Page 56 of Skyshade
They were stuck in this storm.
Grim shouted orders for Wraith to descend. They lost air quickly as Wraith dropped—so quickly, that Isla’s hand slipped.
And with it, her grip on the ring.
She watched in agonizing slowness as the ring fell through the air, down toward Nightshade, disappearing through a thick layer of clouds.
Her only chance at finding the portal. Gone.
On instinct, she went after it. She had no plan, no powers, no starstick—before she jumped over the edge, Grim was hauling her back.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he pinned her in place, shielding her with his body as they continued their descent. Blood dripped from every exposed inch of him, he had been cut in a thousand places, but he didn’t seem to be focused on anything but her as his eyes filled with rage.
“We need to land!” she screamed. “That was our only chance!” She didn’t recognize her own voice, her own insistence, her own recklessness.
Her life was tied to thousands, but in that moment all that mattered was that shred of storm.
She didn’t have any other rings on. Could she use another stone to trap the storm? Her necklace. She reached for the stone around her neck.
But before she could wrap her fingers around it, a roar cut through the storm like a blade carving it in half.
“What in the realms is that?” she whispered, Grim’s breath hot against the top of her head, Wraith’s scales wet and cold beneath her cheek. She slowly turned her neck, to look up.
The sky had gone red.
And from those blood-brushed clouds emerged a creature emitting spirals of flame.
No. Not flames.
Lightning.
She turned to Grim. “Can Wraith—”
“No,” Grim said and he—he sounded afraid. Afraid like when she was dying in his arms. In a desperate push, he pressed them bothdown against Wraith’s cold, rain-slicked scales. He shouted against the roar of the storm, and Wraith began to tilt down, to retreat.
It was too late.
Streaks of lightning darted toward them, illuminating everything, splitting into shards. Roots on fire.
One hit Wraith right in his neck, and he seized. His wings went still. He tilted to the side.
And then, they were falling.
BROKEN
Her chest burned.
It was like her scarred skin, right where the heart of Lightlark had marked her, was aflame. That sensation was what woke her as she fell through the sky, wind whipping her wildly through the air.
Grim. Wraith.
She tried to look around, but she couldn’t see anything past the blinding mist.
Wind whipped wildly, tossing her through the air as she plummeted, her skin raw and bleeding. This was it. Her powers were gone. The metal would have muted them anyway. Her limbs flailed as she fought against the inevitable.
A sob scraped against her throat as the clouds cleared, and she managed a look at the ground that was rushing up to meet her.
It was replaced by a wing.
