Isla
Lark was sleeping.
The feather was clutched in her hands, as if she didn’t want to be parted from it for even a moment. She hadn’t seen her ancestor sleep soundly before. Perhaps the pain had been too great, the way Cronan had left her. Now, it seemed she had healed enough to rest.
All for the belief that she would do her part by discovering the starstick’s location.
She had tried, but she had nothing left to offer Lark. Nothing left to bargain with.
Isla laid on the filthy cell floor and looked up at the only window in this cell, perched high up the wall. From this angle, she could see a shred of the moon, staring down at her. Almost smeared away completely by the strange shade of sky—peculiar even in darkness.
But then it was covered completely.
By a dark cloud.
Ever so slowly, Isla started to feel that seed of power within her bloom to life.
Her eyes flicked over to Lark’s sleeping form. Now that she was mostly healed, she posed a risk. But the incoming storm didn’t rouse Lark. It was as if her body was catching up with all the sleep she had missed when she had just been pieces that hardly fit together.
Isla eyed the bars of the cell next. Even if she wanted to escape, she couldn’t. The metal was not only shademade but also tied to Cronan. He controlled it.
It was why he didn’t even bother shackling his prisoners. Storms might give them access to their powers, but the shademade bars couldn’t be destroyed with their abilities.
Still . . . she would be able to use her powers within the cell . . .
Her gaze landed on Lark again.
The storm was moving on quickly. She could feel her abilities going with it. But how would she use her powers to get this information out of Lark? The last thing she wanted was to duel with her ancestor in such close quarters. If only she could read her mind . . .
Why couldn’t she? Her father was Nightshade. She had that power within her.
And during those long, painful torture sessions . . . Cronan had taught her everything she needed to know.
Isla closed her eyes, concentrating, and within moments, shadows crept from her essence. They shot toward Lark, so fast they were invisible.
She was careful, delicate, like a dream washing into Lark’s mind, like the tide rolling in. Her ancestor shifted slightly—but she did not awaken.
Isla didn’t have much time. She felt the shreds of her abilities shrinking.
She knew how to search for what she needed. Cronan had shown her, again and again. She rifled through Lark’s mind until she stumbled upon memories from a few weeks prior. Back on Nightshade.
There. The last memories of Lark with Isla’s portaling device. A slow smile crept along Isla’s face.
You and me . . . we aren’t so different . . . Cronan had said.
She didn’t know if this made her just as bad as him, but she didn’t care. She reached into Lark’s mind for the location of the starstick—and took it.
Oro didn’t look surprised that she had gotten the information. When she said so, he lifted a shoulder.
“I always believe in you.”
She flushed. It was foolish, really, because anyone else would see her entire life as one long string of mistakes. Bad decisions. But Oro looked at her and saw the good first.
“You’re on Nightshade,” she said, recognizing the castle around him. It had been her home once. Somehow, she’d had several homes, but none that had ever felt fully safe and complete. Distant dangers and future obstacles always kept her from ever being able to root herself anywhere.
Oro nodded. “Astria let me into the castle. Set up a room for me. The council, as you can imagine, isn’t thrilled.”
She almost smiled, imagining their reactions. “You—you must be exhausted.” What she almost said was that he looked exhausted. He must have flown at full speed. There were purple splotches beneath his eyes. The last time she saw him this tired had been during the Centennial.
When he had been dying.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. He met her eyes meaningfully, and she knew he had picked up on her concern for him. He was an expert in her. “How are you?”
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated.
A long stretch of silence followed. They understood that they were both keeping secrets. It wasn’t malicious. She didn’t want him to worry. She suspected he felt the same.
“How is it going?” he finally asked. “With . . . him?”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Do you want me to outline how I’m trying to seduce my husband?”
Her words were light, but Oro turned away. His hand clenched. Isla’s face flushed with shame. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s fine, Isla. How is it going?” he asked again.
“Not well.”
He looked surprised at that. “His devotion to you . . .”
“I know.” She knew better than anyone. She lifted a shoulder. “But he was like this before too. When we first met. Worse, even . . . But now, we don’t have the time . . .” She pressed her head to her knees.
“What is it?” he said. “What’s worrying you?”
Isla took a breath and let out a fear from deep within her heart. “What if it was nothing more than circumstance that brought us together?”
Before, Grim was alone, and desperate. Here, on Skyshade, he had Cronan.
Maybe Grim was right. Maybe he had just been lonely, and she had been there, just as desperate for connection.
“Isla,” Oro said, so gently she looked up at him. “You are not someone to be loved by circumstance.”
She let out a raking sigh. He leaned closer.
“You are loved on purpose. I promise.”
Her eyes stung with tears. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to reach him before—” She cut off her words to keep from crying.
Oro filled the silence, just as he had filled the darkness. “I know you’ll be able to,” he said. “The same way I knew you’d find the location of the portaling device.”
“You have too much faith in me,” she said.
Oro just smiled. “No,” he said. “You just have too little.” He reached out, and she grabbed his hand like it was a lifeline. An anchor. His hands were warm like fire, and they called to the flame in her heart. “Don’t stop now, Isla. He loved you. Remind him. Find the strength to keep going.”
“Find your fire,” she breathed.
He blinked, seeming taken aback. “What?”
“Find your fire,” she repeated. “It’s what—it’s what you told me.” He frowned, like he didn’t remember. “I heard it in my mind . . . when
I was at a low point. You—you were saying it.”
He looked pensive. “It’s something my mother used to tell me, when I was very young. I’ve kept it with me.”
Isla just looked at him. “Did you find your fire?” she asked.
His eyes didn’t leave her face as he said, “I did.”
Her heart felt heavy. She knew what he meant. “It burned you, didn’t it?”
His expression didn’t change. He just nodded. “It did.” He reached out, as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, before he said, “But it was worth it.”