She spat at his feet, and one of his shadows slapped her in the face. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll ask again,” the man said. “Who. Are. You.”
Why did he care? Why was he doing this to her?
She didn’t say a word and cried out as another shadow struck her. It was sharp as a blade. Blood dripped down her shoulder. If she didn’t heal her cheek soon, it would scar. Another hit sent her crashing to her glass-filled hands in front of her. She screamed as the glass embedded itself deeper. Another flash of shadows, and she gasped for air.
The man bent down and grabbed her face roughly in one of his hands. Her entire body was shaking. She was going to die. She was such a fool. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with the Wildlings who’d tried to carve out her heart? Why had she believed that she could do this herself?
Tears blurred his face in front of her. “You shouldn’t have been able to cross the threshold,” he said very carefully. “You’re going to tell me who you are, or I’m going to skin you alive.”
Her blade was on the other side of the room. She hadn’t brought any of her daggers or throwing stars with her. The man’s shadows were creeping toward her again, across the floor.
She remembered what Grim had said—go for the nose—and head-butted him in the face with her forehead.
He staggered back and called her an awful word, but Isla didn’t look to see if she had broken his nose.
She pulled her starstick from her leg holster and drew the puddle of stars. It formed.
Just before she could dive through, the man dragged her away by her hair. She cried out. He ripped her portaling device from her hand and shoved her against the back wall.
The puddle sat there, rippling, in the center of the room. A few of the other Nightshades inched closer to it, murmuring.
“It’s ... a portal,” one of them said in awe. More of them rushed to get closer.
The man frowned. Blood got into his mouth. She had broken his nose. “Go see where she was running off to,” he ordered.
One of the Nightshades fell through her puddle. It closed after him.
Her only escape, gone.
The only relief was that she hadn’t been trying to portal back to the Wildling newland. No ... she had been trying to portal somewhere else entirely.
“The rest of you,” the man yelled, “get out your blades. Let’s see how quickly we can skin her. Make sure she stays alive. I want her to feel every inch of this.”
She tried to run, but the shadows behind her became restraints around her legs and ankles. One tied around her mouth, muting her screams.
Some of the Nightshades laughed at the sight of her struggling. She heard the scrape of metal as they took their daggers out of their holsters. Some were caked in rust. Others in dried blood.
The man in front of her plucked even more shadows from the room. They inched up her neck, then sharpened into knives.
“Let’s start with your face, shall we?” he asked.
Isla winced. Braced herself for the first strike of pain.
His shadows fell away.
The man frowned. He tried his shadows again, but they didn’t cooperate. The Nightshades went suddenly quiet.
They slowly turned around. Isla looked through the gaps between them.
Grim stood there, holding the Nightshade who had gone through her puddle by the neck, high above the ground. Her portal had led to Grim’s room. There was a crack, and he released him. The man fell in a heap at his feet, dead.
He looked murderous.
In front of her, the man’s trousers turned dark, dripping down his leg.
Grim wore his crown and armor. He looked like a demon come to life, spikes on his metal-covered shoulders. Shadows leaked from his very form, snaking through the room. Some of the Nightshades scrambled to kneel. Others tried to flee.
