?
It seemed she would soon find out.
“Dinner is at eight chimes,” the Starling girl said before beginning to stoke the already monstrous fire burning in the hearth across from her bed.
“It’s hot enough,” Isla said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
The Starling continued, moving the coals around in a practiced way. “The king has given strict orders for the fires to remain burning constantly.” What a strange command, Isla thought. Before she could ask why, the Starling was across the room. She bowed once before quickly closing the
door behind her.
Isla was just finishing surveying her bathroom—more spacious than the one back home, even, with a tub she could do laps in—when a knock sounded on her door.
She tentatively opened it.
And found Celeste standing there.
Isla immediately threw her arms around the Starling ruler. They jumped in a tiny circle, embracing and laughing so hard, Isla kicked the door closed to keep it from echoing down the hall.
Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Celeste, is it?” she said, doing a shockingly good and unflattering impression of Isla. She threw her silver head back and laughed.
Isla’s smile strained, wondering if she hadn’t been convincing enough. “Do you think they—”
“They don’t suspect a thing,” Celeste cut her off. She clicked her tongue and reached to pull a lock of Isla’s hair. “I thought you were going to cut this.”
Isla sighed. “I tried. One look at the scissors, and Poppy almost stabbed me with them. She confiscated every set in my chambers.”
“Confiscated?” Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the ruler of your realm?” Isla laughed without humor. She turned to walk deeper into her quarters, and Celeste’s hand went straight to her back. “You brought it?”
She caught her reflection in the mirror. Something along her spine was faintly glowing—it must have been Celeste’s presence. She cursed, hoping no one else had noticed, and pulled the starstick out. “I couldn’t leave it behind.”
Celeste frowned. “It’s risky. Hide it well.” She was right. If anyone found out Isla had the enchantment, their secret alliance would be compromised.
Isla had found the starstick in her mother’s things, five years prior. More desperate for freedom than fearful of being portaled somewhere dangerous, she had traveled the realms’ newlands with it for months before finally coming across Celeste. That was the first time they had ever met.
Celeste had instantly recognized the starstick as an ancient Starling relic. Isla had no idea how her mother had gotten her hands on it before her death. And, since Celeste’s own family had died long before, thanks to the curse that killed all in their realm at twenty-five, she didn’t know either.
Though it belonged to the Starlings, Celeste had never asked for it back. That had marked the start of their friendship—two rulers of realms, their lands separated by hundreds of miles, with one thing in common: they both desperately needed to break the curses this Centennial.
For Celeste, breaking her curse was the difference between life or death.
Not only for her, but for all her people.
For Isla . . . things were even more complicated. No one realized how small their realm had gotten. Many more Wildlings had died than been born. Their powers had gotten weaker with every generation. Forests had shrunk. Wildlife had gone extinct. At the rate her lands and people were deteriorating, there wouldn’t be any Wildlings left by the next Centennial.
Isla had never agreed with Poppy and Terra’s plan. It was too complex.
Too demeaning.
So, she had created a new strategy with Celeste.
“I should go,” her friend said after fully appraising Isla’s room. “For the record, your quarters are nicer than mine. Though my room isn’t in such a drafty old corner of the castle.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Celeste turned on her way to the door and formed a wicked smile. “So, it begins.”
