Isla
For days now, it had been the same routine. A knight would drag her from her cell into this room. Cronan would pin her down, and his shadows would plunge into her head, crashing against the wall in her mind, trying to break through.
She could hear his steps ringing out as he approached her. Her heart raced instinctually, her body bracing for the pain. The tears were near constant now.
“For your own sake, let’s hope you’ve decided to let me in today.” His voice echoed around the room, rattling her tired mind.
“No,” she said, as firmly as she could, for her voice was the only thing she had left. After that first day, Cronan released his hold on her just enough so she could speak. She suspected it was because he enjoyed the sound of her screams.
“Then, breaking in it is . . .” he said.
“I cannot be broken,” she said. The words came out weaker than she intended.
He laughed. “Anything can be broken.”
Then, without warning, his shadows pierced her skull.
The feeling of his shadows crawling through her mind . . . it was worse than any physical torture. Worse than an arrow through the heart, worse than burning flesh, worse than being stabbed or starved beneath the ground.
And he was right. Anything could be broken. She knew that for certain when a stone in her wall finally came loose.
She could not keep him out forever. But she could choose what to show him.
She felt his surge in satisfaction as if it was her own, as his shadows felt that gap in her defenses. And plunged through it.
Isla gasped with pain, so sharp she couldn’t even form a sound, like a pike had been driven right through her skull.
Through the agony, her vision was replaced by memories. The ones she had allowed him access to.
She saw herself in the Wildling newland, training with Terra. Being cut to pieces. Injured. Locked away.
Cronan tutted in her mind. “A ruler . . . being commanded by a mere subject. How shameful.”
She watched as Terra threw down her double swords. As she raised her hands, about to collapse the entire forest atop Isla.
But instead of being crushed—
Isla knelt, grabbed the swords, and cut Terra’s head clean off.
She tensed, watching her guardian’s head hit the ground first, before being joined by her body.
That wasn’t what happened, he—
“That is what you should have done,” Cronan said. “Your teacher failed you.”
He wasn’t just shuffling through her memories. He was reshaping them. No—
The scene shifted, and Isla was on Lightlark, at the Centennial. The people of the agora were gawking at her. Whispering to each other. Looking upon her like she was a monster.
Instead of simply walking past them, red burning her cheeks, like she did at the Centennial, the powers Isla hadn’t realized were within her burst forth, and every one of those people were turned to ash.
Screams filled the market. Roots were pulled from deep below the island’s crust, rising, shattering stone buildings.
The ground rose like a wave, rippling, until the market was no more than a pile of ruin.
Isla watched as her own eyes glowed dark—almost black—and she smiled.
“That . . . didn’t happen . . .” Isla managed to say. If he had the power to reshape these moments . . . he could reshape her. He could meld her into the weapon he wanted.
Cronan’s shadows dug deeper into her mind and she cried out. “No, but it should have . . .” he said, his voice an ancient whisper. “Your subjects . . . all these people . . . they hate you. They fear you. Why are you so desperate to save them? When they would rather see you dead?”
Isla swallowed. He wasn’t wrong. The people of Lightlark, and some of her own subjects, did despise her.
“This could all be over,” he said, right into her head. “Join me . . . and you will never know shame again. Never know fear. For you will be what brings the universe to its knees. Just give in. Just . . . give up. Don’t think anymore. Let me do the thinking. Be my sword. Be . . . my weapon.”
She could feel her mind melting around his shadows, reshaping, rethinking. He was right. They hated her.
Why was she fighting so hard to save people who would kill her if they had the chance?
“Yes . . .” Cronan said. “Don’t save them . . . rule them. Rule them all. Then they can never hurt you again.”
Hurt. She had felt so much hurt . . .
Another stone of her fortress fell, and Cronan rushed through it to another memory.
It was the first time she had ever portaled into the Starling newland. By accident, of course, right when she was learning how to use her starstick.
Isla watched herself materialize before a girl with a star-strung crown in her hair. The girl’s eyes flicked to the one that was still knotted in Isla’s.
“Did you just . . . did you just appear in my castle?” the girl said.
Isla blinked. If she wasn’t going to portal away, she thought, then she had better answer. “Yes,” she said, quickly. “I did.”
The girl’s smile grew. “You’re the ruler of Wildling, aren’t you?”
In a few years, they would meet again, at the Centennial on Lightlark. Best not to make an enemy so soon. Isla nodded.
“I’m the ruler of Starling.” She offered her hand. “Celeste.”
Isla stared at it. Poppy had taught her the social convention, of course, but she had never needed to use it. She never met anybody new.
The Starling laughed lightly at Isla’s hesitation. “I won’t hurt you,” Celeste said, her voice melodious and kind.
Slowly, Isla reached for her hand. Shook it.
“You need a friend, don’t you?” the Starling asked.
Isla nodded shyly. It was the truest thing she had ever done.
The girl beamed. “I could use one too. Being a ruler is so lonely, isn’t it?”
Yes. It was. But it didn’t have to be, Isla learned.
Cronan hummed with interest, thrumming through years of memories. Sitting by Celeste’s hearth, talking about life, training, their guardians, everything. Hours spent laughing.
It was nice having someone who could understand the pressure, the monotony, the anxiety of the approaching Centennial. It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t point out her flaws like her guardians did. It was nice not being alone.
It was nice to have a friend.
Cronan landed on a specific moment a while later. Celeste was braiding Isla’s hair. “You have so much,” she said, as she twisted it all into a crown. “I’m jealous.”
Isla chuckled. “And I’m jealous of the fact that your guardians don’t watch over you every moment.”
In fact, Isla had never even seen Celeste’s guardians. In a realm where everyone died young, they were only a few years older than Celeste and left her alone most of the time.
“Oh, and the sparks,” Isla said. “I’m jealous of that too.”
Celeste rolled her eyes. When the Starling lost a game of cards, fireworks went off in her room, glittering ribbons that fell to sparkling ashes.
“I’m sure creating flowers is much more impressive,” Celeste said. “You can paint the world with color. Isn’t that exciting?”
As Isla watched, she could remember how Celeste’s words made her chest tighten.
“Okay, I’m done. Go look at yourself,” she said, sounding proud.
Isla got up and walked over to Celeste’s mirror. She looked at her reflection, studying the intricate design her friend had made. One large braid that circled her head, where her crown should be. Celeste had added flecks of stars, brightening the dark brown strands.
It was one of Celeste’s favorite things to do, whenever Isla came over. Isla always had to undo it before going back to her realm, of course. But it was fun while it lasted.
Celeste’s face fell as she noticed Isla’s frown. “You don’t like it.”
Isla blinked and forced a smile. “No, no. I love it.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Celeste demanded.
This was the moment when Isla had decided to trust Celeste with her biggest secret.
After all, she knew her. She knew her favorite games.
She knew when she’d had a bad day, because her room would be slightly messy.
She knew that her friend spent hours in her own markets, in search of rare relics.
She knew that, as assured and confident as the Starling was, she had needed Isla too.
Her secret affected her entire realm, but maybe she didn’t have to carry the weight of it alone. “Can I tell you something? And do you promise . . . do you promise you’ll never tell anyone?”
Celeste nodded, taking Isla’s hands. “You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything.”
It took minutes to even get the words out, but the Starling was patient. Her eyes remained locked on Isla’s, steady with strength. And some of that strength seeped into her. It made the truth finally spill from her lips. “I don’t have power,” she said.
Celeste just blinked, confused. “What do you—”
Isla took a deep breath and said, “I can’t wield nature. I’ve never been able to. There’s . . . there’s nothing there. I’ve tried. And . . . and I don’t have the curse either.”
Celeste bit the inside of her lip in thought.
Isla smiled weakly, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“It means I don’t really have a shot at the Centennial.
And that’s fine, because . . . because maybe if my death breaks the curses, then you won’t die.
” It had been looming over her that her best friend was just a few short years away from her death.
This Centennial was Celeste’s only chance to live.
At that, Celeste’s face hardened. Her grip on Isla’s hands tightened.
“No,” she said. “I refuse. You are not going to die at the Centennial. And I’m not dying either.
” She pulled Isla into a crushing embrace.
“We’re going to come up with a plan. Together.
You’re not alone. You have me, forever,” she said.
And Isla believed her.
“How foolish . . .” Cronan said, his voice echoing through her head. “You can never trust anyone,” he said. “Not unless you control them.”
One minute, Isla was watching herself holding her best friend, the next, he had flipped to her last memory with Celeste—Isla stabbing her right in the heart. He hummed again.
“Good,” he said, voice echoing. “But too late. You should’ve killed her before she hurt you. Anything can be broken. Especially friendships.” He said the word like it was stupid.
Isla hadn’t let herself remember how much Celeste’s friendship had meant to her. Like so many other things in her life, she had pushed it down. But seeing it all play out before her made her heart feel like it was shattering.
“Such pain . . .” Cronan drawled. “Let me in. I will teach you to never hurt again . . .”
She was filled with sorrow. And regret. She questioned every decision she had made.
She was supposed to be fighting him, giving him only the memories she could part with, trying to protect the people she truly cared about from Cronan, but how could she when all she did was make mistake after mistake?
Trusting Celeste. Coming here and giving Cronan everything he needed to destroy Lightlark.
Lark was right. Terra was right. She was a fool. Weak.
She had never felt more alone. The two halves of her split heart were a world away, her connection severed.
Perhaps she was always destined to be alone.
It was what she deserved. She had killed so many people—even her parents, with her first cry in this world.
She had been a curse from the very beginning.
The world she had left was better without her.
Sure, she had broken the curses . . . but with everything that had happened afterward—the war, the destruction—it was clear she was nothing but a plague.
Give up, Cronan’s shadows seemed to urge, easily slithering through her mind now that her resolve was slipping.
Give up. Cronan was bringing all this agony to the forefront. Manipulating her thoughts and emotions.
Maybe she should give up? It would be so much easier . . .
Just then, the silver woman’s words sounded in the back of Isla’s mind, in a hidden pocket that Cronan’s shadows could not access, one wrapped in light.
When you start to doubt yourself, I want you to picture a pool reflecting every moment you were brave.
Every moment you fought, when it was easier to give up.
And Isla did. The silver pool appeared in her mind, and she saw herself train every single day since she was a child, she saw herself breaking the curses, she saw herself shattering the manacles Lark had shackled her with.
She saw herself bleeding and broken and crawling, yet not stopping.
Never stopping. Then, the waters went still again—and a little girl rose from the center of the silver pool.
It was herself, at eight years old. Holding a dagger in her hand.
She stepped toward her. “We are strong,” the little girl said.
She reached for her hand. “Never forget.”
Isla blinked as the galaxy became visible once more. Cronan’s bared teeth came into view, his shadows having been pushed away.
“I have been caged my entire life,” she said, and she could hear the echoes of that little girl within her speaking. “I have been used and manipulated and lied to. You will not be the one to break me.”
Cronan narrowed his eyes at her. And as she was dragged back through the room toward her cell, he said, “We’ll see.”