Lucky—she had gotten lucky. Isla was both grateful and anxious. Luck was dangerous.
Because just like any rare elixir, it was bound to run out.
He nodded. “If you do, those ancient creatures will be immediately drawn to you.”
Isla wondered about these mysterious ancient creatures. And why even the king of Lightlark wanted to avoid them. She pretended to look pained, inconvenienced. Angry, even. “Fine.”
“Good.” He looked down at her clothes and said, “That will do.”
“These are pajamas ...”
He just blinked at her.
Isla wanted their time together to be over as soon as possible, so she shrugged, quickly braided her hair, and left without her crown.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
STORM
Oro stepped out into the darkness with ease, a king of day who now walked only through night. Isla wondered if it pained him to be outside his castle, remembering how things looked in the sunlight. Or maybe he was used to it.
Five hundred years was a long time.
She didn’t ask him any of it as she struggled to match his pace.
Isla assumed they were going to the agora, or to one of the isles beyond it. But, before they could reach the valley, he turned sharply to the left.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Oro walked several steps without saying a word. They continued down the green hills of the Mainland, far away from islanders enjoying their night. Far from any trail.
“Are you going to ignore me?” Part of her wanted to stay silent. It didn’t really matter where he was taking her as long as she got what she wanted from this pairing, right? But his disdain had turned disrespectful.
He kept walking, and she had a good view of his golden cape, floating gently with the nighttime breeze.
She stopped, arms crossed.
The moment she stopped, he did too. His back tensed before he slowly turned around. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.
“Just because youaskedme to wearthis,”she said, motioning toward her too-big shirt and pants fit to ride a horse, “and asked me not to wearthis”—she reached up and flicked his crown, the metal singing inresponse. Her nail sang too, in pain, but she didn’t dare wince—“doesn’t mean I’m notalsoa ruler of realm. You will treat me with respect,King.” She spat the last word out like it was poison.
Poppy would have dropped dead hearing the way she dared speak to the king of Lightlark. Especially with what her guardian had commanded her to do.
But she had tired of filtering herself, of shoving her emotions down, of telling everyone what they wanted to hear. What had it gotten her?
Cleo now almost certainly wanted to kill her. They hadn’t yet found the bondbreaker. The matches had turned out to be a disaster.
He glared at her. No, he didn’t like her tone or the crown flicking one bit. “We are going to the storm,” he said sharply before turning around and continuing on his way.
The storm?
She had no idea what he meant. But she followed him again, content at least to have gotten a response.
They were walking toward the coast. The one she knew Azul often liked to visit. The air began tasting of salt. Her hair blew back, braid whipping wildly.
In Wildling lands, the wind whispered. It sang songs and passed along gossip and whistled melodies high-pitched as clock chimes. Before Terra and Poppy had it sealed shut, Isla had sometimes kept the loose pane in her room open during the day, hoping to catch bits and pieces of what the wind said.
The wind spoke of heartbreak, from Wildlings who had made the mistake of falling in love. Of hearts, eaten and torn apart by nails sharp as knives. It told her stories that seemed old as the trees themselves, born of seeds that were rumored to come straight from Lightlark.
