Page 80 of Skyshade
Now, she was ready to try it on her skin.
Shademade. She could have gone to the blacksmith and asked for another dagger, but its tip would have been too broad for her purposes. No, the feather was perfect.
She followed Aurora’s instructions. Skyres were most effective when bonded with objects of great power, to use as ink. She unearthed a ruby that had been passed down through generations of her line. One that was said to have been made by the power of her ancestor. Slowly, she pressed against it with the feather’s tip. Not expecting much to happen.
She watched, transfixed, as the glimmering metal went right through the gem. The stone’s center became almost liquid, coating the end of the quill in sparkling crimson ink.
If the feather did that to a stone, she wondered what it would do to her skin.
Act immediately, while the source is fresh, Aurora had said, so she didn’t wonder for long. Pinching her lips in anticipation of a scream, she dug the tip of the feather against her arm.
Fire erupted through her veins, as if her blood had been set aflame. She screamed, grateful she had portaled to the Wildling newland, where no one would hear her. Sweat poured down her forehead, mixing with tears. She had never experienced such pain in her life, not when she had purposefully lit her arm on fire for the Centennial, not when she had been struck in the heart by an arrow.
It was almost enough for her to stop. Still, her fingers trembled as she mimicked the symbol she had practiced hundreds of times already. The delicate curve, the swirling lines, the tiny details.
Every single line has to be right, or your skin will flay from your bones. The skyre becomes a curse that will consume you.
She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her hand steady. When she finished the final sweep of ink, she dropped the feather and collapsed onto the floor.
Her arm was bloodied, the skin broken. It looked wrong. It looked like she had been bitten by a strangely fanged beast.
But slowly, the ink began to glisten. Shine. Until the skin around it tightened, painfully, melting into the marking.
It was done.
Her blood was roaring in her ears, searing through her body like lightning. She lifted her trembling hand, testing the skyre.
It was supposed to funnel her powers. Control them.
Energy spiraled out of her palm in a green-tinged crest. She jolted in surprise, watching as it hit the wall with precision, searing through one of the swords against the stone.
Slowly, she approached the singed metal. Studied the hole that had gone right through the wall.
Perfectly circular. Perfectly controlled.
She stared down at the gleaming ink upon her skin, thin as the weaving of a web. With it...her abilities felt like they had been forged into a weapon in her hand—a sword, or dagger, or throwing star, that she could throw with precision.
It was a shortcut. It came at a cost. She heard the warnings in her mind, but they didn’t matter...not when so many other lives were on the line.
Aurora was still her enemy...but she had helped her. The skyre had worked.
Do you know any other markings? She scribbled desperately.
The response came quickly. It made Isla’s heart sink. No.
Isla nearly grabbed the pen, before it started moving again. But I know where you can find out.
She found Grim in the greenhouse. In his black outfit, he looked like a demon at the center of an oasis, shadows staining the ground around his feet. They puddled as he turned around to face her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, joining him at his side. There was a balcony up a spiral staircase, overlooking all the nature. He was leaned against its ledge.
He blinked as if he had been lost in his mind. “I come here, sometimes. To think.” His gaze shifted to her. “To remember.”
Remember.
“Things...things were different back then,” she said, eyes glued on the fountain in the center. The one with a statue of her, smiling, holding a baby Wraith in her arms.
She could see him nod in her peripheral vision.
