Page 87 of Skyshade
She walked over to him as he cautiously eyed her. “Isn’t this comfortable?”
He frowned down at his outfit. “It’s fine.”
She made a sound of indignation. Her hands smoothed down his chest, the fabric softer than silk beneath her fingers. She groaned. “Tell me you can feel this,” she said, looking up at him. His eyes had darkened.
“Suddenly,” he said, “I’m liking it more.”
She beamed at him.
There was a small fireplace in their room, and they sat in front of it, watching the snow and trading stories from their childhoods. Isla told him about how she would sneak sticks and leaves in her pockets during training to build dolls out of them. One was named Stick-man.
“Creative from your first breath,” Grim said, and she flicked his nose again.
Grim told her how he had first discovered his flair. He was seven years old, in this very castle, and had just been locked inside of his room, as a punishment for allowing himself to be struck during training. He had banged on the cold glass windows and had wanted to be somewhere warmer. Somewhere different.
When he opened his eyes, he was on the beach below the Nightshade castle to the south. He had almost driven himself mad trying to get back to his room, in time for his guardians to check on him. He had managed to portal back just before dinner.
No one had noticed the sand in his shoes.
He had kept it a secret for as long as he could, knowing that once he shared the news with his father, his movements would be more closely monitored. It wasn’t until the portaling became a strategic fighting advantage that he shared his flair. By then he had mastered it, having traveled across Nightshade and beyond.
It was the same flair Cronan had been born with thousands of years before. She knew now how the comparison must have weighed on him. How it would have put even more pressure on him to become as monstrous as his ancestor.
“Are flairs usually passed down through family lines?”
Grim shook his head. “Besides rulers, only very few familial lines have flairs. It isn’t guaranteed and is rare.” Grim must have seen her confusion, because he added, “It is strange you have the same flair as your father. But anomalies happen.”
Speaking of family. “I talked to Astria.”
“Did you?” he sounded wary. Perhaps a bit amused.
“Yes. She told me she strongly advised you to stick my head on a pike.”
Grim’s shadows surged, but his smile was playful. “She’s very loyal to her family,” he deadpanned.
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“So. What did you say in response?”
The edges of her mouth twitched. “I told her that I heard the position of general runs in our family, and that I would be happy to replace her.”
Grim’s chest shook as he laughed. “You want to be my general,
Hearteater?”
She shook her head. “No. That would require listening to you. And I think far too highly of my own ideas to be able to do that.”
He laughed again. Fighting a smile, she thought it was the perfect time to tell him what Astria had told her about the romance books in the library. The ones about him.
His amusement withered away. He scowled. “Astria’s idea of a joke.”
Isla grinned. “No. Not a joke.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you know that how?”
Her smile brightened. “Because I read one.”
Grim shook his head at her. “That library’s days are numbered.” “I thought you would say that. So, I wanted to let you know I really like the library. And I would be very sad to see it reduced to a pile of ash.”
