Juniper might be the most or least trustworthy barkeep on the island, Isla still wasn’t sure. But his information had been correct.
There were no guards on the bridge that night.
The Moonling curse meant that every full moon, the sea sought out Moonling blood. Ships were cracked in half by hundred-foot waves; girls were swept off cliffs by monstrous surges. The sea swallowed them, then went still.
Tonight, it was ravenous.
The entire isle was empty. It was so quiet, Isla could hear the sea banging against the cliff of the castle, over and over, knocks on a door, death demanding its due.
Moon Isle was an ornament encased in ice, water, and glass. From the first step off the bridge, Isla felt the frost, cold in her chest like regret. Harsh as the ruler who ruled it.
And, also, just as beautiful.
Fountains and thin rivers snaked across Moon Isle, giving the water-wielding Moonlings constant access to their power. The ice palace sat perched above, watching her as closely as the moon. The paths were carved out of mother-of-pearl, lined with marble statues depicting sea creatures with winding tentacles, fish-tailed women, and ships floating on nothing. No guards anywhere.
Unfortunately, she was going right toward where they all were hiding.
Celeste had learned the Moonling library was deep within the castle walls. That was where Isla was headed.
Her hair had been painted white with Wildling elixir. She wore the right dress. But something told her that being a Moonling was much more than that—and if any of the guards took one look at her, they would immediately know she was an impostor. Being outside during the full moon was the greatest hint to her identity of all. No Moonlingwould survive being outside the palace tonight, so Isla needed to move like a ghost, get inside undiscovered. She stuck to the shadows, should anyone be watching from above.
The castle sat high on a hill of white rock. A thin, exposed path led from the gardens up to the castle entrance. Easy to monitor. Impossible for Isla to use without being detected.
She circled the mountain’s perimeter, hoping to see another entrance. The rock was impenetrable—except for a window, fifty feet up, right at the bottom level of the palace.
There were no bars on its glass.
That was her way in.
Isla readied herself. Her palms were wet with nerves, so she smoothed them along the chalky rock, coating her hands in the stuff.
The cliff was nearly flat, but there were pockets. She had been trained to see the tiniest of holes, the invisible recesses.
Her hands found its first two placements, barely a few inches to cling to.
Then, with a grunt, she hauled herself up.
The first few moments of climbing were never too bad. The ground wasn’t that far away. One wrong move, and she could just start over.
Things became more precarious thirty feet up.
She moved quickly, so as not to lose her momentum and not make time for fear, similar to swallowing down medicine too fast to taste it.
One of Terra’s lessons. Her guardian had made her watch the monkeys that swept across the forest effortlessly, climbing trees with ease.
They didn’t plan out every movement. They swung, knowing there would always be something for their arms or tail to latch on to.
Climb until your muscles learn the movements; leave your mind out of it,Terra said. And Isla climbed the tree, the cliff, the wall, again. Again. Again.
Her hands were used to this. They moved on their own, looking for grooves in the stone. Finding them. Going up. And up. And up.
Another move. One hand latched on to a slight bump. Her other fingers felt around for purchase.
But for once, the rock was smooth.
Nothing to hold on to.
Higher. She would need to look higher. Arm shaking with the effort, she lifted herself up, to find somewhere else for her other hand to hold. She barely muted a cry as her still-sensitive skin screamed in pain at the movement.
