Page 101 of Lightlark
She reached toward a group clinging to what was left of the floor, a bloody bridge snaking across the room. One she was able to pull up. Another fell through the cracks.
Her blades could do nothing. Her cape might shield some debris, but it was useless against the thick slabs of marble raining down around them.
If she had power, she could save them. She could wield the vines decorating the room, use them to pull people to safety.
She might not have abilities. But Oro did. He needed to get up—he could stop this.
She shouted his name. But he remained hunched over, forehead now nearly against the floor. The roar muted her voice. Furniture fell through the ceiling. He was across the ballroom. The space between them was half-gone, the rest falling without warning.
Isla cursed as she kicked her shoes off and ran toward the king. She jumped over the largest hole, sharp pieces of rubble embedding themselves in her heels upon landing. The pain was a whisper compared to the spines she had pulled from her back—if she could live through that, she could live through anything. She dodged a chair that nearly crushed her, pushing a young Moonling away from its path too and earning a look of disgust that she had dared touch him.
Next time I’ll let it crush you,she thought as she ducked beneath a piece of the ceiling that had concaved and finally made it to the king.
“Oro.” She knelt before him, the same way he had when she was on the forest floor, full of barbs and thorns.
He didn’t acknowledge her presence.
Nothing new—but this wasn’t just about her.
She grabbed him by the shoulders and said, “Get up! People are dying. They need you!”
Oro raised his head enough to meet her gaze. His eyes were hollow. As if every ounce of energy had been drained. Another tremor shookthe floor, and he growled, his fingers going deeper into the marble. The pain must have been unbearable to have brought the king to his knees.
“Please,”she begged. A few feet away, rock rained down into a pile that crushed half the group Azul had been trying to block. He rushed to fling the rubble away with his wind, but blood coated the stone. It was too late.
Oro did not move an inch. But she heard him say“Leave”through his teeth.
No. When Isla was hurt and had demanded he go, he had stayed. She wasn’t leaving. Not until he stopped this.
Isla took his shirt in two fistfuls and shoved him against the wall with all her strength, tearing his fingers from the floor. She screamed right into his face. “You might be dying, but you’re not dead yet, you miserable wretch, now get up and do something before you allow your brother’s sacrifice and everything we all have lost to be for nothing.”
Oro did not meet her gaze or get up.
But, with a groan that shook his shoulders, he leaned forward, pushing past her—and his hands fully pierced the marble. Power erupted from his touch, filling the room.
Forcing it still.
Then he collapsed against the floor.
Screams and calls for help and final breaths became a symphony that overtook the violins and harps that lay in splinters in the corner of the room, along with most of the orchestra.
When Celeste found her, and they rushed out of the room, Isla thought about the king’s words—that this Centennial was not simplyanotherchance at breaking the curses ...
But perhaps the last chance.
Dozens were dead. The wing of the castle had been reduced to little more than rubble. And it would get worse, Isla knew, if they didn’t break the curses soon.
She had somehow found herself in an alliance with the king. They had a plan to find the heart. Grim, Celeste, and Oro had all promised to protect her.
Even without the bondbreaker, it had all seemed almost possible to survive the Centennial and break their curses before it ended.
But as the broken ballroom doors managed to slam closed and the screams were swallowed up, Isla wondered if the island would even last the rest of the hundred days.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ORO
The aftermath of the ball left the island fractured in more ways than one. Part of the castle was in ruins. The streets of the agora were so empty, wind whistled down them. Store windows shuttered, and their walls did not fold open at night. Islanders were afraid to leave their homes, let alone their isles. There were whispers that the tragedy at the ball was Grim’s doing, after his demonstration weeks before had shown the same thing happening. Except this hadn’t been an illusion.
