They were sitting in a forest on the Wildling newland, Lynx watching them as they trained. She visited the leopard often, bringing gifts, all of which he rejected. She would wait at the edge of the forest surrounding the Wildling castle, offering in hand. Eventually, he would prowl out to meet her, sniff what she had brought, and walk back into the woods.
She was convinced the only reason Lynx had stuck around this long today was because Oro was here.
They were telling each other what to make, back and forth.
“A yellow rose,” Oro said, and she made it bloom in front of them.
“A sunflower,” she told him, barely containing a smile. He rolled his eyes and made it.
“A twenty-foot vine,” he said, and she made it hang from a tree, so long it wrapped in spirals on the ground.
Her lips twitched.
“What?” he asked, voice flat.
“A—a—” She couldn’t say the words before bursting into laughter. And it really wasn’t that funny. Truly, it wasn’t funny at all.
But she didn’t know how long it had been since she had truly laughed. A week had gone by without any memories. She felt lighter. Freer.
Oro seemed to like her laugh. He tried not to smile and failed, until his face was overcome with it. And she was no match for the brightness of that smile, like sunlight was filtering through his skin. His warmth grew, engulfing her like a blanket.
“What is it, Wildling?” he said, shaking his head as he watched her try to regain her composure.
She closed her eyes. Looking at his face would just make her laugh more; she was suddenly stuffed with joy. With happiness. With ... love.
Sitting here, in front of him. Sharing a power between them. His patience, as he had helped her learn.
She breathed slowly, trying to stop herself from going into a fit again, and said, “A—” She laughed silently, shoulders shaking. “A golden blade of grass.”
She heard Oro sigh in his long-suffering way. She heard shuffling in front of her.
Her eyes were still closed when he lifted her hand, opened her fingers, and left something in her palm.
It was not a golden blade of grass. Or a golden apple.
It was a tiny rose, turned into solid gold. Petals frozen. Bulbous and beautiful. It was perfect.
Her lips parted as she looked up at him. He was smiling.
Isla had never seen him look so happy.
“Oro,” she said.
“Yes, Isla?”
Emotion made her throat go tight. Her voice was thick. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has betrayed me—”
His eyes gleamed with flames, the heat of his emotions burning the space between them.
“Except for you.”
She stood and walked in front of him. For the first time, she was towering over him from his place on the ground. He looked up at her, the sun illuminating the sharp panes of his face. He was beautiful. She’d known it from the first time she saw him—though she wouldn’t have admitted it to herself back then—but now she saw more. The set of his eyebrows, the way they were always straight, unless he was smiling. The way his frown seemed deep-rooted, his mouth nearly perpetually turned down. Except when he was with her.
“I want to burn all of them alive,” he said simply. “Everyone who ever hurt you. I want to watch them go up in flames.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s not very noble of you.”
“I don’t care.”
