And a blade went right through the man’s chest. He made a gurgling sound, then choked on his own blood before falling over onto the snow.
Oro stood there, holding a sword.
But he hadn’t been armed ... or so she had thought. She watched in wonder as the silver sword disappeared in a burst of sparks. He hadcreatedit from Starling energy. She hadn’t known a thing like that could be done.
When her breath returned, she stood, looking around at bodies that never would again.
Dead. They were all dead.
“There are more,” Oro said quickly. “Who will come to investigate. Let’s go.”
Isla took his hand, still gasping at air. He heated her through their touch, and they ran, Oro pulling her so quickly he was nearly flying, only stopping the moment it came into view.
A tree of white feathers, blooming from the ice.
Of course. The perfect host for the heart. A secluded tree, frozen in time. It could be hidden in its feathers or even among its roots.
She stepped forward. Once. Twice. Then she ran.
Finally. After everything ...
There it was. Their salvation. Her chance at being the ruler and friend the people she loved deserved.
She heard Oro right behind her. His heat grew, relieved that it was all over. The months of searching.
The centuries of suffering.
Isla reached the tree and began searching its branches. The feathers were soft as snow. They danced quietly in the wind, rustling together, tiny bits of feather falling.
When she didn’t find anything in its brush, she looked down at the roots. The ice allowed her to see their every inch, thick and twisted into braids.
“Isla.”
She studied the tree again. And again.
“It has to be here,” she said, hands going through the feathers furiously now. Desperately.
She fell roughly to her knees to get a closer look below, biting down the pangs of pain that nearly blinded her vision. She pressed her hands against the ice and searched closer, studied every knot.
But there was nothing intertwined in its roots.
“It’s not here,” Oro said. His voice was as hollow as his eyes had looked that first night at dinner.
They had been wrong.
Or they had been right, and Cleo had gotten there first. Perhaps Cleo had sent her bird to mock them when they had first stepped on the isle.
Isla stilled. If Cleo had the heart ...
She heard Celeste’s warnings and doubts—the ones she had ignored—echo through her mind as she pressed her head to the ice and cried.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
HIDDEN
Twenty days of the Centennial remained. And Isla didn’t think the island would make it ten.
Terra wouldn’t make it five.
