“Your greatest secret is written in the leaves,” I tell the rulers as they finish their tea, and watch for their reactions. “Whoever shares their secret wins my trial.”
Each of us has three teacups in front of us. The Starling drops hers first. Odd. What secret could the young ruler be hiding? Azul’s is next.
But my eyes are on the Wildling. On the subtle tells of her panic—the way she pulls the end of her hair. The way her lips slightly part.
I clench my jaw, barely restraining myself from simply rushing over to read her secret, hoping she slips up and actually tries to win this trial. It would be useless, I know. Cleo and I are tied. A win for Isla would mean little. Still, I hope.
But she’s not stupid. I watch, muscles tensed, as Isla pushes her cups to the floor, and her secret—the one I’ve been obsessing over for weeks now—shatters.
Grim is next. He’s looking at me like he longs for my death as much as I long for his.Good. Then, he pushes his cups over the edge.
Only Cleo and I remain. The Moonling has a secret. Does she care more about keeping it? Or winning? I hope the former ... but the Moonling has surprised me before. I hold her gaze, waiting.
Finally, she pushes her cups over the side.
And I’ve won the trials. I get to decide the pairs. My shoulders settle, relief filling me, even as I’m about to share my own greatest secret.
It doesn’t bother me as much as expected. There are no secrets worth keeping, I reason, if they stand between life and death. The curses must end. It’s all that matters.
“I.” The first cup goes over the edge.
“Am.” There goes the second.
I look up—and those eyes ensnare me. The ones that haunt my every waking thought and dream. I wasn’t trying to look at her ... but there she is. Looking atme.
I frown and hold her gaze as I say the last and most important word, written in the leaves.
“Dying.”
Panic ensues. Of course it does. Try being the one dying.
Soon, it’s time for me to choose the teams. I’ve gone over every option. Every alliance. Every benefit and consequence.
My goal is to find the heart of Lightlark.
And I know who can help me get it.
This is wrong. I can feel the mistake of this choice, and all its possible reverberations, even as I seek to justify it.
Anyone but her. I should chooseanyonebut the Wildling who all but lives in my mind.
But her realm’s connection to nature, and the knowledge she proved by recognizing the rash on my hand, make her the best possible person to help me find a heart tied to a living thing. She is my last hope.
Or my last regret.
When it comes time to decide my team, the words leave my mouth before I can think better of them: “My choice of partner is Isla.”
I knock on the Wildling’s door, wondering if this is the most foolish thing I’ve ever done in my long life. It swings open immediately, and there she is, mouth already open.
Then she sees me, and she closes it. Her eyes widen. Apparently, she was expecting someone else.
Who? Grimshaw?
Irritation heats my skin, but I bury it. I will know soon enough whether she is plotting against me with the Nightshade.
And right now ... she’s working withme.
This is for the good of the island, but there is nothing that justifies how long I look at her now.
