SWNOVELS Chapter Skyshade: YOU
Tomorrow, she would face Lark. She would face her fate.
Her island was quiet. She could hear the waves wash ashore, could feel the forest breathe in and out.
She was on Lynx’s back. She thought he might like to see it too. He had gone still beneath her, the moment they portaled here. His ears had sharpened.
“What do you think?” she asked him.
In response, he took off.
Isla was nearly thrown off his back. She had to press herself against his spine, fingers full of his fur, to hang on. “What are you doing?” she asked, as he crashed through the forest that she had come to know.
He didn’t slow or waver. He traveled down paths she had never walked before, up hills, into valleys, with confidence.
As if he had been here before.
Isla slid farther up, to press her hand between his eyes. That was when she saw them. Flashes of memories Lynx gave her, melting into the present.
Her parents, here, on this island. Eating fruit from the trees. Riding Lynx. Building bonfires and—
The forest parted. Lynx came to a stop, right in front of a house that had been overtaken by the woods.
“No,” she said, slipping off Lynx’s back. She had come here dozens of times in the last few weeks and had never happened upon it.
He pressed his nose against her back, and she watched her parents build this place. Every bit of wood, every decoration, every rock. They portaled in some of their favorite things and made it a home. For the two of them. No . . . not just for the two of them.
In one of the memories, she watched her mom laugh, then turn toward Lynx. Her stomach was rounded, full. Her hands stroked down it.
Her. They had made it for her too.
Isla walked into the house.
In the last two decades, it had been overtaken. Vines crept inside, creatures scuttled in the corners. Cobwebs stuck against the ceiling. But parts of her parent’s history had remained.
A lopsided table, with chairs that had clearly been made by hand.
Paintings of Lynx and her father . . . she recognized him from her bonded’s memories. Her mother had been a painter.
On the center of the table, there was a piece of paper covered in a layer of dirt and yellowed by the air and time.
She froze as she read the familiar handwriting atop it.
Isla. Her father’s writing. The same as his maps.
With trembling fingers, she unfolded the piece of paper.
My dearest Isla,
You will be born in just a few days, according to your mother. She has fallen asleep in the chair next to me, just minutes after she said she wasn’t tired. I thought this would be as good a time as any to tell you just a little of our story . . . and yours.
Some of this, I’m told, you will know by now. Some might come as a surprise. Let me tell you all of it.
I was working with a man that hated the world, and himself. He sought to find a sword so he could overtake the land his predecessors had lost. I helped him. I visited a blacksmith and gave my blood to make him an amulet that would allow him to walk in the night, like I could. In exchange, he had the blacksmith make me a portaling device so that I could better help in his mission to find the sword.
I found it, but I was injured in my efforts. I portaled to the Wildling newland, by accident. Your mother found and saved me. She told me that if I gave my ruler the sword, the world would suffer and countless innocents would die in a neverending war. So, after much thought, I decided to make it seem as though I had been lost, the sword unfound, the portaling device destroyed with me. I left my old life behind, and it killed me. But your mother was a light in the darkness.
Her curse meant that the more time we spent together, the more my life was in danger. I decided to do something desperate. I used the portaling device to visit the blacksmith again, risking my entire plan. I begged him to make me another charm, for your mother, out of my blood. In exchange, he wanted death, but, because of his curse, I knew if I killed him, Grim would know I was alive. Instead, I gave him my armor, which had been passed down for generations. It had original power in it, and he accepted. He made me the necklace.
I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but it did. Your mother still needed blood to survive, but she could fall in love with me without feeling compelled to kill me.
I wish I could tell you every detail of our story, Isla, but it will have to be saved for a different time. I can tell you this, though. In the early days of meeting your mother, I could not stay on the Wildling newland. She was under near constant supervision, and my presence would have been noted. So, every night, I would return to a place I had discovered years before, when my ruler had first given me use of the portaling device. An uncharted island so lovely, I called it by the name I always wanted to give my future daughter—Isla.
Each day before I left your mother, I would take one of her favorite flowers or fruits from her garden. It would annoy her endlessly. She thought I was doing it to be cruel, but I was planting it here. On this island. So that it would be made up of all her favorite things.
Every fruit, every flower, every animal, every insect on this island was loved by your mother, Isla. And she was loved, let me tell you.
When she was with child, your mother began having strange dreams. She started to believe that our child would be born at the cusp of a new era. And that she would either save our world . . . or end it.
Did you ever wonder what your mother’s flair was? She never told her guardians, so I’m guessing you don’t know.
Your mother could see the future, Isla. And that is how we know that your life will be a difficult one.
It is how I know you will read this letter on the eve of a day that will change your life, and this world, forever.
It is how I know what your flair will be.
It is how I know your birth will kill us both.
If you feel guilt for what you did, let me put an end to it. We knew what would happen if we chose to have you, Isla. We knew all that would occur. We made a choice, and we have never once regretted it.
You will have my flair. You will not know the pain of the curses. But you will not have your mother’s, not yet. We took another trip to the blacksmith, and your mother told him he would die within the next quarter of a century. He was so pleased, he did us the favor of creating a vessel for your mother’s flair. She wanted it to be your choice, to know the future, or not. She knows you will make many hard choices.
Your mother’s flair is here. It’s been waiting for you. Take it, and you will know everything.
You might be wondering how I can be so cavalier about my own imminent death. The truth is, my regard for my own life is nothing compared to my regard for your mother’s. From the moment I met her, I loved her. From the moment we were married, I swore to protect her from anything that would ever cause her danger. I have killed anything that ever sought to harm her. There has only ever been one person I have loved more than your mother, Isla. Only one person I could bear losing her for.
And that is you.
Tears swept down her face, falling onto the page. They knew. They knew she would kill them, and they had her regardless.
They knew everything that would happen to her. And still . . . they believed in her. They believed she would make the right choices.
Beside the letter was a bracelet. She recognized the blacksmith’s work. It had a tiny charm. A vial.
Somehow, she knew, breaking the tiny vial would mean claiming her mother’s power. Knowing the future.
Knowing whether she would be able to change her fate. Knowing which of the two men she loved would live.
Part of her wanted to break it, take it, know immediately to stop the doubt and pain. Another part didn’t want to know. Just wanted to stick to her plan.
She fastened the bracelet onto her wrist.
Then, she got on Lynx’s back, pet him between the ears, and said, “Let’s go home.”