Isla could have locked herself in her room for months, she could have drowned in regret and grief. She had in the past, the first time she discovered what she had done.
But her tears wouldn’t keep Grim from using the portal on Lightlark.
They wouldn’t help her understand the oracle’s deadly prophecy. They wouldn’t ensure her death didn’t doom thousands. Only action would.
So she buried her feelings down as deep as they would go and decided the only way to ensure Grim didn’t plan behind her back again was to be part of every meeting. Every event. Play the part of his wife, because it would gain her access.
Starting with the burial ceremony, the next morning. Grim had given her his room—their room—and she woke at dawn. Lynx had nearly torn apart Grim’s stables in the moments they had been parted, and now he watched her from the corner of the room—his green eyes simmering with worry—as she braided her hair into a crown, in the Nightshade style.
She chose her dress carefully. Here, surrounded by enemies, her image would matter.
That was why, when she was ready, she reached for her golden rose necklace with shaking fingers. It was the only thing she had left of Oro,
other than her memories. Tears slipping down her face, she unclipped it and slid it into her pocket.
In the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. The Wildling green and red were almost gone—replaced by a black dress with the faintest of roses beaded into the bodice. She looked like a Nightshade’s devoted wife.
It was a lie, she thought, as she portaled into Grim’s store of weaponry. That was where she found their stock of the healing elixir, the one that the
Wildlings had been making for battle. Much of it had already been used, but she took the majority of what was left, drew her puddle of stars, and sent them through to Lightlark’s infirmary.
It was a risk, but hundreds of injured warriors would die without the healing properties. It was the least she could do to help, after bringing them into battle. Nightshade had endless fields of nightbane, the flower the elixir was made from. They wouldn’t miss it.
She closed the portal and was back in her room just before Grim knocked.
“You don’t have to go,” he said, studying her swollen eyes. He lifted a hand as if to wipe a tear from her jaw; but then, seeing the expression on her face, seemed to think better of it.
Her voice was cold. “I know. I’m going anyway.”
On Nightshade, bodies were buried. Warriors were put to rest on a sacred stretch of land overlooking the coast, beneath mounds of ash.
The air smelled of flesh and salt. It blew her hair back, revealing the black pins she’d added. They were tipped in black diamonds to complement her cape. The necklace Grim had given her, with the large glimmering black diamond, was now purposefully visible against her throat.
Some gasped at it. She heard whispers about the stone around her neck. It was a symbol of their marriage. Perhaps they hadn’t believed their union was real until they saw the necklace.
It didn’t seem to make a difference to the Nightshade families who eyed her with hatred as she walked through the rows of the graveyard, toward the newest mounds. She couldn’t blame them.
“Traitor. You don’t belong here,” she heard someone mutter. They were right. She belonged on Lightlark, mourning the deaths of the people who fought alongside her. Now, she pretended to honor the same warriors that had cut them down. She felt disgust, and hatred, and anger alongside
families that cried out in grief.
Also, guilt.
Flashes of ash and bone had filled her dreams. Lynx had woken her that morning with a nudge of his head. The sheets had been on the floor. There were scratches down her arms, as if she had clawed herself. Her ribs still hurt from her racking sobs.
Now she buried those emotions. This was not the time to feel anything. Not when that same ruinous power prickled just beneath her skin, waiting to be unleashed.
As Grim spoke in remembrance of the dead, she clung to every word, searching for indication of a veiled plan or threat against Lightlark. All he offered were condolences. A line of warriors stood behind them, their heads bowed, and swords dug firmly into the dirt. When Grim’s speech was over he waved his hand, and some of the ash that coated the graves rose toward
the sky.
“My court will meet in the throne room tonight to discuss our plans,” Grim told her, after meeting with every family.
She kept a vise around her emotions, lest he wonder why he’d piqued her interest. “Is there a place for me?” She studied his face, scanning for any irritation at her request.
She found none. “There is always a place for you,” he said. “I made your throne myself.”
He had: She remembered it now. Grim had crafted it with his own shadows.
Hours later, she walked toward that throne like a ghost. Memories blurred, past and present bleeding together until they were one.
She remembered the outrage when Grim had announced her as his wife to his court—as his equal—right before they left for the Centennial. Grim had made it clear that anyone who didn’t respect her didn’t have a home on Nightshade, and so the dissent was not erased, not pulled out by the root and banished, but permitted to grow like a weed in secret.
This room . . . these thrones . . . She recognized these faces that stared her down, the space filled to the brim with high-ranking soldiers and nobles.
They bowed for her because Grim would have gutted them if they didn’t. Only he remained standing. He watched her walk toward him with an admiration typically reserved for the gods. But there were no gods here.
“Your ruler has returned.” No one dared protest.
A woman watched from the corner of the room, one palm resting at the intersection of the curved swords that formed an “X” on her chest. Isla felt a vestige of recognition from her past. It was Grim’s general, Astria. Her long
black hair was tied back into a single braid. Her high, pale cheekbones made her face seem even more severe.
Her dark eyes slid back to Isla’s, after sweeping across the room for any threats against Grim; and they narrowed, as if spotting the greatest threat of all. From the first moment they had been acquainted, Isla had known that Grim’s general didn’t dislike her . . . she just didn’t trust her.
Astria would be a problem. Being here, in her enemy’s land, would mean lying to Grim. Isla would need to hide her true purpose as she sought to identify her options. Grim’s sense of reason was clouded by his feelings for her, but his general would see things clearly.
Isla reached the end of the aisle, and Grim took her hand. He helped her onto her throne.
Shadows moved curiously beneath her skin like extensions of Grim himself, but she didn’t dare flinch as the crowd rose to their feet.
Isla had the sudden urge to unleash her power. She was surrounded by enemies. Some of these faces she recognized not from the past, but from the battlefield.
For Oro, she would sit among them. She would learn their plans. And, if they put him and Lightlark at risk, she would stop them.
“What now?” A voice dared break the silence. Isla knew of only one soldier foolish enough to speak so boldly. She found the source immediately, a hulking man who was difficult to miss. He wore armor shaped for his great stature. His hair was a single long patch down the center of his head. No one dared stand too close to him, even with his hands covered. It seemed no one wanted to be caught touching him. He was a powerful Nightshade who could control a person by touching them, an ability in their realm that had become rare over the centuries. Grim didn’t
acknowledge the man, who continued talking as though he had a death wish.
“We were winning. Don’t think we don’t know why we retreated.” He stared pointedly at her, gaze fixating on the stone resting between her collarbones. “That necklace. It is an abomination for—”
“Tynan.” Grim’s voice was as cold and cutting as the shadows that stilled beneath her. No one dared move a muscle. “My father was known for taking the tongues of his soldiers, you’ll remember. Following orders
doesn’t require speaking, isn’t that what he used to say?” He frowned. “It’s a wonder he let you keep yours. Perhaps that needs to be rectified.”
To his credit, Tynan stood tall, though his metal-encased fingers clashed together in anger. He was dangerous. But not to Grim. Grim’s power was as undeniable as the tide. The force of him was felt in the room. He could kill every one of them without leaving his throne, and they all knew it.
“Hundreds were lost,” Tynan continued, his voice shaking in fury. “Over a woman, over—”
Grim raised his hand, and Tynan froze. The Nightshade made a gurgling sound. “That woman is my wife,” Grim said clearly. “And your ruler. You
serve her.” He released his hold, and Tynan staggered forward. “Now bow.” “Ruler, I—”
“I said bow.”
Isla watched the man, his eyes flashing with hatred, as he sank to his knees.
“Lower.”
The man placed his hands on the floor, gauntlet clashing against the stone.
“Lower.”
Tynan’s shoulders shook with undeniable rage as he pressed his forehead to the floor.
“Now,” Grim said, leaning back in his chair. His voice turned almost casual. “We might have retreated . . . but we did not lose Lightlark.”
Isla stilled.
She turned her head very slowly to face Grim. He didn’t even look at her. Panic spilled like poison through her chest. “Quite the contrary,” he continued. “We have reclaimed our greatest chance at overtaking the island. Three rulers founded Lightlark, including my ancestor.” Only then did he turn to her. “And hers.”
Isla wasn’t breathing.
“The king of Lightlark is in love with her,” Grim said, as if it were a joke. As if she had been a spy sent in to make Oro, King of Lightlark, fall in love with her to gain access to his power. The court laughed. The soldiers began to murmur. Her rage turned into a wildfire. Isla’s hands gripped the
side of the throne, the shadows’ sharp edges digging into her palms, nearly drawing blood. She wanted to silence them all. She wanted to drown them
with the power that surged like a rogue wave within her. She wanted to
strangle Grim. Especially as he said, smirking, “Now we have everything we need to take Lightlark.”
Isla watched every soldier and member of Grim’s court file out of the room, her blood boiling to such a degree, it was a wonder she didn’t catch fire.
Finally, the doors closed behind the last of them.
Her blade was at his throat in an instant. She pinned him to his throne.
Her words shook with anger and betrayal. “You manipulative, villainous—” “As much as I would love to hear the end of that sentence,” Grim said,
seeming unconcerned by the blade beneath his chin, “do save your barbs for
a different time, when you actually have reason to hate me.” She bared her teeth. Everything he had just said—
“I’m not planning on invading Lightlark, heart.” She blinked, incredulous. “You just said—”
“I know what I said. I told them what they wanted to hear, to buy some time.” He searched her eyes. “The portal would have saved you . . . and it would have also saved my people.”
She lowered her blade the slightest bit. That, she hadn’t expected. “Saved them from what?” The dreks were their biggest threat in the past, but they were gone. Grim had banished them below, and hidden the sword again, just as she had asked.
“Storms,” he said simply. “The deadliest you can imagine.” It was the first she was hearing of this. And she had explored
Nightshade for a year before the Centennial.
He must have sensed her confusion, because he said, “They used to happen every few centuries, on and off, then decades, then every few years. They are unpredictable, and every one has gotten worse. Hundreds die during the storm season.”
Hundreds? She frowned, and he nodded.
“It’s not just the weather. They bring sickness. Creatures. Entire villages have been razed by beasts in the night. The tempests are deadlier than the curses, even. The dreks appeared during one of them, and never left.”
“How do you know there will be a storm season?”
“There are signs,” he said. “The tides change. Certain animals burrow themselves. It lasts about three months. The whole winter this time, if I had
to guess.”
Isla swallowed. Hundreds of Nightshades were in danger, then.
Perhaps they were already doomed. Her own lifespan was
uncertain . . . if she killed Grim to fulfill the prophecy, all of them would perish . . .
No. She refused to accept that fate. The oracle had made it seem like her future was etched in stone, but if there was a way around it, she would find it.
“I’ll help you. I’ll help you stop the storms.”
He raised a brow at her. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”
“You’ve never tried with me.” They had worked together before. The memories of it blinded her for a moment. Her breath became unsteady.
“Work with me. Buy us more time, enough for us to find another solution that isn’t the portal.”
Buy her enough time to change her fate. He hesitated. Then, nodded.
She sighed, leaning back, only to realize she was still pinning him with her legs.
Grim’s gaze slowly slid down her body, catching on the hem of her dress, riding high up her thigh. Her skin prickled with cold.
For a moment, she imagined his hand curling around her hip, dragging her forward against every inch of him. She imagined arching her back, pulling her dress over her head and—
It wasn’t her imagination, she realized. It was a memory of something they had done, and her cheeks burned. Grim watched her with darkened eyes, his hands firmly glued to the sides of his throne.
He was her enemy. She was disgusted by her thoughts.
Forget burying her feelings. She needed to smother them. Burn them.
She stood, straightening her dress. “Tomorrow, then.” She gave her sweetest smile. “If I find out your threat of Lightlark is real, I’ll find a use for all those pretty blades you left for me in my room.” There were rows of them, all perfectly angled to fit the many slim pockets in the pants that hung in her wardrobe. “Just because we’re married, don’t think I won’t gut you.”
Only when she reached the door did she hear him say, “I would expect nothing less, wife.”
