Isla fell to the floor in a heap, gasping, her fevered forehead and hands flat against the cold ground. Her unbuttoned dress slipped down her shoulders.
It took what seemed like a lifetime to catch her breath. Once she did, she gripped the dagger from the floor, scuttled to the corner of her room, away from him, that monster, that filth—
He had almost killed her.
Across the room, Grimshaw frowned.Frowned.
It was her turn to bare her teeth at him. She lifted the dagger in his direction, with a shaking arm. “Monster,” she said, her voice just a rasp against the back of her throbbing throat. She spat at him.
He had the nerve to laugh. He took a step forward, and she had to force herself not to flinch.
“I’mthe monster?” he said. Another step. “When Wildlings eat the hearts of men?” He looked down at her with disgust.
He didn’t know, then, that the curse didn’t apply to her. That was good.
Her hand went to her neck, and she winced. The skin there was tender.
Grimshaw followed the trace of her fingers. “Do I need to remind you that youstabbedme?” With a furious motion, he tore his shirt up to reveal an angry scar just inches from his heart.
Isla swallowed. Stabbing him had been a mistake. She had been panicked, acting on instinct.
Now she knew how foolish it had been. If he hadn’t been her enemy then, he certainly was now. Grimshaw would be at the Centennial if he decided to accept the invitation. He would kill her.
The Nightshade ruler took a step closer. Prowled, really. His chin bent low, he looked at her with eyes dark as charcoal, squinted into a glare.
She scuttled back an inch. Another.
“How did you get into my realm?” he demanded.
Panic spiked through her chest. She forced her eyes not to dart to the floorboard where she hid her starstick. Her spine was drenched in fear, but she used all her strength to sit up straight, to meet his gaze.
The Nightshade ruler’s voice became eerily calm. “How,” he said, taking another step. “Did.” Another step. “You.” The word held the same poison as his look as he regarded her, splayed against the greenhouse glass like a weakling. “Get. In.”
He bent down low, eyes never leaving hers. By the time he was almost nose to nose with her, she used that fear as a cover. As she cowered beneath his shadow, she gripped the blade still in her hand.
Before he could take another breath, its tip was resting just below his chin.
Her nostrils flared. Her voice shook, out of not just fear now but anger. Anger at herself for being so weak.
“Get,” she said, matching his tone. “Out.” Something in his expression flinched at the spit flying from her mouth, from the intensity of her words. Good. “Of. My.Room.”
She pushed the blade into his skin for emphasis, waited to feel the heat of his blood on her hand.
But before she could apply enough pressure, he vanished.
She collapsed fully against the floor, shaking like a child, wondering how the Nightshade seemed to have the same portaling ability as her starstick.
KEY CLICKING INTO A LOCK
Isla startled awake.No.Oro was still clutching her hand, but he was finally sleeping, head leaned to the side. She didn’t want to wake him.
A single memory was one thing.Two?
She had been so weak. Cowering. Now that her abilities were unraveled, she refused to ever feel that way again.
That day, Isla left her bed. She bathed in the small tub Ella had set up. The water was freezing, as Oro couldn’t use his abilities in the Place of Mirrors to heat it, but she gritted her teeth against the chill. She put on the dark-green pants, long-sleeved shirt, and high brown boots Leto had made her.
Isla began her training.
