Isla
“Where’s my mother?”
Her father.
“Your mother?” he said, his voice deep and warm. “She’s getting everything ready for tonight, remember?”
What kind of creature might she connect with? Nerves and excitement danced in her stomach.
They sparred for a few minutes before her father straightened.
“That’s enough for today, Isla.” He beamed with pride.
“My daughter is going to be a better warrior than I am.” He pulled her into the crook of his arm, and it felt familiar and easy.
Like home. She smiled, knowing her training had paid off.
She had been practicing in her room, repeating all the moves he taught her.
Together, they walked down the sloped trail through the forest. And as Isla moved . . . the forest bloomed. Flowers opened at her approach, vines swung in her path, creatures crawled down from their branches to look at her.
They walked side by side, her father laughing as she animatedly told him about a glowing frog she had found in her latest explorations through the forest, until they reached the closest village.
The preparation for tonight was in full swing. A Wildling stood in the middle of the street, painting each house with ivy and wisteria and roses. When Isla approached, she turned. “The guest of honor has arrived,” she yelled playfully.
Isla blushed. Her father smiled down at her reassuringly.
A Wildling woman burst from her home down the street. She was holding a small flower in the brightest pink Isla had ever seen. “Tell me I’m the first,” she said.
“You’re the first, Wren,” her father replied, laughing.
Wren got down in front of Isla, smiling. “Then may I offer you, Isla, your first bonding day flower?”
Isla nodded, unable to stop herself from grinning. Wren carefully tucked the flower into Isla’s hair. “There. Perfect,” she said.
“She was perfect to begin with,” her father said, and she knew he meant it. Her heart swelled at his words.
Wren shook her head and stood to face her father. “You’ll put your blade through anyone who breaks her heart, won’t you?”
“I won’t have to,” he said, ruffling Isla’s hair. “She’ll stab them herself. Isn’t that right?”
Isla nodded happily, the thought of love and heartbreak sounding so far away.
Wren clicked her tongue and motioned for them to keep walking. It seemed every step, she was offered another flower, from everyone they passed. The stems were tucked right into her hair, until her loose brown curls were smothered by glorious color.
Finally, they reached the end of the town and ventured farther through the glades. Toward the river.
And there, seated on Lynx, was her mother.
Her hair was full of wildflowers. It always was, not just on days of celebration.
And when she saw Isla and her father, the blooms doubled, tripled, dripping down past her elbows.
The flowers reflected her mood—her dad always said that he knew he was in trouble when she was wrapped in thorns.
But today, her mother’s smile was the pure radiance of unfiltered happiness.
“How was training?” she asked, as she slid down Lynx.
“Our girl is just as skilled as her mother,” her father said, staring at his wife like he would never tire of looking at her.
Isla’s mother beamed. “So, we’re both better than her father, then?”
His smile grew. “In every single way,” he said. He leaned down to pick Isla up, and they both hugged her mother. Isla laughed as the flowers in her mother’s hair grew even more, and as her father’s shadows wrapped snugly around them all.
And they were happy. Perfectly, endlessly happy.
Isla gasped and choked on the silver water as she surfaced.
The stars above blurred as she blinked, her mind still whirling with what she had seen.
A sob wracked her chest—she had already faced the reality of the harshness of her childhood, but now she mourned the upbringing she could have had.
If only she hadn’t killed her parents. . . .
The Pool of Possibilities . . . it was cruel. Showing her how happy she could have been in another life. But there was no way for her to have that. It wasn’t real.
As if hearing her thoughts, the woman said from the shore, “But it is.”
Isla frowned, and felt a surge of anger for this stranger. “How can it be?” she demanded, wading toward the edge. “My parents are dead. I . . . I killed them.”
The woman’s expression softened. She took Isla’s hand once she was close enough to reach. “With your flair, you didn’t just capture their powers, Isla. You captured their souls. They live in you. They can speak to you in a place like this. It is real.”
Part of her was really with her mother and father. That love . . . that endless, unconditional love . . . it lived in her.
As if in proof, the pool became a field of wildflowers that brushed against her ankles. She looked up to see her mother, sitting in front of her. Isla watched as her green eyes filled with tears.
“You have made me so proud,” she said. She reached over and ran her thumb across her cheek. Her mother. She was here.
Isla shook her head. “I have been a fool. I have made mistake after mistake . . .”
At that, her mother’s eyes went fierce, like a fire still blazed inside of her.
She gripped Isla’s hands in hers, and Isla could feel the strength inside, calling to her own.
“You have had the weight of fate on you since the day you were born. You were just a child with a crown. You have had to make choices that no one should ever have to make. You have been betrayed by everyone you have ever loved. Even when you were alone . . .” Her voice shook.
“I was always with you. And I was always, always proud.”
“Why?” Isla asked.
“Because through it all, you endured,” she said. She reached toward her heart. “Your heart endured. Your hope endured. Your love for your world endured.”
“I don’t know if I can endure this,” Isla said, feeling that pain, faintly, about to rush back.
“Endure, Isla. Persist. When the world pushes you—you push back.” Her mother squeezed her hands. “Wildflowers bloom even in dead places. There are those who tried to bury you deep, but you are a seed. And you are only now growing. They are going to regret ever thinking you were anything different.”
Tears streamed down Isla’s face, and her mother brushed them away gently. “Endure, Isla,” she said. “Every world is better with you in it.”
Her mother fell away. So did the pool. So did the woman. All that was left was Cronan’s smirk, as he stared her down, like she was just another planet he was intent on breaking.
But she would not break.
Her mind felt plundered, scraped dry, but her wall hiding the pool had not crumbled. He had not seen what she did. The pool and her mother and everything the silver woman had told her—it was her secret.
And now she knew how she would defeat him.