The image became clearer, and her voice shook as she said, “Is that—is that ...”
Her mom.
She had never seen her mom before. There weren’t any paintings of her. Terra and Poppy hadn’t given a description, beyond once commenting that she had her mother’s face.
Now, she saw it clearly. Lynx wasshowingher.
Her mother was far more beautiful. She had tanner skin and thicker hair. It was shinier. Her eyes were a lighter green. They had the same lips, though. Same high cheekbones. Slightly different noses.
“Lynx, come on,” her mother was saying. “Terra’s going to have both our heads.”
The image disappeared, and Isla started to protest, until it was replaced by another one.
It was her mother again, but this time, there was someone else too. A man with black hair and lighter skin. He was looking at her mother the way Oro looked at Isla. Like he would gladly lay his life down for hers.
The image shifted, and there was crying. Her parents were holding a little bundle between them, looking like they might burst from happiness.
Isla fell to her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, into the grass in front of her. She could barely speak. “You—you met me,” she finally said.
Lynx had seen her as a baby.
That was right before her parents were killed. He must not have been there, because Isla knew for certain that he would have done everything he could to protect her mother.
Did he feel shame? Guilt? Had he partially blamed Isla for her mother’s death? Or did he blame her father?
Lynx made a soft sound as he bent down and wiped her tears away with his fur, on the parts that weren’t covered by iron. He ended up swiping his wet nose across her face, and she sputtered.
“Thank you for showing me,” she finally said. She wasn’t sure how exactly the bonded connection worked, but she felt grateful for it. “I never knew her, but ... I think this would have made her happy. Us ... finding each other.”
Lynx closed his eyes for a long time, and she could feel his grief like it was her own. She pressed her cheek against his and for a while, it was just them, in the clearing, sharing a memory between them.
When the sun went down, Isla portaled them back to her room. Lynx sat curled in his favorite corner as she stared at her swords, contemplating which ones to bring into battle. There was a whisper of movement behind her, and she turned, mid-sentence.
Only to see that Lynx had been replaced by someone else entirely.
BEFORE
Grim was standing in front of her. She was ready to go to the cave again, but he said, “Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I have a commitment.”
She frowned. “What is it?”
“A ball.” He said it with venom.
Isla laughed. “Aball?”
“Is that amusing to you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Youhosting a ball? Decorations? Dresses? Clinking wineglasses?” Isla had never actually been to a ball, but that was the picture painted by Celeste and the books she’d read.
“Hardly,” he said coolly. By his reaction, he made a ball seem like a death sentence. “I would cancel it, but it is a good distraction.”
“From?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but she imagined he meant whatever danger was threatening Nightshade. The threat that could mysteriously be solved by the sword. The reason there were often long stretches between his visits. Themore pressingmatter he often needed to attend to.
