Page 17 of Skyshade
“All I want is my child back.”
The only way to do that was to go to the otherworld, where souls could rise again. Getting there would require the death of all Lightlark. Thousands, including Oro. It wasn’t an option.
Cleo seemed to see it on her face, because her expression completely hardened. “Leave now. Don’t make me tempt fate.”
Isla gripped her portaling device and obeyed.
It had taken hours to get Wraith home. Portaling them both while flying with her starstick hadn’t worked. She’d had to wait until they reached land, where she could draw her puddle. By the time they went through and reached the stable, the storm had nearly crested. Wraith rolled onto his side and fell asleep immediately. Isla shivered as she portaled back into her room, barely meeting Lynx’s gaze as he snarled at her, displeased. She closed the doors to her bathroom and winced as she lowered herself into the steaming tub, the one she had once shared with Grim.
Now it was just her, knees against her chest, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.
The oracles were all dead. There was no one left to ask about her fate. No one left to help navigate the prophecy.
There was no easy option. Each would break her in different ways.
Oro was the obvious choice. Her life wasn’t bound to his.
She refused. She loved him—and, even if she didn’t, she couldn’t doom all his people and the island.
Grim’s death would also kill thousands, including her.
Then, of course, there was the fact that she might not have long to live at all anyway. How much time did binding Grim’s life to hers give her? The oracles might have known.
As she tightly gripped the edges of the tub, pinching her lips against a frustrated scream that would wake half the castle, part of her wished for her life before the Centennial. A fool locked in a glass room, thinking the only thing she would ever want was freedom. She remained in the tub until the water went cold.
First thing in the morning, a knock sounded on her door. She expected to find Grim there, to visit the other villages affected by the storms.
Instead, she found an attendant. He stood on the opposite side of the corridor, as if afraid to get close to her.
“Yes?”
“You have visitors,” he said. “They’re waiting in the throne room.”
She frowned. “I do? Who?”
“Your guardians.”
NIGHTBANE
“The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me,” Isla said.
Terra only huffed in twisted amusement as she regarded her. “The last time I saw you, you were bleeding yourself out for power.” She cocked her head. “How did that work for you?”
Isla might have lunged at her before. Now, after last night, she didn’t bother summoning the anger. She was drained.
And Terra was right. Bleeding herself out to amplify her abilities had been reckless.
Still, the longer she stared at her old teacher, just standing there as if she hadn’t lied to her for her entire life, the more a fury built in her bones. Hating her was easy. Terra had held her limbs to flames, had abandoned her in the middle of a storm, had knocked her unconscious with the hilt of her sword countless times during training.
Poppy, on the other hand...Isla watched her guardian nervously raking her nails against her thick skirts and wanted to sink to the floor. Poppy had held her hand while she received treatment for the injuries she received while training. Poppy had hummed while making tea filled with honeycomb. If Terra had been the blade, Poppy had been the balm. “Little bird—”
“Don’t call me that,” Isla snapped.
“Isla,” Poppy corrected, her eyes darting to Terra nervously. “We can return another time, if—”
“I banished you,” Isla said, her voice raising. “You killed my parents. You killed the last ruler of Wildling. You—”
Terra sighed impatiently, and the anger Isla had tried to bury came creeping back up. “I did hope surviving the Centennial would make you less of a fool.”
