“Then Lightlark will fall. Forever.”
Oro frowned. “Is the future not solid?”
The oracle’s gown floated in the slight current of the water, her sleeves going far beyond her arms. “No, it is not. Not all of it.” She looked beyond them, at the woods that had been far whiter the last time they had visited. “This much is clear: they are coming. If they succeed, there will be nothing left. And by the time they step foot on the island, I will be gone.”
The ice started hardening again, and Isla pressed her hand against it. “I need to know. Is my vision real?”
The oracle nodded. “Very.”
Chills snaked down her spine. That level of destruction ... the death in her mind ...
She had one more question. “The vault,” Isla said. “Is it important?” Even though it had rejected her, she knew it was crucial. She could feel it calling to her, the connection stronger as her powers intensified.
“More than you know,” the oracle said. “The vault will change everything ... if you can find the strength to open it for good.” The woman tilted her head at Isla for just a moment—and in that second, somehow, she spoke directly into her mind. The oracle said, “Before Nightshade arrives, you will visit me. Alone. Only then will I give my final prophecy.” Isla wasn’t sure if it was an order or yet another telling of the future, but it didn’t matter.
As soon as Isla nodded—the most imperceivable lowering of her chin—the oracle fell back into the last remaining ice and froze over.
“I don’t want to remember,” she told Oro as she sat at the foot of their bed.
They had shared it for over a week now. During that time, her mind had been blissfully clear of any memories of Grim. Oro had banished his presence. She was happy.
She should have known happiness was only ever temporary.
Oro shook his head. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t. The oracle was clear. I have to remember everything ... and somehow find a way to open the vault.”
Her knees were pulled to her chest. The memories she’d had so far were useless. Her being foolish enough to portal to Nightshade. Stabbing him in the chest. Grim nearly choking her. Their duel.
“I hate him,” she said. “Not just for taking the memories away. But in the memories themselves. The ones I’ve already remembered.”
Isla had already made up her mind. Of course she would remember. Of course she wouldn’t put her own happiness above the safety of all Lightlark.
It didn’t mean she was happy about it.
Tears streaked down her face. “I hate him, and I hate myself for even having these memories in the first place.”
Oro’s arms went around her back and under her knees. He hauled her against him. “This is not your fault, Isla. Whatever happened a year ago ... you were not the person you are now. Do not judge yourself. Do not hate yourself.”
After Oro was asleep, Isla sneaked into her room. She found a parchment and quill and wrote herself a note. No matter what she remembered. No matter what had happened in the year before the Centennial—
You hate him.
You hate him.
You hate him.
You hate him.
You hate him.
You hate him.
That very same night, Isla used her starstick to portal to the only person who might be able to get her memories back faster.
Remlar did not look surprised to see her. He was standing outside his hive. Isla didn’t know if he ever slept. “Welcome back, Wildling,” he said, purring the last word. He was surrounded by the other winged beings who lived in the hive. Their skin was light blue, and their wings were thin and silky behind them. Before, they hadn’t worked. Now, they stood perched high over their shoulders.
“If my memories were taken by a Nightshade, how would I remember? Can you give them to me?”
