Page 165 of Grim and Oro
Are they working together?
We are in the dining hall for Azul’s demonstration: a show of power. Azul is the least likely ruler to create a scenario in which someone will die. But there is a reason behind everything he does.
I watch Grim and Isla, trying my best to guess at their possible plan through body language and gestures. If they are working together ... are they here to kill me? Is that why Grim has returned? No one from their realms has lived here in centuries. My death would not affect them as much as the rest. But why would Grim align himself with such an inexperienced ruler? Perhaps because it will be easier to betray her later.
Azul invites the Nightshade to start.
Grimshaw stands, and the strength of my hatred overwhelms me. He has the nerve to look over at me, as if he can feel my loathing. His expression is mocking, almost pleased. But there’s something else there ... something I can’t quite decipher.
The demon opens his palm, and the room shatters.
Nobles scream. Darkness spills everywhere, as though the night sky has fallen atop us. I close my eyes tightly against the illusion—I know a lie when I see it—and fight against a wave of sadness long buried. The screams sound just like they did the day the curses werespun. When this demon’s power ruined the island. Ruined my life. Ruinedeverything.
The room is back to normal when I open my eyes again, but I’m more nervous than ever. He’s killed thousands before. Has he just shown us the future? Is he here to destroy the island?
He didn’t have those ambitions the last time he was here. But five centuries is a long time.
“Cleo, if you would,” Azul says, breaking my focus on Grim.
Cleo strides to the front of the table, her white cape flowing behind her, liquid. She lifts her arms, and wine shoots toward the ceiling, forming sharks with mouths open to display rows of violent teeth. Dramatic, of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my former Moonling instructor. Just like Grimshaw, Cleo clearly came back for a reason. Why return for this Centennial? Why miss the last?
“Celeste?”
The Starling stands. She looks nervous as she walks to the front of the room, under the scrutiny of nobles who view her realm as lesser. It’s almost ridiculous, knowing that centuries before, they were one of the strongest realms. Starlings have had it the worst over the centuries. Constantly dying. Not able to live past twenty-five. Their isle is in peril. Just when I think I’m making progress toward solving some of their problems, new ones arise, as if impossible to tug from the root.
The room explodes in a mess of silver sparks. It’s an unfamiliar color in this court. We used to have great Starlings with magnificent powers. They were artists.
Now, all of them are gone.
Azul goes next. His power is graceful, mastered over centuries. He creates clouds, light and luminous, that quickly darken into storms.
I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. It seems prophetic. Inevitable.
The storms have swallowed the island for centuries, nearly wiping all our sun away, cloaking our island in near-constant darkness.It makes our Sunling curse more manageable, but the clouds are known to clear erratically. Many have burned by emerging during the day, putting their trust in the storms. Most of us don’t risk it. My world has become one of night and darkness and cold.
The clouds dissipate and I wonder if Azul will ask me to demonstrate next, but he is very clearly looking at the Wildling.
The Wildling.
Everyone is watching her, and she is afraid.
Her fear is obvious in the way she slowly rises. In the set of her delicate jaw. In the lowering of her shoulders, as if she’s mentally reminding herself tolookat ease, even if she isn’t.
I already know too much about her, her expressions and movements.
I’ve been watching her too closely.
Just as I’m about to look away, her melodious voice rings through the room. “King? Would you assist me in my demonstration?”
King. Just like my hatred for Grim, my hatred for that word has never wavered in the last five hundred years.
Her request is not something I should deny, not in front of all these people. So, I smooth my face, ridding it of expression. I bury my emotions the way I have every single day for centuries.
I rise.
I offer her my hand. It feels like I’ve already given her so much more. She takes it, and my lips involuntarily part. I feel my eyes narrow. A shock has gone through my arm, right to my chest—
She doesn’t notice my reaction. She doesn’t even look at me as she leads me to the center of the room.
