Page 113 of Skyshade
The missing pages had to be nearby, even if she couldn’t see them. She walked through the forest until she saw a flash of something tall and glimmering through the treetops. The tooth heated, leading her toward it.
She stepped out of the woods and swallowed.
Massive gates stood before her, wrought in twisted ornate gold. They had to be over a hundred feet tall.
She took a step forward, and the tooth in her pocket nearly seared into her flesh, through the fabric. Its message was clear—the prophet’s blood-inked pages were on the other side.
Her hand reached to touch the burning metal. She pushed.
Nothing happened.
She pushed harder. It didn’t so much as tremble beneath her hands.
Her power was nearly spent from the battle. Her body was aching. Neither mattered when Lark threatened the world. With a steadying breath, she bent her knees, then took off into the air, the delicate weaving of the metal right in front of her face, until she was above it. She moved to fly over it—
And was met with resistance, like an invisible shield rippled out in all directions, where the gates couldn’t reach. It was as solid as the metal itself.
Lark’s forces could be rising at that very moment. She didn’t have time. She reached for Grim’s power, straining with effort, meaning to portal to the other side.
It didn’t work.
Her landing rattled her bones. She frowned as she lifted her hand, energy spiraling out of it, enough to turn the gates into a mangled mess.
Nothing happened. The gates were impenetrable. Shielded.
Not for long. She fell back into the forest. Closed her eyes. Breathed in and out, felt the woods whispering around her.
Threads, reaching out.
She pulled all of them.
Trees were ripped from their roots, scraped until they were sharp, until they were tied together to form a massive battering ram. Her hand shook as she kept it levitating, moving the ram toward the entrance. She sent her shoulder back, intending to slam it through the gates.
And was knocked off her feet.
Her back collided with a tree behind her. She lost her grip on the ram, and the forest shook as it fell to the ground.
There was a blade at her throat.
And amber eyes pinning her in place.
Oro wasn’t breathing. Isla was breathing far too much, panting in his face. His golden hair was disheveled, his clothes were darker than usual, and he was staring her down like she couldn’t possibly be real.
His eyes slipped down her body, slowly, and she felt his gaze like rough knuckles dragging down her neck, her chest, her ribs, her hips, her legs. Then, his eyes were meeting hers again, and it was undeniable, this force between them, an energy quivering like a strike of lightning.
It was almost enough to forget his dagger against her pulse.
He looked down at it, as if remembering. Still, he did not lower it. No, if anything, his grip tightened. The metal dug sharper against her skin. He leaned forward, and she didn’t know if he meant for his hips to pin hers against the tree; but that was the result, and she swallowed against the blade.
“I should kill you,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers. “I should really kill you.” She couldn’t help but think this was the same position they’d been in when he had first kissed her. She could almost taste him, the summer and heat and fire—part of her wanted him to do it now.
No. She shook away that thought. She loved Grim. She had just been with him—
But her heart was split in half. And one piece belonged to the king in front of her, holding his blade against her pulse.
Until he straightened, leaving her sprawled against the tree, heart thundering for conflicting reasons.
“What are you doing here, Isla?” he asked. There was no friendliness in his tone. No love, though she could feel it, a shining bridge between them. “Are you here to kill me too?”
