Oro
Lynx seemed grateful for a chance to help. The panther leapt quickly, bounding across land almost as fast as Wraith shot through the skies. His nose was turned toward the ground, tracking Isla’s scent.
They rode through fields of overgrown grass, then reached a stretch of field that had been all but ripped away. Holes puckered the ground. This place had been marked by battle.
No. Replaced.
He was seeing . . . Isla’s hands. He would recognize them anywhere. They were being dragged forward by a towering knight in shining shademade armor.
He saw flashes of a hallway made up of ancient rock. Then he saw a circular room, with purple and blue swirls of a galaxy out the window.
Then . . . his face.
Cronan. It had to be him. The resemblance to Grim was uncanny, but Cronan had a bottomlessness to his eyes, like they were made up of pure darkness.
He wore a crown that looked like a mess of broken blades.
Lynx growled beneath him; the creature’s muscles wound tight. Oro didn’t say a word, he didn’t move, in fear that it would stop the vision. He searched wildly for any details that could help them from here. He watched powerlessly as shadows burst forth from the crown, headed right toward Isla.
She screamed on impact. Oro gasped, and the image was ripped away. The pain—
Lynx had stopped. Oro blinked, the field returning.
In front of him, Grim and Wraith were landing.
The Nightshade looked pleased. Oro saw the glimmer of something in the grass between them.
Lynx and Wraith must have found it at the same time—Isla’s storm ring.
Oro could barely summon a shred of relief, still filled with the echoes of Isla’s agony.
Grim sensed Oro’s panic instantly. “What is it?”
Oro slid down Lynx’s back . . . then turned toward the creature. The panther’s eyes were wide with concern.
“I . . . I saw her,” Oro said. “He showed me. His connection to her . . . it must be going in and out. He’s seeing almost everything.”
Grim strode toward them. “I wonder if the connection goes both ways.”