Now, it was her time to laugh. “So, your ruler sent you to do her dirty work?”
It wasn’t the fiftieth day yet. Either Cleo had skated past the rules by not exactlyorderingIsla’s assassination ... or the Moonling ruler didn’t care about breaking the rules. Perhaps she wasn’t after the prize of the power promised after all.
So much for Oro’s theory that Cleo wouldn’t kill her just because she disliked her.
Though, admittedly, Isla sneaking into the Moon Isle library likely had more to do with it.
The Moonling with the cane stiffened, insulted. Others turned to look at each other, and that told Isla enough. Cleo might not have sent them to assassinate her, which would have directly violated the rules. But their efforts were sanctioned.
“I’m sorry,” one of the men said, surprising her—and the rest of his group, it seemed. “But the Centennial isn’t just a game for rulers. One of the realms must fall. And we have families ...” He shook his head. “We don’t want it to be us.”
Shedidunderstand. The Centennial was a deadly game with many players. And grave consequences.
She spat at the man’s feet anyway.
“Enough.” Isla was hauled up by the man behind her, sword still against her throat. “Say farewell, Wildling,” he rasped into her ear, pulling the blade back for a clean, clear sever.
Isla yanked at the watery chains with all her strength, made to escape—
But her efforts did nothing against their Moonling power.
Back in the Mainland forest, Isla thought she had never wanted her Wildling powers more. She had been wrong. Now she not only wanted them—sheneededthem.
Words pummeled through her mind, the last she would ever hear:Too late. Failure. Powerless. If only—
Before she was ended, she heard another word.
“Farewell,” a voice said, stopping the blade just an inch from her throat.
And the man was hurtled back through the air.
Celeste made a fist, and the water chains went limp, disappearing in a mess of silver sparks. She must have followed her. One of the nobles sent a wave of sea hurtling toward her, and the Starling spun on her heel to meet it with a stream of energy.
Unshackled, Isla was unleashed. She reached both hands toward their opposite wrists and unchained her bracelets, which snapped into throwing knives. She sent them flying with ease, each finding their marks.
Two Moonling hearts.
The men slumped to the ground, and Isla turned—only to be thrown by a wave of power.
Her hand managed to grip a shard of glass from the floor, then the world went sideways as she was slammed against an old ship.
Isla tasted blood on her tongue; her head pulsed between her eyebrows. The man’s hand was around her neck, lifting her up. She heard a roaring that was not the sea and made a terrible sound when she tried to breathe.
Still, she smiled.
She might not have been a match chained up.
But the restraints were gone now.
Isla wrapped her fingers around the long shard of glass in her hand—and stuck it through the man’s throat.
He released her immediately, reaching for his own neck, trying to speak. No words left his mouth.
The other Moonling nobles hadn’t fared any better. She raced back to Celeste, only to find her standing in the middle of a mess of dead, laid out across the wet harbor stone.
“She tried to have you killed,” Celeste said, voice surprisingly steady. “You need to leave a message. One that shows you’re strong. One thatmakes her think twice before another attempt on your life.” They worked together to scrawl a response in blood.
When they were done, Isla looked down and smiled. Once, she might have had the urge to vomit. But she had been on the island forty days. In that time, she had dueled against famed rulers. Survived countless trials. Swallowed down unspeakable pain. Pulled barbs from her back with her bare hands. She stood straight and steady, remembering how the men had threatened her. Remembering how weak she had felt, chained in place. Powerless against power. Never again, she promised herself.
