Isla was polishing her throwing stars after training with Terra when she felt it. Something calling to her from the forest.
She frowned. It didn’t make a noise, but it was like it was tapping her on the shoulder with its presence.
Grim was supposed to meet her soon. She should wait for him. But the calling beckoned, more desperate now.
She tucked her throwing stars and daggers into her pockets and used her starstick to portal into the woods.
The sun was getting close to setting. Gold peered through the tops of the trees. It was a dangerous time to be in the woods. They were bloodthirsty and known to lash out.
Still, she followed the call.
She followed it until she reached a spot the eldress had shown her before she died. A river framed by cliffs, and waterfalls that fell in transparent sweeps. Stones larger than her skull lined the edge, smoothed over time.
And sticking out of the dirt, as if thrown down from the heavens, was the sword.
The sword’s double blades refracted light in twin shimmers. A bright-red stone sat buried in its hilt. It was heavy in her hand.
Grim portaled into her room and paled. “Hearteater,” he said. “Where did you find that?”
At first, she was happy. Excited, ecstatic that the sword had presented itself. It would help Grim. He would help her.
Then she began to ask questions.
“You said you had something to tell me,” she said, remembering the night he had first taken her to bed. “Before I interrupted you. What is it?”
Grim swallowed. He looked almost . . . afraid. He took a seat in one of her chairs and beckoned for her to sit across from him.
“I’ll stand,” she said sharply, already feeling betrayal rooting itself inside her chest.
Grim was silent for a few moments, eyes on the hands in front of him, and then he spoke. “More than twenty years ago, I began my search for that sword,” he said. He looked at it for just a moment before bringing his eyes to hers. “I had help. My best general. One day, he went to follow a lead, taking my relic I had made to get there.” Her starstick. “Then . . . he was gone.”
She remembered Grim saying he had been betrayed before, by someone else he had hunted the sword with. It was why he had always been so secretive, so stingy with information.
“I assumed he died in the attempt to get the sword. For over two decades, I believed that to be true. Until you portaled into my palace.”
What did his general have to do with her?
“Guards found your clothes, the ones you had left behind. When I discovered you were Wildling, I knew there was only one way that you could have gotten to my palace so quickly. Then . . . when I realized you were uncursed, everything made sense.”
Isla took a step back. The tip of the sword shrieked against her floor. “Wh—what do you mean?”
His eyes softened. “It’s rare, but non-rulers can have flairs,” he said. “My general had one.” His voice was gentle. “He was impervious to curses.”
The one who had made his charm.
Tears stung her eyes before she even knew what he meant, like her body had put everything together before her mind could process it.
“He was your father, Isla,” he said. “No.”
That would mean—it would mean— “I’m not Nightshade.”
Grim smiled. “But you are. You are.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense—”
“I believe your father did find the sword. But he always feared I would one day share my father’s ambitions and use the dreks to conquer
Lightlark.” He frowned. “He must have met your mother. And clearly . . .” “Why would he think that?” she demanded. Her father had gone to great
lengths to make sure Grim couldn’t get the sword. He must have had a good
reason. She remembered what Grim had told her. “Why did your father want Lightlark so badly?”
“Lightlark is a miniature,” Grim said. “The creators of the island fled a world made up of different countries. Moonling, to the very north, buried in the ice. Sunling at the center, where the sun shined brightest. Wildling close by. Skyling, then Starling, then Nightshade at the opposite end, where it was darkest and coldest. They took thousands here, to another world, and created a smaller version of the one they left behind.”
She had never heard of that. It sounded impossible.
“Cronan, my own ancestor, wanted to go back, after he was cast out from Lightlark. But the portal is built into its foundation. Using it successfully would mean destroying the island.”
“Why doesn’t anyone know about this?” she demanded. Poppy and Terra had never mentioned any of it in her history lessons.
“Only the ancient creatures remain from that world. Over time, the information was lost, but not by Nightshade. Though, my people never attempted to try to seek out the portal again until I was born.”
“Why?”
“I have the same flair as Cronan. Portaling. The portal doesn’t work on its own, it requires someone with my skill.”
The destruction of Lightlark . . . it would doom thousands of people to death. “Why would anyone ever want to go back to that other world?”
“I don’t,” he said. “We went to war over the portal, but after the curses, when my father died, I abandoned the search myself. I only needed the sword after the dreks became a problem, to stop them.”
“Does anyone else know about the portal?”
Grim nodded. “Only one other ruler that I know of. Cleo. She is . . . very interested in using it.”
That was how Grim had the Moonling medicine. Cleo was helping him for a reason. She was trying to persuade him.
“Why would she want that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She wants to go to that world, for some reason.”
“You won’t do it, though, will you?”
“No. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. The portal is in the Wildling palace on Lightlark. Only a Wildling ruler can open it.”
She would never do that. Tears stung her eyes. She would never doom an entire island of people.
Her throat felt tight. She finally had answers. Though, part of her wished she hadn’t asked any questions. She was happier, she thought, living in ignorance.
“Here,” she said, flinging the sword at him. She wanted to stab him with
it.
Grim caught the sword and leaned it against her wall. “I told you. I
don’t want to use it anymore.”
“Right,” she said, her voice cruel. “The cost is too high. Tell me the truth now,” she demanded. “What was the cost?”
“Your life.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, all she could do was stare at him as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. “My . . . life?” Her voice broke on the last word.
“I needed you to use your flair to break the curse on the sword,” he said. “It was an ancient curse. Breaking it would have either killed you on the spot, or significantly shortened your life.”
Her world had just smashed against a rock. Everything she thought she knew was shattered.
“You knew from the very beginning,” she said. Tears were hot down her cheeks. “You knew when we made the deal. That’s why you made it. You knew it might kill me. You probably weren’t even planning on going to the Centennial at all.”
He didn’t try to deny it. “That was before I knew you,” he said. “Before
. . . all this happened.”
She didn’t care. She could barely even see; her tears had made everything look distorted, and she didn’t mind, because she didn’t want to look at him. “Goodbye, Grim,” she said. “I never want to see you again.”
Silence.
“You mean that?” “I do.”
He closed his eyes against the words. For a while, he didn’t say anything. Then, very slowly, as if he was still trying to make sense of his own emotions, he said, “I’ve been stabbed a thousand times . . . but none of that hurts more than hearing you say goodbye.”
And then he vanished.
