Isla
Grim was coming after her. She could feel his power careening toward her like a darkness that could smear the sun from the sky.
He didn’t remember her.
This couldn’t be real. She wanted to believe it was a nightmare, another one of Cronan’s mind games. But she had seen the cold disinterest in Grim’s eyes. She had felt the emptiness where their love had once lived.
Cronan’s words were clear. Grim’s memories of her weren’t just hidden, they were gone. For good.
Grim would have killed her if the storm hadn’t formed in time for her to deflect his shadows. She had waited until the very last moment to block them, so sure in their love, in him, up until it almost caused both their ruin.
And now, his shadows were closing in. She soared higher, fleeing her husband until she felt the rumble of thunder in her bones.
As portals split the sky into open seams and creatures began to emerge, Isla scanned the night for a smaller swirl that wouldn’t take her to another world, just miles away from here.
Like the portal she had escaped through when the knights found her and Lark in the ash desert.
There. With Grim’s shadows at her heels, she flew with all her speed, pushing herself harder and faster, until she shot through a glimmering whorl of color—and was gone.
She crashed hard into a sand dune, her body tumbling head over heels until she finally lost momentum. She gasped, coughing up the dust she inhaled on impact. Her throat burned. She sat up, retching.
Her armor had been strewn across the sands.
As the storm above her began to vanish, she used the last dregs of her Starling energy to melt the metal down into a bracelet of plate-like scales that clinked alongside the one her mother had left for her.
There they were. Her last two remaining possessions.
Slowly, she stood, taking in the endless sea of sand and ash around her. Not again, she thought. She had no water, no weapon, no destination. The portal was now closed above her, and away from the storm, she had no powers either.
But then she noticed something in the distance. A crater, with flashes of green and blue. Another vision? No. She blinked, and it was still there.
A village? An oasis in this endless desert?
Movement sounded behind her. She whirled in a flash, ready to strike—but it wasn’t Grim. It was a desert mouse, scurrying away from a snake. It burrowed into the sand, and the snake’s tail rattled in fury as it chased after it.
Grim didn’t know where she was. And she couldn’t let him find her, not until she could figure out a plan. As much as it pained her already shattered heart . . . she broke the bridge between them again, in case it might lead him to her.
How had things gone so wrong? For a beautiful, triumphant moment, she had thought she had won. She had freed herself of Cronan’s grasp and managed to injure him. She had made her choice and brought Grim to this world.
And now . . .
She shook her head, trying to stay focused on the present.
It was the only way she was going to get through this.
Because if she thought too hard about the blankness in his expression .
. . about how he had almost killed her without a second thought .
. . she would collapse and cry until dehydration did her in.
And that would be a pathetic way to die, after surviving everything else.
On shaking legs, she dragged herself through the sand in the direction of the massive crater.
As she got closer, she heard the clinking of glass and murmuring of voices.
It was, in fact, a village. The sun was setting as she slipped down into a market, and it seemed like the town was coming alive.
The people here must have preferred to operate during the cooler hours, without the unrelenting sun.
It reminded her of the agora during the Centennial, watching from a distance as the Sunlings filled the streets, their curse preventing them from exploring it during the day.
The thought made Oro’s face flash in her mind, and she felt a stab of pain. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, she never wanted to hurt him. Even now, after she had made her choice, she knew he would always have part of her soul.
But most of it belonged to Grim. Still.
She wove through the stalls in the market, swiping a few sheets of fabric in order to blend in.
It wouldn’t disguise her against Grim, of course.
But she suspected Cronan would send his knights after her as well.
She didn’t need to raise suspicions with any of these villagers in case they turned her in.
The market stalls were made of adobe and glass—far more available materials than wood, Isla thought, in a place like this. The oasis only had a few trees, but they were given a wide berth. She watched a few people kneel before them in reverence.
A single pool of water sat in the center of this crater, and Isla wondered if it once filled the entire hole. Perhaps this—just a tiny pool not much larger than a puddle—was all that was left.
Isla joined that line, and as she moved closer, she noticed the water glowing faintly, but nothing like the pool in her head. When she got to the front, she realized she didn’t have anything to drink out of.
“Here,” a voice said behind her. Isla turned, and the woman next in line handed her a glass cup. “I have one to spare.” She had honey-colored eyes and slightly tanned skin. The fabrics she wore were thin but intricately designed, in waves that could be water or sand.
“Thank you,” Isla said, taking it from her. She filled her cup and moved out of the way to drink. She had been in the desert for only an hour, but the water was a welcomed coolness down her throat.
“It never gets old, does it?”
Isla lowered her cup to see the woman who had done her this kindness. She finished her last gulp and handed the glass back to her.
“The sacred water is better than any other I’ve ever tasted,” the woman continued. She studied Isla. Isla imagined she looked awful, having been kept in a cell for days. “Though, I’ve never seen you here before.”
In a small community like this, Isla supposed her new clothes weren’t enough to make her blend in.
“I’m . . . hiding,” she said, searching for an explanation that would make sense.
The woman frowned. “From who?”
“My husband.” It was the truth, after all.
The woman nodded, knowingly. She reached for Isla’s hand, squeezing gently. “I’m Jessel,” she said, leading Isla back through the market, “Would you like something to eat?”
Isla blinked, shocked by this stranger’s immediate kindness. She should refuse. She should keep moving. What if this was a trap? Cronan ruled this world, and she didn’t know what that meant in a small village like this.
But Isla hadn’t eaten in days. She was exhausted and devastated. So she followed Jessel back to her house.
The structure was built underground, beneath the crust of the crater. Isla assumed it was to protect against the storms. It was a wonder any of the trees had survived them.
The main room was small and cool, with a hearth in the corner and seats carved out of the walls.
A fire flickered softly. After days in a cell, a warm, comfortable place like this almost brought tears to her eyes.
This felt like a home, and it was remarkable that some semblance of peace had remained in this world of ruin.
Isla startled when she heard a yelp, and then a child came running into the room. Another soon joined him.
“Prelis, Agor. Say hello to our guest,” Jessel said.
“Hello,” Prelis said happily.
Agor stepped toward her. “Your eyes are like treetops,” he said, his tone skeptical, almost like an accusation.
Isla supposed it wasn’t a common color found here. Their own eyes were like the woman’s—amber.
“That’s right,” Isla said.
“Why?” he demanded.
Isla didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t exactly share that she was from another world.
Luckily, Jessel stopped her from having to say anything at all. “Agor. I’m making pepper pie. Do you want to help get some from the sands?”
The little boy lit up, immediately forgetting about Isla’s strange eyes. He ran outside, Prelis at his heels.
“Sorry about that,” Jessel said.
“It’s okay,” Isla said, trying to form a smile. “Your children are adorable.”
“Oh, they’re not mine,” she said. “Not by blood anyway.” Isla could fill in the blanks.
Jessel motioned toward a bench formed from the stone wall. “Sit,” she said. She peered at Isla with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. “Because I do want to know how you have eyes the color of treetops.”
Isla hadn’t expected to be so honest with Jessel. Maybe it was because she just needed someone to talk to. But she found herself telling her that she was from a place where green was everywhere, and flowers bloomed in every color imaginable.
And Jessel just sat and listened. It didn’t seem like she could be shocked by anything.
“This world was like that once,” she said. Isla couldn’t imagine living in the wreckage of a world like this. Finding, occasionally, signs that it had been something different.
Would that happen to her own world if Cronan got his way? Or would he simply consume it until there was nothing left?
“I’m not old enough to have seen it, of course,” Jessel continued. “It’s been like this for a long, long time. But there are tiny pockets of what once was. And there are some beings . . . that remember.”
Remlar had said something similar—he was of this world too and remembered what few had.
Isla swallowed down the jolt of pain at the memory.
Remlar’s death still felt unbelievable, that a creature so ancient could just cease to exist. He had died for the chance at a better world.
And Isla had failed him, just like she had failed every single person that had believed in her.