SWNOVELS Chapter Skyshade: THE CLIMB
According to Grim, the ascent would take a full day. Two, possibly, depending on what they encountered.
She wanted to back out. Not just because of the danger, but because she wasn’t thrilled about having to be trapped with him for hours on end, in close quarters.
As much as she denied it, Grim was right. Her feelings told a different story than her mind. Logically, she knew she should hate him. She knew he was the enemy.
Her emotions were still tied to memories.
She pushed the feelings down. Buried them as far as they would go. They didn’t matter. They were only a distraction from her purpose.
They each carried supplies. The packs were small, to allow for easy movement. Water, food, and thin blankets were strapped to their backs. Swords and daggers were at their fronts. She wore her training clothes.
“Any warnings?” she asked, as they lingered at the entrance. It was a simple arch, leading into a single tunnel.
Grim looked at the dark passageway warily. He shook his head. “None that would do any good.”
And then they were plunged into darkness.
“We should have brought an orb,” she said, feeling around. They were less than ten steps up the path, and she couldn’t see in front of her anymore.
“I did during my climb,” Grim said. “It burnt out immediately. It was considered power, I suppose.” Great.
She felt around in the dark, looking for a ledge, only to drag her hand completely down Grim’s stomach. It was hard as marble, rippling with muscle. She snatched her hand back before she went any lower. “Sorry,” she said quietly.
Grim’s voice was deep and rattling, and too close for comfort. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “You can touch me wherever you like, wife.”
She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it and blindly took a step forward, desperate to be as far away from him as possible. “Good to know, but irrelevant, as I don’t plan on it.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so,” she hissed. She took another step that wasn’t actually there and lurched forward. Only Grim’s hands on her waist kept her from knocking her teeth in.
She stood very still, his breath right against her ear. “Careful. There are over a thousand steps to go. I can carry you, if you’d like.” His tone was almost mocking.
With one of her senses muted, she focused on the others. Grim’s voice, echoing through the tunnel, deep and scraping against some aching part of her. His cold, muscled body behind her back. His large hands still on her waist, fingers gripping her hips.
Isla placed her hands on Grim’s and felt him stiffen.
Then, she shoved away from him.
She took it slow. The steps were uneven, so she felt each one with the tip of her foot before advancing. It was a long process. By the time a pocket of light appeared in front of them, they had been climbing for hours.
In the ceiling, bits of crystal glowed, creating a trail through the tunnels. Still, her eyes strained with effort in the limited light. Her calves began to burn.
Isla put down her pack and sank to the floor. “How far are we?”
“Not even a fifth of the way up.”
She groaned. The prophet-order better be worth it. He handed her water, and she took a long sip. The tunnels were full of dust that dried her lips and tongue.
“We’re lucky we haven’t come across any creatures. I’d had at least two encounters by this point when I last was here.”
A clicking noise echoed somewhere far away. It could have been anything. Vermin. Shifting rocks.
Then, it got louder.
Grim began to pack his bag once more. “Spoke too soon.” He looked up at her. “Have enough water?”
She nodded. He took the pouch from her. “Good. Now run.”
Clicking filled the tunnels. Their steps scraped against the stone floor as they ran, side by side, dust kicking up around them. They hurtled around each corner, her hand dragging along the rough wall as she turned. At the last one, she dared look over her shoulder.
That was when she saw them.
Curved-over creatures with talons that clicked as they crawled through the caves, their horns like crowns of daggers. They were almost as wide as the tunnels themselves. If the beasts caught up to them, Isla and Grim would be torn to shreds.
Faster. They needed to go faster.
Her legs ached as she pushed forward, but it wasn’t quickly enough. The creatures were advancing. She had to slow down for fear of crashing into another wall.
The tunnels diverged again, and instead of choosing the one with the path of lights overhead, she dragged Grim in the other direction.
He followed her lead without slowing. “Is there a strategy I should be aware of?”
She motioned at the tunnel. A light smattering of crystals barely lit their path. The clicking was getting louder. They were right behind them. “Look. The walls are getting smaller.”
Ever so slightly. It was a gamble, to see if it would continue to narrow. They ran and ran, and Isla wondered if perhaps she had led them down the wrong path. If there was only one right one, and they had lost it. Doubt nearly choked her.
Then there was a terrible high-pitched noise as the creatures’ horns began to scrape against the walls.
Hope made her run faster. Just a little farther. They just needed to get a little—
She fell, skidding on her knees. One of the horns had torn a gash down her leg. Her scream echoed through the tunnel, and she turned around, arms in front of her, ready to be shredded—
But the creature was stuck. It snapped its wild teeth at her, just inches away, but did not reach her. Its horns were caught.
Before she could sigh in relief, the other creatures slammed behind it, sending the beast lurching forward. A moment before its jaw locked around her leg, Grim pulled her to her feet. He examined her wound. “The cut isn’t deep. Can you walk?”
She nodded, but at the first step, her knee nearly buckled with the pain. It didn’t matter. They had to keep going, lest the creatures break their horns and fit through.
They raced down the tunnel, slower than before, around a different corner, before she collapsed to the ground. Grim began to diligently wrap her leg with supplies from his pack. He was right: It wasn’t deep, but it stung.
It would be difficult climbing the rest of the way with an injured leg, but they didn’t even have the option of turning around. Not with the horned creatures completely blocking their path. The only way through was up.
“Ready?”
She wasn’t. The pain burned. The tunnel was growing darker again. She didn’t know how much she would crave light and greenery until she was completely without it. Still, she stood and took the hand Grim offered.
He hadn’t taken this path on his previous journey—neither knew what they would face. For an hour, they walked in silence. The tunnel kept getting smaller, and smaller, until Grim’s head nearly brushed the ceiling. The floor slightly tilted downward, instead of up. They could be going the wrong direction. It didn’t matter now. They didn’t have another choice anyway.
The silence bred endless thoughts, especially this close to Grim. All the questions she had wanted to ask him, the ones she had kept buried for months after the Centennial.
“You thought working with Aurora would save my life, didn’t you?” she asked.
She shouldn’t care. It was in the past.
But she did. She cared a lot.
His eyes hardened. She could tell he didn’t like thinking about it.
“Her plan promised us all Lightlark’s power. I thought it might be enough to sustain your life for centuries, until we found another solution. I was going to move my people from Nightshade, away from the storms.”
Aurora had tricked Grim into believing the prophecy to break the curses involved a Sunling king having to fall in love with a Wildling ruler—the history that had to be repeated.
She had used him, just like she had used Isla.
“You didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t think to include me?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. She did too. They faced each other. “All I thought about was your survival. I regret it. I told you that.”
Regret wasn’t enough.
“I fell in love, Grim,” she said, her voice rising, echoing through the tunnels. “I fell in love with someone else, while I was married. And I had no idea.” He winced. Her words hurt him. Good, she thought. She wanted him to hurt. She wanted him to understand.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like to betray someone you love? Without even trying to?”
“Yes,” he said through his teeth. He meant her.
She stepped forward. “You don’t know what love is.”
“I don’t?” he said, bridging the space between them. “I waged a war for you. I bound my life to you.”
“I didn’t ask you to!” she screamed. She shook her head. It ached. Her eyes stung.
So much death. So much loss. She knew she should be grateful that he had brought her back to life, but part of her wished he had just let her die. The world would have been better for it. So many people wouldn’t be in such imminent danger. When she said it aloud, Grim growled with anger.
“Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever think that. You have saved far more people than you have killed. You have power that threatens the gods.” He frowned down at her bracelets. “Even if you insist on keeping it contained, you have it. I might have saved you because I love you, but you are meant to live. You are meant to use this power.”
She didn’t know how he could speak so reverently about power that had caused so much destruction. She wished she’d never had it at all. She wished she hadn’t ever explored the world with her portaling device.
“I wish you’d never loved me.” It was true. It would have made everything so much easier. It would have saved so many lives. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes in frustration. Anger built behind her ribs. She dropped her hands and looked him right in the eye. Her voice was sharp. Barely recognizable. “I wish I hadn’t given myself to you, like a fool. I wish I hadn’t let you betray me, and lie to me, and manipulate me, and I hate you.” Her chest was heaving. “I hate you, I hate you, and I would throw this damned necklace into the sea if I could!”
Grim reared back, as if she had slapped him. His eyes glistened with hurt. She had never seen him look so wounded, even when he’d had a dozen arrows through his chest.
She instantly regretted her words. But why? She had meant them, hadn’t she?
He took a step away from her. She took a step away from him, in turn—and nearly slipped.
Water. Just a puddle of it, spreading slowly. Eating away the rock beneath it, creating a mirror. She blinked at her own reflection, hazy in the faint crystal light.
Then, it came rushing like a river.
She looked up at him. Their gazes locked.
“Run,” she said, and they did. The water was gushing now. Rising to her ankles, then her calves. It kept growing until it knocked her off her feet, and then she was paddling, gasping for air. Soon it would fill the tunnel. They would drown.
Her limbs ached as she swam as fast as she could, fighting to stay above the water. She managed a gulp of air before being pulled under by the force of the current. When she surfaced again, there were only a few inches remaining between the top of her head and the rocks above.
The tunnel was endless. It was no use fighting it.
She stopped swimming. Grim did too. She lifted her head as high as it would go, greedily swallowing air.
Grim faced her.
In his eyes, she saw unfiltered fear. The same fear she had seen moments before she had died.
They found each other’s hands through the water.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
“I know, Hearteater,” he said. He pulled her close, and their foreheads touched. This couldn’t be it. This wasn’t her fate.
She thought of all the people who would die because she was reckless enough to insist on going on the climb. The children. The innocents. The same as before, when—
The floor. It had curved downward. It had confused her, but now she realized it might be their salvation.
The tunnel had split throughout their journey, left and right. What if it also split top to bottom? They had been fighting against the current, trying to remain above the water, when perhaps they should have been letting it take them. With the last gulp of air, she said, “The tunnel is going down, the water pressure is increasing. Sink to the bottom. Follow the floor. Stop fighting it.”
Grim met her eyes; his were filled with trust she didn’t deserve. He nodded.
It was a risk, but the water was at the ceiling now anyway. Isla stopped swimming. Stopped struggling. So did Grim. She blew out the air in her lungs in one long stream and sank to the bottom. The current was even stronger down there.
In a rush, it raked her across the bottom of the tunnel, her shirt the only thing keeping her skin from being ripped apart. Faster. Faster. The water took them down, then farther, and she felt stone above her, as she moved through a different tunnel, a tighter one. Hope engulfed her. Maybe she had been right.
Just as quickly, panic closed in as closely as the rock that surrounded her. The space had become as narrow as a tomb. What if it narrowed further and she got stuck? She would drown in seconds. She was drowning now.
The pressure in her chest built. Roaring filled her ears. Spots clouded her vision. She came to a stop.
Then one great surge pushed against her feet, and she was careening forward, downward, faster than before. She was thrown in every direction, rock scraping her bare skin, her throat constricting, her head throbbing, lungs burning. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, she flew forward out of the tunnel, where she landed in a pool of water. She let out a choking sob as oxygen flooded her lungs.
Grim.
He broke through the water next to her a second later. His eyes were wild, and their intensity didn’t dim as he found hers. She was coughing, gasping, feeling like she was going to retch but seeing him safe, knowing they had survived the tunnel—
Their arms were around each other in an instant. She didn’t realize she was shaking or crying until he smoothed his large hands down her spine. “You’re okay,” he said, as if he was saying it to himself as well. “Because of you . . . we’re okay.”
They had nearly drowned. Her lungs still burned. She buried her face in his neck as he carried them through the pool, toward its edge. He whispered soothing sounds against the top of her head. His hands continued their gentle strokes up and down her back as she trembled against him. She was freezing. He was naturally cold; but compared to the water he was warm, so she clung to his chest. Safe. She felt safe in his arms. She knew it was wrong; but when he hauled her out of the water, she found herself grieving the loss of his skin against hers. She braced for more chill, but the rock was surprisingly warm beneath her hands.
After retrieving her pack that had gotten lost in the spring, he hauled himself out of the pool and straightened to his full height, towering over her. His clothes were molded to his body and dripping, their runoff forming a puddle at his feet. She swallowed, heart still hammering.
Then he began removing his clothing.
Logically, she knew it was because they were wet. They needed to dry off before they advanced. They would freeze in their drenched clothing, especially in the cold tunnels.
But there was nothing logical about the way she watched him. About the way she couldn’t bring herself to look away from his chest, muscled to perfection and marred by a single unhealed scar. Or his legs. He was built like a statue. Like a warrior. She swallowed.
“You’re leering at me.”
She immediately found somewhere else to look. “I am not.”
“Leer away, wife. I don’t mind.”
Isla scowled and pulled herself to her feet with a groan. Her leg still ached. Her breaths remained labored. Meeting his gaze, she began to take her clothing off too, slowly, piece by piece. She watched his throat work. For all his smugness, he turned away a moment later, seeming very preoccupied with laying his clothing perfectly across the rock, alongside their soaked blankets.
Just like him, she kept her undergarments on. She laid her clothes out flat. Then, she rested against the rock. It was warm—comfortable, even—a balm against the spiking chill of the pool. The groan that escaped her as the stone pressed against her skin was mortifying. She pressed her lips together as her skin flushed.
Any hope that he hadn’t heard her died when she turned to find him staring. No. He was leering. Just as she had.
She wasn’t sure he was breathing.
They wouldn’t survive the rest of the journey if they both died of hypothermia. She tried to appear unaffected as she motioned toward the space next to her. “Are you going to warm yourself, or just stand there with your mouth hanging open?”
Grim didn’t even try for a retort. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he slowly lowered himself to the ground next to her, careful not to touch her skin.
Sleep. They needed to sleep. Their bodies were spent from the journey. Now, the inside of the mountain was quiet, but who knew what they would soon face?
She turned away from him, pressing her eyes shut.
Cold air hissed through the tunnels of the cave, making her skin prickle everywhere. She shivered. Sleeping on her side wouldn’t work. Not like this, anyway. Any part not touching the warm rock was numb. She shifted slightly closer to Grim and found that it helped.
“You’re freezing, aren’t you?”
She didn’t deign to respond. She wasn’t used to the cold. The Wildling newland was always warm. Terra had tried to train her in as many different environments as she could, but even the worst of trials hadn’t been close to this.
“You hate the cold.”
She did. He knew her. Bastard.
He shifted slightly closer to her. She stiffened. “Who likes the cold?” she asked, tone biting.
“I do.” She knew that too.
Still, she laughed without humor. “You must be thrilled about our current circumstances, then.”
“No, not particularly. I’m watching my injured wife shiver like a leaf in a storm in front of me.”
She glared at him over her shoulder. “Stop calling me that.”
“A leaf in a storm?”
Her eyes narrowed further.
“Wife?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“No.”
She flipped to completely face him. “What do you mean, no?”
“No,” he repeated. “You are my wife.” His gaze dropped to her necklace. She didn’t so much as move as he dragged a finger down her throat, then across her collarbones, tracing a slow circle around the massive stone. He leaned in. His breath was hot against her pulse as he said, “I’m your husband. I’m yours.” His voice was nearly a growl as he said, “And you . . . wife . . . are mine.”
A warmth dropped through her. She tried to ignore it. “I don’t see you wearing anything around your neck.”
He didn’t so much as falter. “That can be arranged.”
She gave him a withering look that didn’t hold any real bite. Not when his finger was slowly tracing the path from her collarbone to her chest, stopping just short of the thin fabric she wore.
“Cold, Hearteater?”
“No,” she said, with all the conviction in the world, only to follow his gaze and see that her chest was very clearly peaked and visible through her undergarments.
She stiffened, and Grim dropped his hand. She shivered involuntarily at the loss of contact, the loss of the tiny bit of heat.
All she wanted was to be closer, but she forced herself to turn around again. She wrapped her arms around herself, covering her chest, and tried to forget who was behind her.
Minutes later, she was still freezing. She couldn’t take it any longer. The prophet-followers were her only hope of obtaining more information about the prophecy. If she didn’t at least rest a few hours, she wouldn’t have the strength to press forward.
That was what she told herself, anyway, as she scooted back and said, “Do you—do you mind?”
“No. Come here.” His arm circled her waist. He gently dragged her back, cradling her against his chest.
And then, she was enveloped by him.
She was finding it hard to breathe normally. The fabric of her underthings didn’t create any kind of barrier. It was just skin and muscle, and his hard edges against the softest parts of her, and heat flowing through her as soon as the cold was banished.
Being this close to him was like being in a storm, wrapped in everything him.
This was wrong. How did they end up here, on the ground, in nothing but bits of fabric, folded around each other?
He was her enemy. She was in love with someone else.
She knew she should get up, but she didn’t want to. She was tired, hurt, and cold, and all she wanted was to lay here, for just a little while, and be relieved that they had survived.
Comfort—that was what she needed, and what he offered her as he wrapped his body fully around hers, shielding her from the cold. She leaned into his touch just a little too much. She felt herself sigh when his nose ran down the length of her neck. She shifted back, pressing against him, some part of her finally relaxing, as if it had waited a long time to be back in his arms.
Only for a little while, she reminded herself.
She thought it even as her eyelids drooped, and she was smothered by sleep.
She awoke wrapped in Grim’s arms. At first, for a few strange moments, she didn’t know where she was—only that it felt familiar to be surrounded by the smell of storms and spice and something distinctly masculine. To be held in these arms. She let out a peaceful sound and wriggled back, against him. Against something hard.
She stilled. Her eyes flew open.
The cave greeted her. She didn’t dare breathe. Want flared within her like a wildfire, but she buried it down, instead forcing herself to scuttle forward, away from him. He was awake. Of course he was. He probably hadn’t slept a moment, lest they be caught unawares by some creature in the cave.
She turned, and they stared at each other. For just one second, the air between them felt taut, like a single move could break the illusion between them. Like one movement forward, one word, or one rasped breath could lead to them tangled together on the floor.
She rose to her feet. Grim did the same, and she didn’t dare stare at him, not again. She turned and began dressing. Her clothes were dry now. Not just dry, but warm.
Without glancing at him, she made her way to the tunnels. There were a few paths to choose from. Each had different colored crystals embedded in the ceiling.
She had led them through the last tunnel, and it had nearly gotten them killed. It was his turn. “Choose,” she said. He moved ahead of her, and they walked through the mouth of his chosen tunnel in silence.
At first, it seemed as though Grim had picked a good path. For miles and miles, the worst thing about it was the climb. They had gone down, and now they were forced back up, to a degree that seemed impossibly high. Her calves burned, and she feared falling backward, rolling all the way back down. Likely breaking her neck in the process. She leaned forward, angled over her knees, steadying herself. Her breathing became labored.
Her leg had bled through its bandages again. She could feel the blood dripping down her ankle. Filling her shoe. Crusting between her toes. It was impossible to stop here, in the narrow space, the floor curved and treacherous.
Times like these made her grateful for her training. It was hours until the path became level. She nearly sank to her knees in relief but worried she wouldn’t be able to stand again if she did. The muscles in her legs were all stiff. The nerves were either numb or burning with exertion.
They had to be close. She didn’t think she could last much longer.
The crystals in the ceiling became more plentiful, until they led to a wide cave. A clearing. Beyond it, another tunnel entrance awaited.
But it was blocked.
“What,” she asked, not daring speak beyond a whisper. “Is that?”
A dark shadow concealed the entrance—a monstrous figure with long, thin limbs. It reminded her of a grasshopper, if grasshoppers grew to be twenty feet tall.
Its skin was iridescent. Every time it breathed, every inch of it rippled.
It turned sharply toward her. It had no face.
Isla backed away, placing her hand on the blade at her hip. She waited for it to advance. But it did not. It simply stood at its post in front of the tunnel, facing them.
“We’re going to have to get past it,” she said.
Grim sighed. “Any ideas?”
Without a face, did the creature have all its senses? As a test, she reached down, grabbed a rock, and threw it to the other side of the clearing.
It hammered wildly against a wall. The sound echoed.
The creature didn’t move an inch. Interesting.
It had sensed her, somehow, though . . . if not from her speaking, then from what? She took a step forward and nearly slipped in a dark, wet streak by her heel. That was when she realized it.
“Blood. It senses blood.”
Grim looked from her leg to the creature. “I think you’re right.”
Isla knelt to the ground.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“What do you think?”
She began to undo her wrapping. He stopped her, with a hand over hers. “Keep it on. I’ll cut my arm.”
She shook his touch away. “You said it yourself. This is a test to see if they’ll let me in at all. It has to be me.” Grim didn’t seem happy about it, but she didn’t really care. She hadn’t been nearly shredded, or drowned, or trapped in this dusty tunnel system only to stop short of speaking to the order of prophet-followers.
No. They were getting past this creature. She was going to get answers about her fate.
“Get ready to run.” She stepped into the clearing.
Before she could throw the wrapping to the other side as she’d planned to, the creature lunged. It knocked her off her feet in a flash.
One of its thin legs pinned her down, pushing into the center of her chest with surprising strength. It was a wonder it didn’t crack through her ribs. Her head spun. She could smell more blood—likely from her head this time—and the creature began chittering.
It lifted its foot. Only then did she see that there was a mouth at its bottom, rimmed in teeth. It inched toward her head, as if to swallow it. As if to rip her face off and eat everything beneath it.
Before it could get any closer, she cut its leg off with her sword.
The creature seized above her, emitting a high-pitched sound. She rolled out of the way just as another mouth-tipped foot shot down, right where her head had been.
“Go,” she screamed, rubbing a hand along the back of her head, and finding it wet. Yes. Blood. She rubbed it on the walls, then stumbled at the force of the creature slamming against it. It was right behind her. Right behind—
She ran through the tunnel.
It was still right behind her.
It was a split-second decision. She gripped her sword tightly, then dragged it down her calf, tearing her wound open again, coating it in blood. Then, she stopped running. She turned and planted herself in the center of the tunnel. Outstretched her arm just in time—
And watched the creature skewer itself on her blade.
She was panting. Her leg was a fire of pain.
Grim cursed, moving quickly to wrap her opened wound as she twisted her sword, until she was sure the creature was dead. “Climbing is going to be difficult,” he said.
“Good thing we won’t be.” She could see the end of the tunnel from over her shoulder. The crystals above their heads flashed, as if in welcome.
Below them sat a door.
The moment Grim was done wrapping her leg again, she began limping toward it. The pain had faded away. All she felt was the cold rush of relief. She had made it.
The door had no handle. That was fine.
She stepped forward and knocked, slamming her fist against the stone. Her skin broke. Blood coated it.
For moments, nothing happened, and she banged harder. Harder.
It finally opened just a sliver, rattling the cave. Enough room for a single robed individual to step through.
A hood hid their face. The figure turned to her, then Grim, then back. A bony finger peeked from the robe and pointed right at her.
It was clear. Only she would be allowed through. They had expected this. She turned to look at Grim, and he nodded. She could almost sense the words in his intense gaze—he was right outside. He might not have powers here, but he would rip the doors off their hinges and get to her if she needed him.
A few days ago, she would have glared at him, but now . . . after what they had faced . . . she nodded back.
The doors closed behind her with a thud she felt in her bones. Inside, hooded figures faced her, in perfect lines. They bowed, their white robes gleaming through the darkness. It was almost as if they had known she would be coming.
It was almost like they had been waiting for her.
Every wall was shimmering black rock. A scattering of the same crystals from before were embedded in the ceiling above.
The hooded figure led her down corridor after corridor, until they turned into a small door, cut into the rock-face room. It promptly closed behind her.
She turned and startled.
A woman appeared from the darkness itself, seated on a slab of rock that hadn’t been there before. Another seat appeared before her. Then, a table between them.
There was power, at least, here in their base, it seemed.
The woman before her lowered her hood. A large scar cut across her face, slicing through her lips, her brow, and one eye. Her smile was wide and warm, completely at odds with her height and muscular figure. This woman used to be a warrior. She could see it in the small scars along her fingers. She’d had the same ones, once, before Poppy had healed them away with their elixir, thinking them ugly.
She took the seat she offered.
“I’m Eta. Welcome to our peak, Isla, ruler of Wildling.” A book appeared on the table. Its pages were thick and yellowed. Eta trailed a leathered, scar-crossed hand along its spine. “Our dear prophet,” she said reverently. “The book is bound in his skin. The words are written in his blood.”
She fought the urge to vomit. She had clawed her way to this very seat. Part of her wanted to come out and ask about her prophecy, but no. She had to start off small. Judge whether she could give her any useful information at all.
“I’m here to find out how to stop the storms on Nightshade. Did your . . .” she motioned toward the book with a wave of malaise, “prophet have anything to say about them?”
Eta gently traced the edges of the book, though she didn’t look down at it. No, her gaze was fixed on her. She was studying her closely. She looked almost amused.
Isla shifted uncomfortably under her gaze but was relieved when she nodded.
“To stop them, you must close their source.”
“Which is?”
“The portal. The door left open.”
She blinked. No, she couldn’t have heard her right. “The one on Lightlark?”
Eta shook her head. “No, no, that is a bridge. The one here is simply a door, left ajar.”
She leaned forward. She wasn’t sure she was breathing. “You’re saying there’s a portal on Nightshade?”
“Of a sort.”
Grim couldn’t have known about it. If he had, he would have used it. He wouldn’t have attacked Lightlark.
“How do you know?”
“It’s how our prophet got here. He came from another world entirely. It’s how he knew everything that would occur. It had been written.”
The prophet had come from the otherworld?
She didn’t mask her interest. No, she couldn’t do anything but demand, “Where is it?”
“No one knows. The prophet’s records of it were stolen.” Eta reverently flipped through the book’s wellworn pages; and upon closer study, Isla saw a large portion of its beginning was missing. Pages had been ripped away.
“If someone found the portal . . . could it be used?” It could be the solution to all her problems.
Eta shook her head. “It is simply a rip between worlds, a torn seam. Anyone from this world would die making the journey—the power required doesn’t exist here. Portaling between worlds has a price, just like power has a price.”
Power has a price. She knew that better than anyone.
“The portal on Lightlark. If it had been used, it would have killed us too?”
She shook her head again. “Not necessarily. That portal is a bridge, built to fuse two specific worlds, so the connection is stronger. It does most of the job itself, you might say.” She pursed her lips. “Still, many would have died. Only the strongest would have made it through. Many did die, in the creation of Lightlark. Their bodies were used as the foundation of the island. It gave it power. Did you know?”
She didn’t. Her voice was a frustrated growl. “Why is there a portal on Nightshade at all, if it can’t be used?”
“That, I do not know. What I do know is that it is like a hole in a dam. And it is growing. Things are being let in. Storms and creatures that don’t belong here.”
“Can it be closed?”
Eta nodded. “The prophet knew how. He simply wasn’t able to, before he died.”
To stop the storms, they needed to find the portal and close it. She had gotten the answers they needed.
Now was the time to ask about her own fate.
“Did the prophet speak about my prophecy?” Part of her wanted to rip the book from her hands.
Eta seemed to sense that, because it suddenly vanished. “Yes, it’s all been written. You’ve been told all you need to know. Goodbye, Isla World-maker.”
No. She had so many more questions. Her hand flung out, forming an iron-clad vise around her wrist before she could leave. She looked up at her, eyes wide. In fear? No. In curiosity. “How long do I have to live?”
She shook her head. “That, I do not know. Only the augur might be able to tell you that.”
“The augur?”
Eta nodded. “He was one of us, once. Now, he lives deep in the woods, behind a curtain of water. He studies blood. He might be able to read yours and tell you how much time you have left.”
Studies blood. That made her more than a little uneasy, but she was desperate for information.
“What is his price?” She knew well enough now that just like power and portaling, information also came at a cost.
“Blood, naturally. I believe hearts are preferable.” She watched her, amused, but didn’t say anything about her people’s former curse.
Isla’s teeth dragged together. Her entire goal was to not kill another innocent, but she would find a way around that.
Eta’s wrist still in her unrelenting grip, she said, “My prophecy. Does it—does the book have anything about who I kill?”
The oracle had said that the choice was still in flux. She was just as likely to kill either ruler.
“No. Only that you will plunge a blade into another powerful heart, and it will mark the start of a new age.”
“Can it be changed? Is it possible that the prophecy is . . . wrong?”
Eta looked almost sad for a moment. She smiled weakly. “Every single thing that has been written in this book has come to pass.”
Her eyes burned. Her throat tightened. She released the prophet-follower’s wrist.
No. There—there had to be a way . . . she had to be wrong—
Her look was nearly pitiful. “A warning for you, Isla Harbinger. There is a traitor in your midst that would like to see you dead. One of your own.”
It was the last thing she was expecting to hear. “A Wildling?”
She nodded. “It is written. One of your own betrays you. One of your own has already struck against you.”
Betrayed her how? “What do you mean?”
“The nightbane, of course.”
The fields of dead flowers. Poisoned by a blight. “That was the storm.”
She shook her head. “The storm was used as a cover. A Wildling poisoned the flowers.”
A Wildling. That didn’t make sense. The nightbane benefitted everyone. Her people spent months cultivating it. Why would one of them destroy it?
“Find the traitor. Stop them, or they will be your ruin.”
“How do I find them?” she demanded.
“Follow the snakes.”
The snakes? “What—”
Before the word left her mouth, Eta was gone.
Grim straightened as she stepped back outside the doors. He looked relieved, until his gaze dropped to her leg. It had bled through again. She hadn’t even felt it. No, she had been too busy turning Eta’s words in her head.
Every single thing that has been written in this book has come to pass.
The book had to be wrong.
Grim ducked to replace her bandages. From the floor, he looked up at her, and it made her heart stutter. “Well?”
She considered not telling Grim about the portal. She knew he would hope, just as she had, that it was a solution to their problems.
But she had to tell him something—and she would need his help finding it.
She told him everything about the portal. She sensed his excitement at the idea of another way to the otherworld, then watched it wither when she told him it couldn’t be used, not without killing them in the process.
“Do you have any idea where a portal might be?”
He shook his head with certainty. “No. With my flair, I would have sensed it.”
She had figured as much. So, where was it? Where could it be hidden, where the ruler of the land wouldn’t have encountered it?
The storms were connected to it. Perhaps they could be the key to finding its location. There was one person who knew more about tempests than any of them. “I’m going to visit Azul.”
Grim looked surprised, but he didn’t try to change her mind. She was trying to help his realm, after all.
But that was not the only reason she wanted to seek out the Skyling.
The walk down nearly broke her. Grim offered to carry her several times, and she was close to letting him, but somehow, they left the darkness of the mountain. Before she saw even a shard of sunlight, Grim was portaling them back to the palace.
Her leg was soaked in blood—the wound was worse, deeper now from the strain of her movements. Her head was spinning. They had run out of bandages. Grim was gone in an instant.
When he returned, he held a coveted vial of healing elixir. Before she could say a single word, he was pouring the liquid directly onto her wound. She gritted her teeth as her skin slowly sewed back together.
Only minutes later, when the pain had dimmed, did Grim say, “Hearteater. Why is there only one vial of healing elixir left in our weaponry store?”
There was no use in hiding it. “I sent the rest to Lightlark.”
She watched his shoulders stiffen.
Isla knew what it looked like. Nightbane was one of Nightshade’s greatest resources, and now it was gone. Every remaining vial mattered.
She had sent almost all their store to the enemy.
It was a betrayal, treasonous.
But she wasn’t even sure who the enemy was anymore. All she knew was that the elixir belonged to her people, and she chose what she was going to do with it.
Grim was silent. She readied herself to see anger or frustration in his expression . . . but all she saw was pain.
He stood. Handed the near-empty vial back to her.
He didn’t say anything, which was almost worse.
“You can’t expect me not to care,” she said, out of nowhere. “I was preparing it for them, that was my home, I was—I was—”
She couldn’t get the words out. Her eyes stung, thinking of Oro. Of everything they had built together, over months. Trust. Love.
And she had shattered all of it.
“I understand,” he said, and he looked like he did. Or, at least, like he was trying to. Most of all, he looked full of regret. He closed his eyes for a moment. Opened them. “Can you ever forgive me?”
She knew what he was asking. From the moment she had arrived, she had made it clear she resented him for everything. He was asking if they could ever go back to how things were before. If she could ever truly love him.
No, she wanted to say.
Instead, she said, “I’m not sure.” It was the truth.
He nodded. She was surprised when he said, “You’re right. I don’t know what love is. I don’t know how to love. If you ever gave me another chance to love you, I would learn. I would learn the right way to love you.”
Then, he left.