Oro
And suddenly, a gaping piece of himself was whole again. Isla.
He opened his eyes and only saw darkness, but he could feel her energy. Feel the connection. Feel her abilities.
He did not hesitate. Whatever fleeting opportunity this was, he would not waste it. Even with his strength in tatters, he heard those words in his mind.
Find your fire.
This time, hers had found his.
With her Wildling powers flowing through the bond that still existed, even after everything, Oro turned on this cold, jagged ground.
Then he shot through the compact rock that he had been mining for half a day like it was no more than butter.
Until finally, he reached that glimmering portaling device.
The moment it was in his hands, the Wildling ability disappeared. That bridge was broken once more.
But just those few moments of strength were enough to fortify his own.
He grasped the stick with blood and dirt-crusted fingers, looked up to the surface—and flew right to it, with the wind at his back and every shred of energy he had left at his heels.
Until sunlight finally rained down on his skin, and he was able to take a clean breath of air.
He landed, stumbling—but Lynx caught him.
He had been waiting there. So had Wraith. And so had Astria.
“You got it,” she breathed, looking at the object in his hands.
“With help,” he said, his voice just a dry rasp.
“More help is coming,” Astria said. And it was nearly enough to bring him to his knees with relief. She was right. With the portaling device now in his possession, more help could finally reach them.
Astria insisted he eat and drink before doing anything else, but Oro refused. He was covered in dirt when Isla reached out again.
She was in yet another dress that was pooling around her from where she sat on the floor. He guessed she was still in a cell, but right now it looked like she was in the room that Astria had graciously set up for him.
He studied her quickly, like he always did, for any injuries. This time, though, what he noticed weren’t marks. He saw the wrinkles and tears in the fabric. The straps looked like they had been cut and then retied hastily around her neck.
He swallowed. She gazed down at the state she was in and blushed, pressing her knees against her chest.
“I take it . . . things are getting better with Grim?” he asked, trying to push down all his emotions for both of their sakes.
She gave just a single nod.
He took a long breath and closed his eyes. He could put reason first, before his feelings. He had done it for centuries. He could do it again.
Hand still trembling both from strain and emotions he didn’t want to name, he lifted the portaling device. “How do I use this thing?” he asked. At least this was a safe subject.
Isla’s smile was pure relief, seeing it in his possession. She also must have been happy to see it at all. Oro knew how much she loved this relic. How it had freed her from her Wildling room, how she had used it to explore the world before the Centennial.
How she had used it to meet Celeste. And Grim.
Maybe there were no safe subjects between them anymore . . .
“It takes a little practice,” Isla said, shaking Oro from his thoughts.
She explained how to picture his destination in his mind’s eye, how to channel his energy into that image, into the device, how to draw a puddle of stars with it and step through.
“It’s much harder to go to places you’ve never seen before,” she explained. “And make sure to practice before going anywhere too far, in case you get stuck and can’t return.”
Oro nodded and closed his eyes, picturing the throne room in his castle on Lightlark. It was a place that was more familiar than anywhere else.
His blood hummed as he channeled his energy into the object in his hand.
Slowly, he used it to draw a circle on the floor between them.
With every inch made, he kept his focus steady on the throne room.
He imagined the sun gleaming against its walls, and the smell of freshly steeped tea, and Isla walking through the doors for the first night of the Centennial, dripping wet—
A flash of gold flared in front of him, so bright, it reached past his eyelids. He opened his eyes to see sunlight streaming through the portal he created. His throne was right in the center of it.
“Show off,” Isla scoffed, but when he looked at her, she was smiling.
“You’re a good teacher,” he replied, and she broke his gaze in a way that made him wonder what she was thinking about.
A flash of activity within the portal pulled him from that thought. His friends were there, locked in conversation. It seemed tense. “I should head back. I just—I wanted to see you first.”
And the way she looked at him, with the same worry and focus, made him wonder if she had been desperate to see him too.
“Go,” she finally said, with an air of disappointment. As he moved to stand, she said, “I’m glad it worked out . . . and that betting on me wasn’t in vain.” Her words were light, but he knew her.
“I will never regret betting on you, Isla,” he said, standing to his full height.
“Bet on yourself. You’ll never lose.” He was about to walk through the portal when he hesitated.
There was something else on his mind. His friends would tell him to keep this to himself, but he couldn’t.
He was still betting on her, he would always bet on her choosing light and helping them all through this.
“I . . . I saw something on my way here.”
She frowned at the seriousness in his tone. “What was it?”
“A silver pool.”
Her eyes widened, and Oro instantly knew that the pool had appeared to her as well. “What did it show you?”
He slowly sat back down. Secrets wouldn’t help them both save this world. He knew that. So he told her everything, all the questions he asked, and all the possibilities the water had shown him.
She just listened, a small fold between her brows.
“I didn’t realize how much hatred I had been holding on to,” he admitted after he was done. “How angry I still was toward my brother, for being so reckless. For causing the curses then—then leaving me to deal with the aftermath on my own.”
“But now you see that things would have always ended up the same,” she said. He nodded. “Lightlark is lucky to have you as king.”
His eyes slipped to the ground. His throat felt thick.
She reached toward him, her cold fingers wrapping around his own.
“I’m glad you see what I always have. That you are more than we deserve.
Even at your worst, you are better than all of us.
” His gaze locked onto hers. Even though these were unusual circumstances, he knew she was one of the only people who could understand. He knew he was not alone.
That was clear when she said, “I saw something similar. About . . . the Nightshade village. About what I did.” A tear swept down her cheek. “It feels impossible to forgive myself. It’s so much easier to call myself a villain.”
“But you aren’t a villain,” Oro said, reaching out with his other hand to brush that tear away.
“If you were, you would have joined Cronan a long time ago. You wouldn’t still be sitting in a cell.
You would have chosen the easy way. And you’ve done many things, Isla .
. . but you’ve never chosen the easiest path. ”
“That’s not true.” Her voice was just a whisper. He could tell something was bothering her. He waited, hoping she would feel comfortable enough to share it, but not wanting to pry. Finally, she said, “I had the chance to see the future. To see the consequences of my choices. And I didn’t.”
Oro furrowed his brow. “Do you regret it?”
“Not looking?”
He nodded.
“Yes.” She took a trembling breath. “I regret ever making a choice out of fear. That’s—that’s not who I want to be. That’s not who our world deserves. It deserves someone like you. Someone strong enough to save it.”
Oro curled his hand over her shoulder, and squeezed.
She was so cold. He sent some of his heat to her, hoping it would reach her.
“My mother used to tell stories about phoenixes. She said they were like sunsets, dying on the horizon, only to be reborn every morning. She said a phoenix’s strength was not found in its flames but in its ashes. ”
He thought about his journey to the portaling device.
He thought about every pain and challenge he had faced in the last few weeks.
“Falling is hard. Rising is worse.” He frowned.
“You say I’m strong. You say I’m better than this world deserves.
But I am also flawed and broken and weak.
I have regrets. I have shame. I have moments that have marked me.
” He looked up at her. “The strongest aren’t the unscarred, Isla—they’re the ones still standing. ”
He reached up and touched the center of her forehead, where that dark mark was still visible. “And scars are not proof of failing—but surviving.”
Her eyes glistened with tears . . . but also with fire. She was the blade that refused to be broken. She was the flame that refused to be extinguished.
He said these words for her but also for himself. For he had felt unmoored lately. For centuries, he’d thought he needed to pretend that he was unbreakable. He thought breaking was a failing. Now, looking at her, he knew that true strength was in never staying broken.
Because Isla always got up, even in impossible circumstances.
She always tried. And she had never pretended with him to be perfect.
No, Isla was open with her feelings and fears, and it made him want to open up, too.
He realized that in wanting to be strong for her, he hadn’t allowed the broken pieces of himself to show.
And he wondered if it made her feel like she was supposed to be shatterproof.
He lifted his palms, which were still covered in dirt and blood.
“None of us are invincible. We are not gods. Duty does not come easily. There are days I want to give up and give this crown to anyone else. It takes work to fight, and endure, and rise. And it’s hard to remember.
It’s hard to get up every day when staying down is so much easier. ”
“What do you do?” she asked. “To remember?”
His eyes met hers. “I remember you.”
She swallowed. He thought she might look to the ground, or say she had to go, but instead, she said, “When I think of peace . . . I think of our beach, Oro. I think of that sea. And . . . and I think of you.” She took a shaking breath. “But peace feels like a fantasy.”
Oro wished he could tell her that it was possible. That peace and love and that beach could ever be a future for either of them. But if finding the pool had taught him anything, it was that some fates were inevitable. No matter how much they all hoped things could be different.
“I have to believe that there’s always a chance for peace,” Oro said.
Isla smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She took a shaking breath. “That’s worth fighting for, then. For the possibility of peace,” she said, as her form blurred away.
“For a chance at golden beaches and evergreen seas.”
When she was gone, Oro stood, feeling more determined than he had in days. He would fight for her and for the possibility of an after.
The window into the throne room glimmered beneath him. There were only days left before Cronan would come to destroy their world. He needed to ensure there was even a world left to save. He squared his shoulders and did as he always had—he moved forward. Right into the portal.