“I’m not your enemy,” he said, voice softer than she had ever heard it.
Then why couldn’t she trust him? Why was he pushing her away?
Why did she even care?
“Prove it,” she dared. “Tell me something.”
“Anything.”
She remembered the king’s words in the forest. The reason he had given for why the rest of the rulers hadn’t simply decided to kill Grim to fulfill the prophecy. “Oro said you are the only thing standing between us and a greater danger. What was he talking about?”
Grim didn’t look particularly surprised by her question. Though he took his time answering it. “There are worse things in this world than the curses. Or even me.”
“Like what?”
He shook his head. “I could tell you. But it would only distract you. Believe me, right now, the curses are the more pressing danger.”
Isla scowled. Who was he to decide what would and wouldn’t distract her? What was too much to know? Still, she could tell by his tone that he wouldn’t budge.
“Fine. Show me something, then.”
“Anything,” he repeated, though the word meant less now that she knew it had limits.
“Show me where the Wildlings lived when they were on Lightlark.”
The request surprised even her. She still hadn’t found the entrance to Wild Isle. Oro’s comments about it in the woods had only fed her curiosity. There was so much about her realm she didn’t know.
And now, she was more curious than ever. She wanted the endless power her Wildling ancestors had once possessed. Perhaps they had left something behind. Something that could help her now.
Grim stared at her, and Isla held her breath, wondering if he knew how much she had thought about him in the last few weeks. Wondering if he knew that however hard her heart was beating, however many times his words had already echoed through her mind, he was right—she couldn’t trust him.
And he couldn’t trust her.
“Of course, Hearteater.”
Isla did not speak a word as he led her into the Mainland forest, in the shade of the castle. Not far from the crop of coffiner trees, but in the opposite direction. The way was wild. The stone path had long been overtaken by weeds, untamed plants that smothered it completely. Isla flinched as she watched the woods, bracing herself for another attack. Her back prickled, as if remembering. But the forest did not dare strike her in Grim’s presence. They stepped over vines thick as limbs and under spiderwebs large as umbrellas. Soon, the trees lost their leaves and became sharp, bare branches that resembled clusters of swords. Stones that might have lined a riverbank replaced the grass. She couldn’t see the end of it until she was out of it.
Sunlight blinded her momentarily, and she stilled.
There was a bridge. It was broken in many places. The sides were made of braided vines.
The isle on the other side gave no indication of life. But something about it called to her. Isla stepped onto the bridge first, without hesitation, and was on the other side before she knew it.
The king had been right. There was no life left here.
Wild Isle had been reduced to a forest of hulls. The trees were bare and twisted, skeletons swaying in the wind. The vines and roots along the floor were dry and crunchy beneath their feet. The ground was amess of broken branches, in the shapes of striking snakes. No animals. No green. No ... anything.
In the center of death stood a structure.
Grim was by her side. “They call it the Place of Mirrors.”
Every inch of the palace was covered in reflective glass that cast back the bare forest, mirroring its surroundings. Its edges winked in the sunlight.
The Place of Mirrors looked fragile, like a strong wind could shatter it. But it had survived when everything else on Wild Isle hadn’t. It was shaped like the carnival tents she had seen on the outskirts of the Skyling newland with her starstick—bulbous, as if blown up by air, and pointed in three places.
Somehow, though the outside was mirrored, the interior was clear. She stepped inside and saw the razed woods through endless windows, cut in a million shapes. The ceiling was curved.
It was almost empty. Just a few statues remained, along with leaves that had swept inside. Isla walked deeper into the Place of Mirrors to find that the rest of the large palace was not made of glass at all. The walls became stone and opened into what must have once been interior gardens, where the ceiling ended altogether. Dead vines grew up columns. A small fountain now held dark water. She kept walking, into rooms and corridors that had been left abandoned and overtaken by the dead forest, until she reached its very back wall, which was sturdier than the rest, carved into the base of a mountain.
