Isla had never known her mother. She was killed the day Isla was born, by Isla’s father, before he had turned the knife on himself. Both were victims of the Wildling curse. Her mother had refused to kill her love, so the curse had demanded its blood.
And their daughter was born without abilities.
“I couldn’t do it either,” she said quietly.
Isla thought about it, sometimes. The impossible choice. Killing a beloved ... or dying. Before, it had seemed obvious. Now she knew she could never kill the person she loved.
Perhaps that made her mortal. Perhaps that made her weak.
No. Not weak. A weak ruler wouldn’t have made it this far into the Centennial without powers.
“I understand you. And I don’t blame you. And ...” Her voice shook for just a moment before smoothing again. “And I wish I’d known you.”
By the time she walked back into the woods, the moon was a wide eye in the sky, watching her. She sneaked through the shadows, keeping at its perimeter, watching the Mainland castle through the darkness.
She missed her room there. She missed her secret and the safety it had allowed.
Isla was about to turn back into the Mainland forest when she saw her.
Cleo.
Her first reaction was to freeze, draw her dagger. But the Moonling hadn’t spotted her. She was too far away.
As Isla watched Cleo slip through the night, her white cape pale as bone, her fear dimmed.
Celeste was right. She had sulked for too long.
Soon, she would be forced out of hiding anyway for Carmel, the twenty-four-hour-long celebration that took place on the seventy-fifth day. Attendance was mandatory, lest she wish to officially take herself out of the game.
She couldn’t. Not with the state of her realm being what it was.
Isla would be forced to face Cleo there. Part of her wondered if that was when Oro and the Moonling planned on killing her—if they wanted to make it dramatic, in front of the attending islanders. Her heart hammered at the thought.
She wouldn’t live any more days afraid. If her destiny was to die, she would face it head-on.
Sweat sticky on her forehead, Isla began to trail the Moonling ruler through the night.
Perhaps she would lead her right to the heart.
Cleo swept across the Mainland, white clothes shining through the night, illuminated by the spotlight that was the moon. The Moonling ruler basked in it, stopping for a moment to roll her shoulders back and lift her face to it. It was said that Moonling had become the strongest realm since the curses had been spun. Unlike Sunling or Nightshade, they could still access their power source. And, unlike Starling, many of their members were still ancient. Their curse, if anything, affected them the least. Thousands of Moonlings had died at the hands of the sea over the years, that was true, but the survivors hadn’t been physically weakened.
Isla’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know how she hadn’t thought of it before.
Cleo must have spun the curses.Thatwas what Juniper had tried to tell her.Thatwas why the Moonling killed him.
Had she created the curses and given her realm one to erase suspicion? A curse that wouldn’t weaken her in the slightest?
She hadn’t suffered at all. She was still as strong as ever.
If that was true ...
Cleo wouldn’t want the curses to be broken.
Did Oro know? Was that why they hadn’t yet wielded the heart? Was Cleo making sure Oro never did?
Isla was breathing too quickly. Cleo was dangerous. Deadly. But she did not turn around and go back to the castle, to Grim or Celeste.
She followed Cleo to the Moon Isle bridge.
