The crowd erupts in cheers, but I barely hear them. As I look at her, something awakens. Curiosity that I haven’t felt in centuries. I see her for what she is.
Liar.
CROWN
“That Wildling ruler let you win,” Enya says.
No shit.
She’s making herself at home in my chambers, her mud-crusted shoes resting atop the wooden table that doubles as a desk. I sigh, lift her ankles, and place them on the floor. “I do eat there, you know,” I remind her.
“Oh, I know.” She flashes me a wicked grin. There is nothing Enya likes more than to provoke me.
“Don’t you have a court to run?” I ask, my voice as tired as I feel.
“And miss the chance to rub in your face that a ruler who hasn’t been alive three decades was about to beat you? Never.”
I opt to ignore her, more from exhaustion than decorum. My feet are practically dragging as I make my way to my wardrobe. For all Enya’s devilry, she must notice my fatigue, because she’s on her feet in a moment, gently helping me take off my armor, piece by piece.
“I’ve got it, I—”
Her fingers pause. I sigh. “It’s not—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The discoloration on my arm has spread even further. Enya puts the armor down and begins pacing the room. “There has to be a way to slow it down ... to stop it. This is getting absurd.” She throws her hands up. “You won’t even survive the gods-damned Centennial at this rate!”
She’s right. She’s always right. Still, I’m silent as I remove my remaining armor. As I change into more comfortable clothing. When I’m done, I collapse on the seat opposite Enya with a groan.
I’m ruler of Sunling ... and I’ve gone centuries without sunlight. Without warmth. It’s starting to have its effect. The blue is just a visual manifestation of this weakness. I can feel it inside. My power, dimming. This entire island, on the precipice of ruin.
“The only way this stops is if we break the curses.”
Enya gnaws at her lip, worriedly. “What if we don’t need the prophecy? What if Grim did spin the curses, and you kill him?” she asks. “It should end them. Right?”
If only it was that easy. “I can’t kill Grim.” I tell her why, just like I’ve always told her all my secrets. It’s the reason the Wildling’s death won’t fulfill the prophecy either. When I’m done, Enya frowns. “Are you really afraid of someone who has been buried for millennia?”
“Yes,” I say, because it’s the truth. Our world is suffering enough without adding a bloodthirsty Lark Crown to the mix.
Enya nods. For a while we sit in silence. Then she says, “This time must be different.You, Oro, must be different.” She sits next to me and takes my hand. “Look at me.”
I do as she says. “Oro Rey. You are dying. There is no room for morals, truth, or all the rules you live by. Promise me you will do whatever it takes to break the curses this Centennial. To save yourself and all the island. Even if it means not being honest for the first time in your long life.”
Even the suggestion burns me. I detest liars.
Liars like Isla Crown. My teeth grind, remembering the wicked Wildling, and how her shift in expressions and actions told me all I needed to know. She could have won the entire trial but didn’t.
She has a plan. She is not to be underestimated.
I always endeavor to be honorable. But Enya is right. My death would lead to the death of thousands. I must put their well-being above anything—even my own morals.
“I promise.”
The Wildling is speaking to Grim.
The sight of it makes something strange and unfamiliar twist in my stomach. He corrupts everything he touches. I don’t want him to do the same to her ... but maybe he already has.
Is that why he’s saved her, and taken an interest in her?
