Despite Grim’s skill, Lightlark won the war, and a treaty was made. There was peace between all realms for a while.
Then the curses were cast, and most were convinced Nightshades had spun them in revenge.
Isla didn’t know what to think. Nightshade had suffered a great loss thanks to their curse. Their realm’s leader, Grimshaw’s father, had died for the prophecy. His son had come into power immediately, backwhen having an heir was the norm. They weren’t allowed anymore. Rulers attended the Centennial at their own realm’s risk.
Isla knew whyshewas on the island. Grim’s reasons were more of a mystery. If the rulers of realm wanted anyone dead more than Isla, it was Grim. He would find no allies during the Centennial. Winning the prize of the power promised would be nearly impossible without true partnerships. So why attend—why take the risk?
What didhewant?
A knowing grin overtook Grim’s sharply cut face as he studied her right back. His black hair was smooth down his pale forehead, ink across a page. “Deciding if I’m a villain?”
Isla narrowed her eyes at him. “Can you ...”
“Read minds?” His head knocked gently from side to side. “Not really. I can read flashes of emotions. Fear. Anger.” His lips raised into a half smile. “Curiosity.”
Isla’s next breath was as unsteady as if rocks had been piled in her lungs. She was an impostor, a powerless ruler in a pack of wolves. She was skilled at playing the part of a Wildling ruler, of keeping up the facade, but her emotions were far harder to control. This power of his could be her unraveling if she didn’t learn to manage her feelings around him.
Mind abilities were common in Nightshades. It was part of what made them so dangerous. Rulers also often had one additional ability—rare powers carried through bloodlines, popping up generations later. They had nothing to do with the stars, moon, sun, nature, darkness, or sky.
Isla wondered if on top of this, Grim had one of those.
“You’re nervous now.” He stopped and looked at her. “Why are you nervous?”
Nervouswasn’t something a powerful Wildling ruler should feel, even around the Nightshade ruler. She looked up at him, into eyes so dark they seemed endless, two galactic black holes, and pulled herself together enough to boldly ask, “Do you have a flair?”
Grim’s head tilted back in understanding. “You’re worried I have an ability I’m not telling you about. One I’m using against you at this very moment.”
No use in hiding it. In her hundred days on the island, she would have to lie, steal, and possibly kill.
Grim wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet.
Isla nodded.
He raised a shoulder and started down the walkway once more. “I do. But it’s something I’ll keep to myself, for now.” Grim glanced at her. “It’s not mind reading, however. Or anything else I could secretly use on you.”
The hill ended, the grass stopped—and below, in the valley between two mountains, sat a marketplace.
Grim sighed. “Five hundred years, I haven’t been back. And nearly nothing has changed.” He turned to her, a gleam in his eye. “Hearteater—can you have chocolate?”
Isla tried to keep the hunger off her face. “I can eat my weight in it.”
Islanders flooded the marketplace, pockets clinking with coin. The hubbub was unnerving. The Centennial was a deadly game. Didn’t they understand that if the rulers were successful, one of their realms would perish? Weren’t they afraid?
It seemed the hundred days of sunshine, outside of the storm, outweighed any terror.
The agora was made up of tiny houses, all pushed together and different as each of the realms. One shop resembled a turned-over teacup, its walls made of frosted glass. Another stood tall as a redwood, smoke spilling from a chimney like a string of storm clouds. The next was held up on stilts. Yet another resembled a star roped down from the heavens, silver and glittering.
The one they entered was shaped like a winter ornament, painted bright blue. “Skylings make the best sweets, I’ll admit it,” Grim said over his shoulder before opening the door with so much force its hingesscreamed. The moment Isla walked inside, she groaned from somewhere deep in her chest.
Chocolate—velvety, nutty, sugary, silky cocoa.
She had only tasted chocolate on her forays to Skyling villages on their newland, during their quarterly celebrations. Skylings made constant excuses to host parties—before storms, after storms, evenduringstorms. But nothing like this. Nothing like the thick slabs of fudge she watched a Skyling slice into rounds with a long knife.
Grim glanced at her, amused.
The man behind the counter paled at the sight of him. He shot a look over his shoulder at his associate, who had conveniently slipped into the back room. He didn’t even register Isla.
Interesting.Being around Grim was like being a slightly smaller lightning rod in a storm—all wrath went to him.
