The lights shriveled and died, just like he said they would.
Applause seemed to follow everything Oro did, and this demonstration was no different.
“Grimshaw” was the next name Isla spoke.
The Nightshade brushed past her. A stripe of chill danced down her arm at his slightest touch.
She needed to get herself together.
The crowd was silent. But they were clearly curious about what the Nightshade would show them. His realm had been a mystery ever since they had created their own stronghold. They were the enemy during the war. Even with a peace treaty, his kind weren’t trusted at all. Many, Isla imagined, still believed Grim’s people were responsible for the curses.
And maybe he was.
Grim stopped at the center of the arena. He gazed right back at the curious faces, turning to face them all to allow them to get a clear look at him.
“My realm has nothing productive to offer you,” he said.
Then he left.
Silence. Whispers.
Isla felt her face go hot. With rage? With surprise?
She had given him more than enough time to prepare for her demonstration. Against her better judgment. Behind her friend’s back. And he had made a mockery of it.
He had arrived empty-handed on purpose.
Why?
The Nightshade had the nerve to walk right toward her on his way back to the wings and say, “You’re next, Hearteater,” before becoming one with the shadows.
Demon. Monster.
She straightened. She wouldn’t let him unnerve her. That was surely what he was after.
Isla didn’t bother announcing herself as she readied for her turn. There was one thing she needed.
From the king.
“Would you make me a fire?” she asked him.
For a moment, he just frowned down at her. She wondered if he might ignore her, or refuse her, and she would have to ask some other Sunling for help. As if they would.
Then, with the smallest whip of his wrist, a column of fire appeared in the center of the arena.
“Thank you,” she said tightly.
He did not nod, or even acknowledge her, before she walked toward the flames he had created.
All eyes on her. She should have been used to it by now, but their scrutiny was like a thousand knives, all turned in her direction.
Isla pulled a vial from her pocket, glass in the shape of a heart. It held a liquid thick and crimson as blood.
“Wildlings have developed advanced healing remedies,” she said, holding the container up for all to see.
Now, she just needed to demonstrate its potency.
Before she could lose her nerve, the same way she had done a half dozen times before in preparation, Isla took a deep breath.
