And put her entire arm in the flames.
Yells. Cries of horror. The crowd gasped, horrified, as Isla’s skin charred. Melted.
She did not flinch. Even though the pain threatened to swallow herwhole. Her arm shook in the fire. Her other hand was curled so tight, her nails drew blood in her palm.
Just a little longer.
Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, and she lifted her head, willing them not to fall. She must have looked triumphant to the audience. Pain-free.
She was not.
Not being able to take it any longer, not without falling to her knees and breaking like an egg in front of them all, she removed her arm.
The skin had peeled off in coils, leaving only angry red.
It was sickening to look at, to smell. Her stomach turned—a moment more and she would retch.
She took the vial’s top off with her teeth, lip quivering uncontrollably. Then she poured every drop of the liquid across the burns.
Before her eyes, and everyone else’s, the skin calmed. Knitted itself back together. Grew back, until her arm looked just as it had a few moments prior.
There was no mark of the fire.
The pain was not gone—not even close—but she kept it off her face as she bowed her head, signaling the end of her demonstration.
No one clapped. But they didn’t need to. Isla could see the wonder in their faces.
Moonlings were the only ones on Lightlark who were supposed to be able to heal, using water. If Celeste’s intel from her nobles and Ella were to be believed, they had begun making their skills scarce on the island. Charging too much. Healing less and less.
Almostwantingthe rest of the island to be weaker.
Isla had just proven someone else could do what they did. Perhaps even better. Which, she knew, would only make Cleo hate her more.
In the end, Azul won.
Some would say the decision wasn’t fair, but neither was the game.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHADOWS
Isla’s skin was still sore that night. She flinched as she slowly inched the thin strap of her gown down her arm, cursing herself for not wearing a different dress.
Then there was the matter of the zipper. From where it was placed, it typically required both hands to maneuver, to reach it—
“If you need help undressing, allow me to offer my services, Hearteater.”
She jumped at the deep voice, spinning around.
Grim sat in a chair bathed in shadows, nearly all the way hidden. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes trailing her now bare shoulder, the strap hanging off it. The top of her dress slightly slipping down ...
She righted it with her bad arm, then groaned, the flash of pain lightning behind her eyes.
The Wildling elixir might have healed her, but it hadn’t been advanced enough to completely dull the ache. It was either take away the pain or heal—one, or the other. Of course, the rulers and islanders didn’t need to know that.
It was why it was so important Isla never flinched. Never let anyone else see her pain.
It was why Terra and Poppy had made her practice, again and again, until she got it perfect.
