I need to do it anyway.
You got the words out, I tell myself. They can stop bothering you now. You need to do what is best for the island, not for her, not for one woman. I won’t be like Egan.
This will be proof that I am not my brother. If I can do this, then I can show myself that my duty comes before everything. Even her.
It makes me sick, but I do not change my plan.
She enters the room with her chin high, tears gone, confidence back, and it kills me that I am about to break it.
“I believe it’s time for a change in matches,” I say to the room full of rulers, and I swear I can feel the tenuous truce between us break. Her eyes find me, and those green eyes—they’re wide with worry. Worry I’ve caused. My next few words make them fill with nothing short of pain. “Cleo, would it suit you to be matched so we might search Moon Isle for this relic together?”
Cleo grins. “Are you sure, King? It seemed you and the Wildling were getting along so swimmingly.”
Her words stab me more than she could ever imagine. I ignore them. I ignore the roaring in my blood, my own body knowing this is wrong. Almostfeelingthe anguish from across the room, as if it’s my own.
But this is to protect her. To protect us. To protecteveryone.
I match the other rulers, hoping, praying, this is enough. Changing the matches. Isla will be furious, but her secret is safe. Perhaps I don’t have to share it.
But then, Cleo says, “Are you really sure, King? I have to admit, I’m suspicious ... This isn’t just a strategy between you and the Wildling, is it?”
That’s exactly what this is, but the Wildling in question doesn’t know it.
The remaining places are on Moon Isle. I will need Cleo’s access to look.That’swhy I changed the matches, why I dropped Isla. But Cleo is no fool—and I can hardly guess at her own plans and intentions. She has been building a fleet for centuries. She wasn’t even at the last Centennial. She is prepared to betray us all.
I have to make her believe we are on the same side—
Against the Wildling.
I anticipated her reluctance. Her suspicion. Which is why I smile, forcing myself to look pleased. Here it goes.
“I’ll let you in on a secret that might explain my decision,” I say, my voice light. Casual. Cold.Heartless. Then I look at Isla and feel something in my chest fracture at wide eyes staring back at me. It still doesn’t stop me. “Isla Crown doesn’t have powers.”
The world goes quiet. Time slows. I watch Isla, unable to look away, waiting for the fire in her to rage.
But she doesn’t look angry.
No—she looks hurt.
And that, I think, is so much worse.
Cleo steps forward.This is a mistake, I think. The Moonling is going to try to kill her, here and now, and I am going to have to step between them, ending all pretenses that I am working against Isla.
But I don’t have to. Grim grabs Isla’s hand, and then they’re gone.
I hate myself.
Worse, she hates me.
Good. This is good, I think. Her hatred will make this all convincing. The rulers erupted in chaos when Grim turned them both invisible and left the room. Of course, now everyone believes they are working together. They likely are, now, thanks to me.
She has lied to me countless times. Still, I hate myself for causing her any ounce of pain.
Enya told me to forget my morals. To do anything necessary to finally break these curses. I did.
So why does it feel like I, myself, am breaking?
My plan is working. Little by little, Cleo is beginning to trust me. If I ask too soon, she’ll be suspicious, but I’m close to suggesting we look for the heart of Lightlark in the maze only she, as ruler, can access.
