Page 122 of Lightlark
When she and Celeste entered the agora, Isla’s pulse quickened. Again, she anticipated an attack. Just like at the harbor. People jumping out of the shadows.
But it was abandoned. No islanders lingered. The only sound was the creaking of shop signs, coated in dust, moving in the wind.
Celeste scrunched her nose as they walked into the pub. Isla squinted. Though it hadn’t seen patrons in weeks, the smell of alcohol had intensified, so strong it burned her eyes.
And there was something else—another scent.
Isla raced to the bar and peered over it, only to gasp. A scream scraped the back of her throat.
There was a message.
Scrawled in blood.
No, not just a message. A response. She remembered the words she and Celeste had painted after the attempt on her life at the harbor:Try harder.
Written across the wooden cabinets that housed shelves of bubbling drink were the wordsHard enough?
And below the words, Juniper was dead.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CLEO
The island was built from hearts and bones and blood. Death was at its very core, from the duel that had killed Cronan Malvere to the lives lost since. For the three days after Juniper was found dead, Isla remained in the Place of Mirrors, knowing she was next.
Cleo hadn’t killed her yet—but her influence was everywhere. She had intercepted Isla’s note or found out about it somehow. No communication was safe. And her bloody message was clear.
The Moonling hadn’t come for her yet ... but she would.
Sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, Isla slipped out of the Wildling palace and ran. It was the only activity lately that cleared her head of the never-ending images of her realm dying. Every day she went farther, risking venturing deep into the wicked forest. To the cliff. To the outskirts of the castle, even.
At least it made her feel something.
She felt useless, doing nothing to win.
But where would she start? Oro hadn’t—purposefully—shared the remaining locations on Moon Isle where darkness met light. She couldn’t go search them herself. Even if she did know where they were, Oro and Cleo had likely already looked. Which meant they must have the heart ... or must be close to getting it.
Guilt piled onto her shoulders and stacked high, weighing down her every step. She had failed her people. She had failed her guardians.
And she had failed Juniper. Cleo had killed the barkeep because of her—because of the knowledge he had been about to share.
Which meant his clue had been important.
Isla wouldn’t let Juniper’s death be for nothing. And, as she ran through the woods, she felt a tinge of hope.
If Cleo and Oro had already found the heart, the Moonling ruler wouldn’t have bothered sabotaging Isla. Something had gone wrong ... which meant maybe there was still a chance to right everything.
The island was a pastry, crumbling into the sea, day by day. But at dusk, it was pretty. The sun was a running yolk, smearing gold and orange and red across the sky, as if desperate to leave its mark. The clouds were cotton dipped in pink dye.
Isla watched the sunset from a cliff, hands on her knees, panting. She had just run for over an hour. The roots of her hair were wet with sweat, the day’s heat reminding her of Wildling. A salty breeze blew her braid back and receded, sticking her hair to the side of her face.
She was wearing the clothes the tailor had made her during her first week on the island. Clothes meant for running and fighting. The fabric was thin but offered protection against the elements. Isla had planned to wear this same outfit to find the heart—
Together.
She sat down as the last of the sun reluctantly dipped below the horizon. Her hands gripped the grass, and she felt it—power, coursing through the soil, though weaker than before. Power she could not access.
“Mom,” she said to the incoming darkness. “I don’t blame you.” She spoke to her sometimes.
