Isla
She was very familiar with these knights by now. They all wore armor that covered every inch . . . except a small gap between their helmets and breastplates. It was only visible when they turned their heads.
They were also incredibly dimwitted.
“The ceiling,” she said, gesturing upward.
She reached both arms through the grate and caught him before he collapsed to keep him from making a sound. Her knees nearly buckled from the weight. Slowly, teeth gritted, she managed to move his arm to the lock. She pressed his palm against it—
The door unlocked and she pushed it forward, still holding on to the knight. By the time she gently set him on the floor, she was panting, her sweaty palms slipping on her knees.
She looked over her shoulder at Lark. All she saw was glowing green eyes. She expected her ancestor to make a break for it, but she remained very still.
“My feather,” she snapped.
Right.
She looked down at the guard. A puddle of blood was spreading around him. She didn’t have much time. There usually weren’t other guards on this floor, especially during the parties, when they were needed up above. She only hoped none of them would come down and check in the next few minutes.
She tore down the hall, the path seared into her skull after weeks in this castle. When she finally reached the main floor, she slowed. She inched the door open.
The hall was clear. Everyone was in the galaxy room. She could hear the faint sound of music and laughter. It seemed tonight, the party had started early.
Her heart hammered as she strode in the opposite direction, toward where she had seen the heads of planets congregate. She hoped their rooms were nearby . . . and that Grim’s was too.
As she turned a corner, the castle seemed to change.
Each wing looked different, as if it was made up of several different palaces that had been cut up and crudely combined.
Just like Cronan’s galaxy he had pieced together.
Just like his crown. Taking the best of each planet to shape his own universe to his liking, with no regard for what he left broken.
She didn’t know how much time she had. She couldn’t be sure how long it had taken to break out of the cell after dinner.
The party could be just beginning or be close to ending.
A knight could stumble upon her, or the body in the dungeon.
Her heart thundered as she opened door after door, searching, until finally—she found his room.
There was nothing special about it, really. Only an unrumpled bed, with the pillows beneath the sheets. A chair, slid out from its desk at an angle. But she instantly knew it was his. She just did. Because she knew him. She knew the marks he left upon a space. The way he liked his things laid out.
She slipped through the door, whispering it shut—
And froze as she heard running water.
He was here. He was bathing. She should leave . . . but when else would she have this opportunity? Especially after the knight’s body was discovered?
Nerves swirling through her stomach, she lurched forward, eyes roaming the room. She rummaged through his things as quickly as possible. She checked every drawer. Looked in every closet. Nothing.
The water turned off.
She couldn’t go back without the feather, but she also couldn’t be discovered here. Footsteps sounded. She had no other choice. Frustrated and hopeless, she strode toward the door. She pulled it open.
The handle was ripped out of her grasp as it was forced closed. Her lips parted in a gasp.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Slowly, heart thundering in her chest, she turned. Grim stood there, bare-chested with a towel tied low on his hips.
It was so easy to imagine that this was just a normal day together. That this moment would lead to them upturning that neatly kept bed.
But everything had changed. That was made clear by the fact that the shadows that had once caressed her skin now shackled her to the door. They pinned her hands above her head.
“I asked . . . what are you doing here?” he repeated. He stalked toward her until he was right above her. A droplet of water from his hair landed against her cheek and slid down her throat. He tracked its movement before his eyes snapped back to hers.
“Maybe you’ll answer Cronan,” he said, reaching for the doorknob.
“No, wait!” she said, the words spilling out of her.
He watched her expectantly.
“Just take me back to the cell. I promise—I promise I won’t leave again.”
That wasn’t good enough. His eyes narrowed. The shadows on her wrists tightened to the point of pain. “Why. Are. You. Here?” he demanded.
She couldn’t tell him. He might destroy the feather—or worse, give it to Cronan. And then she would lose all bargaining power with Lark. Oro needed the starstick. She had put him in this mess, and she would do everything in her power to help him.
Her lips remained closed, and he leaned down, so their eyes were level. His cheeks were flushed from hot water. His dark hair was already starting to curl around his ears. “No?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Very well then.” In a flash, the towel was replaced by black clothes and armor. He pushed her through the door, making them both matterless for a moment.
They didn’t emerge in the star-drenched hall, though. They were in the dungeons. Right in front of her cell. As if he wanted to see how, exactly, she had broken out.
He frowned down at the dead knight. “Is that—is that a rib?” She didn’t know if he sounded horrified or impressed.
His gaze locked onto hers again. His voice was lethal. “One more chance,” he said.
She remained silent.
“Very well.” Instead of shoving her back into her cell, like she expected, he took her hand—and dragged her out of the hall, where another knight was already waiting.
“No,” she said, turning toward him, eyes widened. His lacked any warmth at all.
“Tell Cronan his prisoner just broke loose.” The knight nodded before running off.
Isla slowly shook her head. “Wow,” she breathed. “I forgot what a bastard you can be.”
He whirled to face her again. “What?” he demanded.
“I said,” she enunciated clearly, “You’re. A. Bastard.” They stared each other down. She could hear the clattering of more knights coming down to the dungeons. Their steps echoed above, loosening dust and rocks that rained around them.
She swallowed, her pride falling away. She knew how easy it was for Cronan to reach into her mind and pluck out the answer. Worse than him taking the feather, he might just kill her. Especially since she hadn’t given him any indication that she was going to change her mind about working with him.
“Please.” Isla searched his eyes for any sign of her husband. But he just smirked.
“I told you. You are nothing. I hope he kills you for this,” he said. “That way I never have to see you again.”
She couldn’t help but believe he meant it.
The dinner table had vanished from the galaxy room. So had all the guests and any trace of a celebration. Only Cronan and the faint smell of wine remained. He was staring up at his galaxy. His crown glistened in the starlight.
“Why did you escape?” he asked. His words were clipped. Brief. Just as Grim’s had been.
And just as she hadn’t said a word to her husband, Isla remained silent. She kept her chin high.
In a flash, he turned around, eyes blazing in anger, and Isla was thrust forward by an invisible force until she was hovering right in front of him. Grim just watched, feet away. His face remained expressionless.
He flung her back to the floor and from his crown, those familiar shadows soared toward her.
The galaxies disappeared, melting beneath blinding, unrelenting pain.
She screamed, convulsing, bile crawling up her throat.
This was worse than before. Cronan had given up any pretense of trying to preserve her for his benefit.
Now, he sank his shadows into her head as if he was truly trying to break it.
It was enough to nearly make her pass out.
But she would fight this. She would fight him.
Instead of folding beneath the commands of the shadows that wove through her brain, searching for a reason for her escape from her cell, she forced her thoughts into a different direction.
Oro was the reason behind looking for the feather. So she sealed him out of her brain. She blocked the sun with shadows. She smothered his light. She distanced herself from her feelings about him, as if she could cleave herself in half—the part that loved him, and the part that loved Grim.
She made a feeble wall so he could break through it, believing that her will had simply given way. Then, and only then, did she fully let Cronan in.
And she thought of Grim. Of their story. Of how curiosity had become hatred and then friendship. And then love. Sacrifice.
Cronan would never understand. He would never know that true love was more powerful than anything because it created worlds within planets. And she had lived in her own world with Grim.
Cronan made a frustrated, disgusted sound, as the claws in her brain sunk deeper.
Here, she said, dropping in a reason, hiding it beneath other memories, like a treasure to be discovered. A plausible explanation for why she would have snuck into Grim’s room this late at night.
And as Cronan found that reason, she built her strength against him.
She gathered all the love for Grim, all that she had once lost, then found, then recommitted. She remembered, she remembered, and it didn’t matter if Cronan made her forget, too, because her soul never would.
Slowly, she began to feel her fingers. They brushed the cold stone floor. She gritted her teeth, and her wrist escaped next.
She dug deep inside herself until she could move her arm, and this time, she did not reach out to strike Cronan, knowing that it would be a fruitless endeavor.
Instead, she flung her arm out and wrapped her hand around Grim’s ankle.
He gasped as if he had been burned.
Cronan’s shadows rushed out of her head, his expression looking disgusted . . . but not furious. He didn’t seem to have noticed that she had broken his hold. That she had moved.
Grim didn’t say a word.
And she knew she had succeeded in blocking the truth—about Oro and the starstick—from Cronan. She had fed him a lie.
Doing so had taken up almost all her energy. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, darkness caving in.
The last thing she saw was Grim’s horrified expression, as if one of those memories had made it to him.