Page 110 of Skyshade
“To fight Lark?”
He nodded. “For that...and so much more.”
But he had begun working on this before Lark had attacked. “How—”
“I’m sure by now the prophet’s followers have found you.”
Pain lanced through her as she remembered Sairsha and the others, dead by her hand. She nodded.
“I never believed in their prophecies...not until I met you. And then I understood. Who your parents were...your flair...it all began making sense.”
“What did?”
“That you were born to either destroy the world or save it.”
She paled at his words, the ones she had heard before. Isla shook her head. “I don’t want this armor. I don’t want this role.”
“Yet they’re yours anyway.” He presented her with a set of knives, which fit into thin pockets in her armor. Every little piece had been considered, crafted for her. Her eyes burned, looking at it. “Remember, Isla. Weapons are nothing without those who wield them.”
He looked past her, as if seeing something she couldn’t. He frowned.
“She’s coming.”
Isla imagined he’d made enchanted devices to warn if anyone was nearby. Or maybe he could sense the Wildling’s blood. He was suddenly rushing, looking around his forge as if making sure he didn’t miss anything.
“I can’t be killed, but I can be compelled,” he said. “My skills have been twisted by people like her for millennia. She will use me to destroy this world, just as she did to make it. She needs me. Do not allow her to have me.”
Isla shook her head. “But I might need you,” she said, tears sweeping down her cheeks. “I—I might need you to help me save it.”
The blacksmith paused then. Smiled. “You have always had everything you needed.” He handed her one of the daggers from her armor. It was sharp and efficient. Perfect for just this task. “Now, make it quick, Wildling.” She gripped the hilt. Hesitated.
“Your name,” she said. “What is your name?” She had never asked before.
He squinted. His eyes glazed over, as if seeing past her, to another life. Another world. “I—I don’t remember,” he said softly. His gaze focused again, as he looked to the door. “She’s almost here. Now, Wildling.”
Isla struck.
Just before the metal touched his skin, his hand curled around the blade. “I remember now,” he said quickly. “Ferrar. My name is Ferrar.” He let her go.
Ferrar gasped as the blade went through his heart. Tears traced Isla’s cheeks, one after the other, as he slumped over. She fought with all her strength to keep him upright, but he was too heavy, so she sank to the ground alongside him.
Brambles began filling the forge. She could feel Lark’s power overtaking it.
She wiped her cheek against her shoulder and tried to grab the suit of armor, but it fell apart into several pieces, too many for her to carry. The ground shook with Lark’s power, and Isla refused to leave without Ferrar’s gift, not when it was the last thing he had ever made. She didn’t have time to put it on. With her Starling power, she forced her armor into the air, its pieces hovering around her. She quickly shaped them like a puzzle, into something like a shield she could carry on her back. She pulled her new blade free from the blacksmith’s body.
By the time Lark stepped into the forge, she was gone.
When Isla finally appeared in front of the Wildling stronghold, she felt knee-wobbling relief to see that it had been left alone, for now. She wondered if Lark would spare her own people.
She sank to the ground as Lynx came running toward her, green eyes bright with worry. He buried his head against hers. She gripped his fur and cried. He showed her images—flashes of waves of warriors, cutting everything down in their path. Him, looking for her on the ground, while Wraith and Grim searched from the skies.
“I’m okay,” she told him, feeling his panic as if it was her own.
She couldn’t say the same for hundreds of Nightshades.
When the last of the injured were carried inside, she went to Wren. Terra and Poppy were nearby, helping the wounded. She explained everything to them.
Lark was their ruler...not Isla. Lark was infinitely more powerful. She was the original creator of their world.
