Isla was more convinced than ever that the Wildling vault held something she could use to find the bondbreaker. Or help her in some other critical way.
And if anyone on the island would know the secret to opening it, it was Juniper.
She walked into his bar the very next day. It was empty, save for a man sitting at the back corner, hat over his face, as if he was napping in the pub, waiting for the livelier evening crowd.
“My favorite Wildling,” Juniper said from behind the bar. He wrung his hands together. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Isla needed to make this quick. Hopefully no one had spotted her entering the pub, and she wanted to keep it that way. “Moonling nobles attempted to assassinate me.” There. That was her secret.
Juniper’s head reared back, as if this news surprised even him. “What information do you seek?”
She leaned in closer. “The ancient Wildling palace on Wild Isle. What do you know about it?”
He pursed his lips. “Admittedly, not much. Is there something specific you’re wondering about?”
“Is there something hidden inside? If so, would you know how to find
it?”
Juniper frowned. His brow creased. It seemed he wasn’t used to not
knowing about a subject. Isla had to admit it was a long shot. Wildlings hadn’t lived on Lightlark for hundreds of years. She doubted most islanders knew the palace even still stood, if its abandoned state was any indication. “I apologize, Ruler. I have never heard of something hidden inside the Wildling palace. From my understanding, anything of value was looted long ago.”
Isla nodded sharply. She had known the chances were low that anyone knew about the vault. Her secret would have to be used another time, for
another sort of information. She made to leave, but Juniper spoke once more.
“I do know something about the Place of Mirrors, however.”
She sat down again. Juniper had used the castle’s name, the same one Grim had told her. “What is it?”
“The Place of Mirrors is the only place on the island where all powers other than Wildling’s are repressed. Only Wildling ability works inside.”
What?
Only powerful enchantment could do such a thing. She didn’t even know ability like that existed. Something in the vault must be responsible.
It wasn’t the information she was looking for, but it was enough to make Isla desperate to know what was behind the door.
And more positive that whatever it was could help her now.
Isla walked back out into the agora with more questions than answers. A storm was on the horizon. The sky above was filled with dark clouds like a pack of wolves circling, gray fur and all. They seemed to mimic her troubled mind.
“How do you think that dress would fare in the rain?”
Grim. He was leaning against the outside of the bar, waiting for her. She blinked. “Are you following me?”
Going from completely avoiding her to trailing her . . . it made no sense.
What had changed?
What was he after?
Grim raised an eyebrow. “No. I was here for my own reasons, and I sensed you.”
“Sensed me?” Own reasons?
He nodded. “Your emotions, they have a tinge . . . a color, almost. I knew you were nearby.”
She didn’t know how she felt about that. Wanted to know what color she was but didn’t ask. Instead, she raised her chin and said, “Creep.”
Isla turned to walk out of the marketplace, and Grim easily matched her pace. “You know, if you’re asking Juniper for information, I might recommend taking precautions. I can make him forget your conversation, if you would like. Or simply threaten him for his silence . . .” She glared at
him while simultaneously considering taking him up on his offer. Juniper had helped her, but it was impossible to trust a barkeep who traded secrets.
She really had hoped Juniper knew how to open the vault in the Place of Mirrors. It clearly required a key—one she had no time to look for.
Finding the bondbreaker had to be her focus.
Though, something told her whatever was in the vault could help her locate it.
She couldn’t describe it . . . but the door pulled to her, spoke to her. Told her in its own silent language that she needed to get it open.
If only she had the time and resources to make that happen.
“You’re disappointed, Isla.” She blinked, and there Grim was, stopped in her path, watching her. The castle loomed far ahead, high on its cliff like a crouching giant.
Her back teeth clashed together. She stopped too. “I told you not to read me.”
“And I told you I couldn’t help it.”
She crossed her arms, mouth already open in reply— When the sky cracked open like an egg.
Rain soaked her clean through in an instant. It stormed so hard that she could barely see through her lashes. Grim was just a dark figure before her. She heard him, though, his deep laughter like a rumble of thunder.
Wind blew her hair and dress back, hissed in her ears. The trees at their sides arched, their leaves dancing wildly.
Grim reached out a hand. And she took it.
The castle was too far, and Isla wasn’t sure any of the Nightshade’s powers could shield them from rain. He led them to the closest building, the abbey she had seen many times before, with the stained-glass eye at its front.
Grim opened the front door with a blast of dark power and pulled them through.
She was panting, freezing. Drenched. Her hair stuck to her face in wild strands, and her dress—her dress clung to her, outlining her every inch. She reached up to take her crown off and found it knotted in her hair.
Grim stood a few feet away, watching her.
He was soaked too. Dark hair splayed against his forehead, dripping tiny droplets down the sides of his face. The black fabrics he always wore
now seemed too fine, barely even there, the muscles beneath them now perfectly defined. His cape dripped softly against the wooden floor of the convent as he slowly walked over. And when she looked into his eyes, she found no humor there, no amusement.
Grim stopped just inches away, and Isla stopped breathing. He reached toward her, and she went still—but his hands simply went to her crown. His fingers gently, carefully, pulled at the strands of her hair wrapped around the metal, unknotting it from her head.
He pulled a little too hard on one piece, and she made a sound that made Grim immediately meet her gaze. Something wicked danced within his eyes, something that made the bottom of Isla’s spine curl.
There were no lights in the abbey, no flame. Only the single, rounded stained-glass window offered muted daylight as the storm raged on, rain pattering violently against the glass. And Isla could have sworn the dusky corners of the room darkened further, ink spilling over, shadows lengthening toward the rows of pews.
She took a tight, shaky breath and convinced herself it was because of the cold. Grim watched her mouth and said, “You’re feeling . . . distressed, Hearteater.”
He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, cold as the rain outside, cold as the fingers that were still partially knotted in her hair.
“And you?” she said, her voice just a rasp. “What are you feeling?”
Grim grinned. “Oh,” he said, eyes trained to hers, as if he wanted to make sure she heard every word, “what I’m feeling can’t be said in a place like this.”
Her breath shouldn’t have been catching; her pulse shouldn’t have quickened at his proximity or words. She still didn’t know why he had come to the Centennial, what he was after. Isla had judged her people for their recklessness with love. Now, she understood them a little better.
And herself a little worse.
What was she doing? She had always thought herself above such desires. Stronger than her mother. More focused. Grim had told her she couldn’t trust him. He had proven it time and time again.
Why did that make her want to get even closer to him?
With a final tug, he freed her crown. He frowned down at it, and Isla watched as his thumb ran across the dent Oro had made days before. It
smoothed over instantly. He handed it to her, in the limited space between them.
She took it with treacherous, trembling fingers.
Then he turned, leaving her standing there, words caught in her throat. She gripped her crown so hard, its rough edges pierced painfully into her hand. Get a grip.
Celeste’s warning flashed in her mind then. He was a distraction. He was playing her.
She could play him too.
“Where were you that night?” she asked, voice still a little breathless. “The night of the curses.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. Shadows danced at his feet, their sharp edges ebbing and flowing. Like night itself was seeping from him. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I was in bed.”
Isla’s eyebrows came together. “You were sleeping?” He stared at her. “No.”
Oh.
Suddenly the stained-glass window seemed very interesting. Isla studied its four illustrations intently, hoping the heat she felt on her face wasn’t visible in the darkness.
Grim sat at one of the benches in the abbey, elbows on his knees. He watched her—she could feel his gaze on her but couldn’t bring herself to look back.
In an instant, he was behind her. She felt his breath on her bare shoulder and tensed.
“When I left my chambers, everything was burning. And all of the rulers were dead.” She turned and found his face drawn, more serious than she had ever seen it. “I was a ruler of realm. When all I had ever trained to be was a warrior.”
Darkness billowed out of him in waves, snuffing out even the limited light creeping in from the window. A flash of lightning struck outside, but its light did not reach them.
Isla swallowed. Turned to face him fully. “I know what it’s like to have responsibility you never wanted . . . and never thought you deserved.”
Grim’s hands were tightly wound by his sides. She tentatively reached out and opened one of them. Ran a finger across his palm and felt him tense in front of her.
“Will you show me?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t.
He seemed to know she meant his powers. The extent of them, beyond the simple demonstration he had given weeks before. And she seemed to know that he needed a release.
Grim looked intently into her eyes. “Are you sure you want to see?” he asked.
She almost said yes immediately, then remembered the bite of disappointment she’d felt at his answer the last time he had prefaced his response. He was warning her, she realized.
Warning her that she might see something she wouldn’t like.
Still, Isla nodded. She wanted to see it. Raw power. The thing she wanted more than ever.
He was so close his nose almost touched hers. “Not here.” He glanced at the window. Isla heard the rain, still raging, but not as violently as before. “Do you mind going outside again?”
She shook her head and followed him back out of the abbey.
Isla felt it all once more, the water in sheets, but she was already wet, already cold. Her eyes stayed glued on Grim as he walked to the cliff, to its very edge. His back was tense, his cape glued to his shoulders, and the muscles there rolled back.
Fast as lightning, he turned, hand shooting in front of him—and darkness erupted in a violent line, a wall of ink that rippled like water, peaked like flames. It whipped right past her, inches from her face. She stumbled back, the force of it almost making her fall over.
As quickly as it had struck, the darkness dissolved. Isla took an unsteady breath. In the places night had touched, life had been ripped away. The grass sat charred and matted; trees were reduced to hulls that decayed into ash right before her eyes.
If that power had been unleashed on a human, she could imagine their skin would melt right from their bones. And those bones would splinter and crack until they were fragments in the wind.
This was worse than fire.
Grim’s darkness left nothing behind.
He had turned back to the cliff, hand fisted at his side. A hand that wielded terrible, terrible power.
Grim went still when she trailed two fingers over the back of that hand, against her better judgment. When she said, “Show me more,” he grinned.
And gripped her by the waist.
They shot off the cliff, to the sand below—and this time, Isla didn’t scream. Because somehow, they had skipped the entire middle of the jump.
The sea foamed and raged like a crazed animal in the storm, clouds bubbling and frothing above, melding together to form a gray gradient. She couldn’t see where the ocean ended and the sky began. They both churned and eddied, desperate to touch.
Isla stood close enough to Grim that she heard him over the rain, over the wind that blew in from the sea, whipping against every inch of exposed skin and leaving it numb. She still had her crown in her hand and, for a moment, considered simply throwing it into the angry ocean, wondering if that would solve her problems.
“Hearteater,” he said.
She looked up at him, only to see something peculiar in his expression.
He looked worried. Devastated.
Worried that she would cower from his terrible display of ability? Hate him for what he was?
She remembered his words. I am the monster.
Part of her was afraid of it.
But she wasn’t afraid of him. Even though part of her screamed that she should be.
“Tell me how I’m feeling,” she whispered. She could try her best to control her thoughts, her actions—but if the Nightshade had taught her anything, it was that her emotions were far more difficult to bridle.
Rain fell from his hair and onto her cheeks.
He swallowed, reading her. “You’re feeling . . . intrigued.”
She motioned toward their surroundings and shrugged. She had asked him to show her more. “Well?”
Instead of grinning again, Grim’s expression darkened. The ocean curled with a giant wave that crested before them and collapsed into cliffs just feet away. His mouth was suddenly at her ear. “I could open a black
hole that would swallow the beach. I could turn the sea dark as ink and kill everything inside of it. I could demolish the castle, brick by brick, from where we stand. I could take you back to Nightshade lands with me right now.” His voice was deep as dreams, dark as nightmares. “I could do all of those things.” His lips pressed against the top of her ear, for just a moment. “And I might—if I didn’t think you would hate me for it.”
Isla’s shoulders and fingers shook—from the cold, or the rain, or his proximity, or his proclamations, she wasn’t sure. She looked down at their bodies, pressed close. Just flimsy, drenched fabric between them. Red dress against black, a rose dipped in midnight. Like tea in boiling water, darkness still seeped from him, around him, ribbons of it that reached toward her before recoiling. “Why do you care what I think? You barely know me.”
Grim’s shadows flared, though his expression did not change. “I know enough,” he said.
“What about staying away from me?”
His lips were right above hers now, his words practically pressed against the corner of her mouth. “I gave it an honest effort,” he said. “But it turns out . . . I’m not that honest.”
Isla stumbled away from him, afraid of what she might do if she stayed so close, close enough to feel the power that leaked from him, close enough for it to brush against her as harshly as the wind—it was magnificent.
But she was a fool. He had been hot and cold for a reason. He had his own plan.
If anything, he’ll use you. Us.
Grim took a step back. Another. The shadows at his sides flinched, hissing over the rain. “You’re afraid,” he said.
She didn’t know what else to do, so she nodded. Because she was terrified. Terrified of the way her heart was beating wildly, of how her head was as fogged and clouded as the sky above.
Her people deserved better than her, an unproven leader who was at that very moment gambling away their salvation.
What was she doing? What was he doing?
He must have felt all her emotions, fear weaving with confusion and desire and shame. Because he said, “Let’s get back to the castle.” And all
the darkness and shadows fell to his feet before being washed away by the rain.
