“The first rule. A ruler may not assassinate or attempt to assassinate another ruler until after the fiftieth day.” The rule was a relief to Isla. For at least half of the Centennial, powerless or not, she would be safe. Which was why she and Celeste planned to be off the island before the ball on the fiftieth day even took place. “And, when pairs are decided on the twenty-fifth day, a ruler may not assassinate their partner.”
After the chaos of the first Centennial, the hundred days became more structured, split into parts. The first twenty-five days were dedicated to demonstrations hosted by each ruler, designed to test one another’s strengths—and worthiness of staying alive. Each test had a winner. The ruler who won the most trials would decide which pairs the rulers would split into for the remainder of the Centennial.
“The second rule. All rulers must attend and participate in every Centennial event.” That rule seemed innocuous but was dangerous, depending on what it was.
“The third rule. To participate, no ruler can have an heir.” So, their death would successfully eliminate their familial line and break the curses, according to the prophecy. It would also mean the end of their realm forever.
Each ruler received an invitation to the Centennial containing these rules. Acceptance of it meant acceptance of the three ordinances.
But every good promise was sealed in blood.
With a flick of the king’s wrist, a fire erupted in the middle of their circle. Isla knew exactly what was to happen next.
Poppy had made her practice the act, over and over—again, until you don’t flinch!Her wound would be stitched up, only to be sliced open again and again and again, until she had no visible reaction to the pain.
In sync with the others, Isla removed the crown from her head—and used its sharpest point to form a deep cut across her palm.
She did not flinch. Poppy would be proud.
Before she offered the stream of blood to the flames, there was another part to the ceremony that she had practiced. Each ruler’s blood had special properties, in accordance with their abilities. Wildling blood was supposed to bloom flowers.
Isla was prepared, petals hidden between her fingers. When her blood finally dripped down her palm, it held a miniature rose.
Cleo’s blood hardened into ice before being seared by the fire. Grim’s blood became dark as ink. Azul’s blood suspended in the air, separating into parts, before finally falling. Celeste’s blood burst into a mess of sparks. Oro’s blood burned brightly before even reaching the flames.
The fire turned crimson, stained with their blood—then vanished.
Now, they were bound to the rules. Breaking them had consequences. For Isla, Celeste, Grim, Cleo, and Azul, it meant forfeiting claim to theCentennial’s prize: the unmatched power the oracle said would be gifted to the one responsible for breaking all the curses. Oro, as king and host of the Centennial, was bound to the rules with his life.
Was that why Oro had saved her? Did he have a responsibility to? It was unclear how accidental deaths factored into the prophecy.
Whatwasclear was that the king of Lightlark had a plan. And it apparently involved Isla staying alive.
At least, until he wanted her dead.
CHAPTER FIVE
GRIM
The next morning, when Isla’s attendant knocked on her door, she was ready.
She hadn’t been allowed weapons, but shehadbeen allowed a trunk of belongings. She applied kohl to her green eyes, in perfectly arched streaks. Her lashes were already thick and long, but she curled them even more. Spread a balm across her full lips that brightened their natural shade. Her skin was naturally tan, but she still looked too pale for her liking, having spent far too much of her life inside.
That would be easily remedied. Now that she was free to explore, she had no intention of locking herself in her room.
The few dresses from her trunk looked more like a collection of sewn-together ribbons. Sheer, bare, and so smooth they looked liquid. In the Wildling realm, in the constant seclusion of her chambers, she could get away with wearing loose, soft clothes. But this was the Centennial, and Poppy had chosen these gowns for a reason.
A reason that made Isla want to throw them all into the closest fireplace.
That day, she chose a dress the pink of tulips, with a plunging back and fabric that clung to her like it was wet. It was tradition to wear the color of one’s power source. Starlings wore silver, Sunlings wore gold, Skylings wore light blue, Nightshades wore black, and Moonlings wore white. Because nature was multicolored, Isla was not bound to one shade, as long as she did not infringe upon anyone else’s.
The Starling girl startled when Isla answered the door so quickly.
Isla did not waste a moment. “What is your name?” she asked.
“My name?” the girl said with such confusion, Isla couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m assuming you have one?” she joked, hoping her smile made it seem good-natured, not mean.
