“Perhaps he hates Nightshade more than he hates all of us,” Zed mused. He shrugged a shoulder. “Or he stayed behind as Cleo’s spy.”
She didn’t trust Soren in the slightest, but something occurred to her. “Is ... is Soren a healer?”
Zed nodded, and hope felt like sparkling wine in her chest. He frowned. “You’re not seriously going to ask him to help you with the Vinderland.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” she said.
Zed finally stopped. He motioned to a wall, and all the rock looked the same, save for a tiny flicker of color. She pressed her hand against it and closed her eyes. Beyond, she could feel it—ore buried deep within the wall. It would take concentration to ensure she wouldn’t completely bring the entire mine down atop them, but she felt confident she could extract it.
“You might want to make a shield with your wind,” she said, before her hand burst through the rock wall.
The entire tunnel trembled—rock fell from the ceiling and was deflected by a stream of wind above them. She felt around in the wall, looking for the bundle of ore. Her fingers broke through stone like a blade through butter. She finally gripped it and pulled her hand back through. “I think this is what you’re looking for,” she said. It was the first of many. It didn’t look very special, but Zed had explained that with a Starling’s energy and Sunling’s flames, it could be turned into the drek-defeating metal.
Zed stared at her, the wall, then the ore, eyebrow slightly raised. “That’s one way to do it,” he said.
Isla found Soren on Moon Isle, looking quite comfortable roaming the palace. She didn’t know if he was a spy or had his own agenda, but she would soon find out which side he was on.
He seemed pleased to see her, which only made her more suspicious. He scraped his ice cane against the floor with a sound that stabbed through her brain. She got straight to the point. “Which side are you on? Ours? Or Nightshade’s?”
Soren blinked at her. “I assumed it would be obvious by my presence, here on Lightlark.”
“Good,” she said. “Then you wouldn’t have any problem healing potential warriors for our fighting effort?”
Soren’s eyes narrowed. She tried to look as innocent as possible. “I ... suppose not,” he said.
She smiled sweetly. “Great. Because ... if you had said no ... I would have had to assume you were a spy for Cleo, or somehow working against us.”
Soren smiled in the least friendly way possible. “Who am I healing?”
Isla found particular pleasure in his expression after she said the words, “The Vinderland.”
The hardest part about getting Soren to heal the warriors ended up being convincing the Vinderland not to kill him.
He showed her how to correctly steep the Wildling flower for tea without losing its healing properties, then began healing their sickness in conjunction with the elixir. The results weren’t immediate, but Isla was hopeful that enough of the warriors would be doing better in time to join her in battle.
She had extracted several ores for Zed. Later that night, Isla visited the Wildling newland and found Lynx waiting outside the woods for her.
Her lips twitched. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were worried about me,” she said.
Lynx made a sneezing sound that felt like a denial.
She stood in front of the creature and offered a slab of meat she had gotten from the kitchens.
He sniffed it ... then, for once, accepted her gift. Progress, she told herself. It was progress.
When Lynx finished eating, she asked, “I’ve told you we are going to war. Will you fight with me?”
She searched his eyes for a response.
He bowed his head, almost all the way to the ground, and something inside her chest constricted at the clearyes.
So often, she had been betrayed. Put her trust somewhere dangerous. The fact that Lynx, who liked to pretend he didn’t care for her much, was willing to go to battle with her ... it meant everything.
She threw her arms around his neck, and he let her hang there. He lifted his head, and she held on, legs dangling.
“We’ll get you armor made.” She was floating just inches from Lynx’s eye as she said, “First, though, I need to learn how to ride you.”
As the days before war dwindled, it became clear that there was not enough of anything—time, soldiers, resources, energy.
