It had been ten days since Grim had sought her out. She should have been relieved. But part of her wilted at the fact that Celeste had likely been right.
What other explanation could he have to suddenly avoid her after seeking her out so consistently? She really had just been a part of his plan— whatever it was.
Fool, she called herself, for believing anything else.
It was their third night in the coffiner forest. They had looked inside hundreds of trees, all heartless. Isla was starting to wonder if she hadn’t paid close enough attention in the garden.
Was there something she had missed? She had identified the plants most likely to harbor the type of power Oro had described . . . but she could have been wrong.
On their way across the Mainland, she had asked the king more questions. Every day with him was a test, seeing how much he would tell her.
“Why didn’t Cleo attend the last Centennial?” Azul had mentioned it before.
The woods hadn’t hurt her yet, but she still felt their energy unspooling around her, as if the nature was simply waiting for the right moment to pounce. Even the king was careful where he walked, not underestimating the power of the forest for a moment.
“You should ask her. The two of you get along so well.”
Isla might have thought that was an attempt at a good-natured joke, and might have keeled over at the possibility of the king making one, if his tone hadn’t been so hostile.
She gave him a look. “It isn’t my fault she’s had a target set on me since I made that comment at dinner.”
The king shook his head. He seemed in disbelief at her foolishness. “Cleo wouldn’t kill you because she dislikes you.”
Isla scoffed. He clearly hadn’t seen the way the Moonling had studied her, as if she was counting down the hours until the fiftieth day of the
Centennial. “You seem to think highly of her.”
The king, to her surprise, nodded. “I do. Cleo thinks of the good of her realm above all else.”
Isla remembered the Moonling’s trial. It had tested one’s desires.
Terra and Poppy had preached the same unrelenting commitment to one’s people. Only on the island had Isla understood how big of a sacrifice it was to give up all the world had to offer. “Really?” Isla said incredulously. “She has no hobbies? No lovers?”
Oro didn’t meet her gaze. “She did have different relationships, with both men and women, before she came into power,” he said. “But since she has been ruler, she has focused completely on her realm’s future. Her focus is admirable.” He worked his jaw. “That does not mean she is not a problem, however.”
Problem. Isla wondered if he knew about her legion. Her guards. He must.
“Wouldn’t that commitment to her realm mean she would kill any ruler she could to fulfill the prophecy? To make sure she and her people don’t die?”
The king came to a stop. “Any ruler?” he repeated.
She shrugged. “The first she had the chance to assassinate.”
He had never looked as repulsed by her as he did then. “Don’t you understand, Wildling? Killing a ruler isn’t the hard part. We all have had several opportunities to fulfill that portion of the prophecy. Do you know why killing isn’t allowed until the fiftieth day?”
He looked so upset, she didn’t dare form a response.
“It’s because choosing the right ruler and realm to die is the difficult part. Not just because we would be sentencing thousands to death. But because all of our futures depend on making the right decision.” His voice became louder. She had never seen him more impassioned. Or angry. “All of our realms are connected. You can’t begin to understand the consequences of losing one of them. Even if we did know for certain the offense that needed to be committed again, the decision of who needs to die would be nearly impossible. That, more than anything else, is why the curses haven’t been broken until now.”
Isla didn’t know why she spoke her next few words. But she needed clarity. Answers. “Why not just kill Grim, then?” she wondered, even as the
thought made her insides twist with a surprising amount of pain. Even if he seemed to have forgotten about her. “He’s not part of Light-lark. Isn’t he the obvious choice?”
His smile was mocking. Cruel. “I can’t,” he said. Perhaps it was because he was so angry, so eager to throw in her face how little she understood, he told her more than she expected he would. “Grim is the only thing standing between us and a greater danger you can’t even begin to fathom.”
Greater danger? What could be more dangerous than the Nightshade?
Or the curses? Or the Centennial?
He looked down at her like she was a fool, a naive ruler. And it did seem now like she knew nothing. Terra and Poppy had always framed the Centennial as a survival-of-the-fittest game. One where the weakest link would be murdered, if the others were given the chance. If Oro was to be believed, the hundred days were more about making the right choice over the most convenient. Before she could ask anything else, he had stormed off.
The king was on the other side of the woods now. She could hear him every few minutes, slicing into the bark with his powers, just enough to look inside the trunk. He didn’t get distracted, no matter how many hours they did the same task.
Isla couldn’t say the same. Not when she now had so many questions on her mind.
She had finished her section for the night. No hearts. Just the occasional animal burrowed inside the trunk that would peek up at her with curious eyes.
Celeste had visited her that morning, looking for an update.
I’m trying, Isla had said. It just never seemed like the right moment to ask the king about the library. Too soon or out of the blue, and he would become suspicious of her request.
Now, she wondered if she had burned all her chances at getting him to take her to the Sun Isle library with their earlier conversation. The king had looked furious.
It was dangerous, stupid, but she walked deeper into the woods, hand trailing along the coffiners until they ended. The nature changed, becoming wilder. Flowers bloomed, red like the dresses she most often wore.
Rosebushes. Bulbous petals guarded by halos of thorns.
The last Wildling Eldress, the one she had found in the forest, had called her that once.
You are a rose with thorns, she said. A pretty thing capable of protecting itself.
If only.
Her blades should have been enough. She was a great warrior. But against power—metal might as well be paper.
The rosebushes became thicker, turning into another plant. One that had spines long and thick as fingers, jutting everywhere. It looked like a weapon. She didn’t know why, but she followed it through the forest, watching the bush become larger, taller.
Until she reached an entire wall of spines and thorns. Her pulse raced.
Thorns formed on plants to guard them. They were defense mechanisms, just like her own throwing stars and blades.
This entire wall of spikes had to be protecting something. Maybe the heart of Lightlark.
Isla turned to yell for Oro, triumphant. That was when it struck.
The thicket of spines came to life—wrapped her in its embrace. And pulled her right into its nest of spikes.
Her scream was a guttural thing. Dozens of barbs stabbed through her back at once, sharp as blades. Thorns needled themselves through her arms.
She was well practiced in pain, but this was not rehearsed. Not expected.
Isla tried to tear herself away from the wall, but she was stuck to it, the spines curved into her skin like hooks. Keeping her. Every push away sent them farther within. Blood ran hot down her back; tears shot down her face. A choking sound escaped her lips.
Then there were warm hands steadying her.
“Stop moving. You’re making it worse,” a voice yelled.
She wanted to spit at his feet for chastising her at a time like this. She wanted to warn him to get away from the evil plant. But she could barely even see. The pain had eaten all her senses.
The king cursed, and she imagined he was inspecting her back. “I’m going to have to break them to free you,” he said.
Isla nodded and, a moment later, screamed at the top of her lungs as Oro tore the first barb in two with his Starling energy. No matter how steady or gentle his power was, she felt the spine in her back, twisting closer to her bones. The plant didn’t like Oro’s handling of it. It dug its other barbs deeper inside. It did not strike the king, however. As if it only had an appetite for her.
“There are . . . several.”
She couldn’t take another one. The first—
She cried out again. Saw flashes of hues behind her eyes, the pain so deep she swore it had its own color.
Again. Again. Again.
Isla couldn’t control herself. The next time he broke one of the spines, and the plant retaliated by digging farther inside, she retched all down the front of her clothes.
If it got on him, he didn’t say a word. He just held her steady as he broke the spikes in two.
Again. Again. Again.
Isla insisted on being the one to pull them out.
She was on the ground now, away from the wall, Oro kneeling in front of her. The rest of the forest had gone still. Watching her.
“How did this happen?” he asked.
Right. Of course he was confused. Plants wouldn’t dare attack their ruler. Even if she was supposed to be keeping her abilities cloaked.
“I . . . tripped,” she said, wincing. He kept studying her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Go, look for whatever the wall is guarding,” she spat. “I’m fine. I can take them out myself.”
Even when she was injured, even soaked in blood, the king had the nerve to glare at her. “You’re covered in your own vomit,” he said flatly. He reached toward her back to help her, but she reared back, then groaned.
“I said I’ll do it myself,” she growled.
Oro bared his teeth at her. “Are you truly this stubborn?”
“Are you truly this overbearing?” she demanded. “I said no. Now leave.”
The king stayed put for a moment.
Then he got up and walked back toward the thicket, cursing beneath his breath.
Good.
When he was far enough away, Isla folded over and gripped the ground with all her strength, arms shaking in a sob. The pain—
It was like nothing else she had experienced. Evil, wretched plants.
And it wasn’t over.
Wincing, Isla reached back and felt around for the first spike. Gripped it with shaking fingers.
And pulled with all her might.
Her scream echoed through the forest; she could have sworn it rumbled the trees. Their shaking leaves sounded almost like laughter.
She had never hated herself more for being born powerless than she did now. If she was a true Wildling ruler, she could control every inch of the woods. They would never have hurt her. They would have helped her.
Her hand shook as it released the bloodied spine. It fell unceremoniously to the ground.
Only ten more to go, if her count had been correct when Oro had broken her free from the bramble.
The king was back now, crouching next to her.
Her entire arm shook as it bent backward, feeling for the next one. “I told you to go look for—”
“I did,” he said. “No heart.”
Tears rolled down her temples from the angle her head tilted. All this.
For nothing.
“You can—you can go,” she said, closing her eyes tightly.
A few seconds passed. She didn’t hear him move and wondered if he had simply flown away in that soundless way of his.
But when she opened her eyes, there he was, frowning down at her no doubt gruesome-looking back.
Oro reached toward her, and she flinched. He held his hands palm up. A peace offering. “The spines are all yours,” he said, eyes clear. Reasonable.
He motioned toward the dozens of thorns embedded in her arms, thin crimson streaks raining down from them like tears of blood. “I’ll get these.” She started to shake her head. “It’s faster,” he added. “The sooner this is finished, the sooner we can resume our search.”
He had a point. She supposed she could let him help her if it meant completing their mission. And getting out of this wicked forest.
“Fine,” she whispered.
His hands were hot against her skin but surprisingly gentle as they worked, pulling the thorns out, one by one. Each was followed by a prick of pain.
But nothing compared to the spikes in her back.
She wrapped her hand around another. Pulled. Screamed into her knees.
Another one. This one was curved, just an inch from her spine. She pulled, and a jolt tremored through her entire body, needles through her bones, poison in her veins. In the shock, her teeth bit down hard on her tongue, and an animalistic sound left her throat. Blood pooled immediately, dripping from her mouth.
“Here.” Suddenly, Oro was offering her something to bite into instead. “You’re going to bite your tongue off,” he said. “I’ve seen it happen before; you have to have something in your mouth for something like—”
Isla pulled another barb out, knowing it was impossible to feel more pain than she was feeling now.
But she was wrong. It doubled, tripled, and she bit down hard on what he offered.
Again.
Again.
Her eyes were closed so tight, her head hurt. She slipped in and out of consciousness. But she pulled every spike out herself.
It wasn’t until she was done and slumped against a tree that she realized she had been biting into Oro’s hand. It was covered in bite marks. She had pierced the skin in various places.
She was too tired to feel shame. All she could do was count her breaths as Oro used a canteen of water and his Moonling abilities to close her wounds.
By the time she stopped bleeding, it was time to leave. Dawn was approaching.
“What now?” she said, her voice barely making a sound.
Before the wall of spikes had attacked, she had already finished searching her assigned trees. She assumed Oro had too. The heart clearly wasn’t in this forest.
His jaw clenched. “There are too many places with the plants you indicated. I thought—because of the quantity, we would . . .” Get lucky were the words she filled in.
Isla almost wanted to laugh. Or cry.
If there was any luck in the world, she and the king had never encountered it.
He shook his head. “I have another plan. One I hoped to avoid.” He looked her in the eyes. “You know those ancient creatures I told you about?”
She nodded.
“Well,” he said, “I think it’s time we meet one of them.”
