Isla loved tea. She would have smiled under happier circumstances. Wildlings were experts at collecting the richest herbs, leaves, and spices that, when steeped, created the most delicious drinks.
She reached for the red one first. The drop of cream had turned it the pink of dahlias. She brought the cup to her lips tentatively, bracing herself for the burning liquid. But the Skylings had cooled the tea perfectly—she took a deep sip and almost groaned. It tasted like berries without the bitterness, honey without the heaviness.
Her eyes had fluttered closed, and she only opened them when the tea was drained from its cup. She lowered it and found Oro watching her.
“Any match to Wildling tea?” he asked.
“It’s certainly drinkable,” she said flatly. Then she reached for the second cup.
Cleo studied her. Too carefully. “HowdoWildlings take their tea?” she asked, sharp eyes gleaming. “With a splash of blood?”
Isla sipped the second tea slowly. This one—the gold one—tasted of caramel. “And we drink it from the skulls of our conquests,” she said steadily, smiling good-naturedly, like the Moonling’s words were a joke from a friend and not a barb from a now certain enemy.
There were a few moments of clattering and quiet as they drank their tea. Isla finished her first cup and peered into it, noticing a strange pattern in the leaves that stuck to the bottom.
Her next one had something similar.
By the time she finished her third, her blood had gone cold.
Oro rose.
“Welcome to my demonstration,” he said. Tension filled the room. Power surged.
Demonstration?But there weren’t even any islanders present.
Though, she supposed, that wasn’t truly a rule. Just a custom. Something most rulers preferred too, to display their excellence at their own trials.
The king’s pointer finger circled the lip of one of his teacups. “This is no ordinary tea,” he continued, his tone steady. “It is a truth tea.”
Isla went still. Dread dripped down her spine.
“Your greatest secret is written in the leaves.”
She risked a look down at her cups.
And saw her greatest truth written across the three of them, in careful script.
I have no power.
It took every drop of her training not to let her horror filter through her face. She remained calm, though inside she was a tempest, desperate for escape.
She studied the other rulers as a distraction from the panic that had turned her skin to thorns. Cleo had gone paler than usual. Azul simply frowned. Grim looked ready to coat the entire room in Oro’s ash. Celeste darted a rare, risky look in her direction, eyes wide with a message.
It’s you,she seemed to be saying. Of course. The Starling’s greatest secret was one she was keeping for Isla.
The urgency of her glance saidrun.
Before Isla could debate any move, the king picked up his first cup and said, “Whoever shares their secret wins my trial.”
There was a shatter of glass as Celeste dropped her cups to the floor, taking herself out of the challenge. She looked over at Isla meaningfully, for just a moment, and her heart swelled. Celeste was a better friend than she deserved.
Azul’s broke next.
Without wasting another moment, Isla pushed hers to the floor and watched them break into a thousand pieces, her secret lost in the shards.
Grim let his own fall one by one, eyes trained on the king. Isla had never seen him look so murderous. He had transformed into the famed Nightshade killer, the ruthless ruler she had heard warnings about. His expression held promises of torture and darkness.
The force of his invisible power lashed out, waves of searing chill coating the room. For a moment, her bones felt hollow, dead.
