Page 173 of Grim and Oro
It’s true.
The Wildling is angry.Good. I’m glad she sees the Nightshade for what he is. Villainous. Selfish.
Then it’s her turn. And, like the gods are laughing at me for my strange fascination with her, she turns to face me. “Would you make me a fire?” she says. Her request fills me with irritation.
Stop talking to me. Your voice is already in my head far too much.
Stop asking things of me, I want to say. I’m afraid of what I’ll give you.
I create a column of fire in the center of the demonstration ring, just so she’ll stop looking at me. Then, she does the unthinkable.
She puts her entire arm into the fire.
My blood roars with the need to put it out. I barely resist the urge to pull her from the flames. But I don’t. She knows what she’s doing.
I hope she knows what she’s doing.
She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream, though I cansee the skin melting from her bones.
She is strong. She is brave.
She is anidiot.
Cries of horror fill the arena, until she finally removes her arm—and I finally loosen a breath. Then, my jaw nearly drops, seeing the ribbons of skin, the red, the visiblebone.
Mouth tightening, not willing to make even a whisper of agony, she produces a vial of thick liquid. She takes the top off with her teeth, then pours it over her skin, and I watch it regrow, quicker than any Moonling healing I’ve ever witnessed.
I’m filled with awe and fury. A familiar mix, when it comes to her.
It’s a potent, dramatic demonstration. Shechosethis. The Wildling clearly wants the rest of the island to see her realm is of value.
Butsheherself was the price.
She must have a lot to lose. She must be willing to do a lot to win. She has secrets. I know she does.
And I’m going to make it my personal mission to uncover them.
DESIRE
As my emotions begin to rise, so do memories.
They’ve been long buried. Now, I remember bits and pieces of my childhood. I remember Elk, my Wildling teacher. I remember him speaking reverently about plants. I remember my mother speakingtoher garden, like it could hear her.
The heart of Lightlark blooms every so often, and is always attached to a living thing, according to the few texts I’ve discovered about it. I’ve been to every forest on the island since then, it seems, without any success. It’s like the heart is hiding from me.
The Wildling doesn’t leave the palace tonight, and I’m already awake, so I fly to Sky Isle and search yet another field. Lost in my mind, I happen upon a plant that stings. Cursing it—and the Wildling—for invading my thoughts, I fly home. Just an hour later, while the moon still shines brightly, the invitation arrives.
Moonling. Cleo’s test.
Of course, she would drag everyone out of their beds for her trial. When I arrive at the arena, it has been transformed into a cold, watery maze. The ice is smooth beneath my feet. Centuries ago, the chill would have pierced my bones. Now, it’s barely a nuisance. I found my fire.
The Wildling, on the other hand, is shaking on her platform next to me. I try hard not to notice. I try hard not to pay attention to the sound of her teeth chattering.
She, apparently, is paying attention tome.
“Giselroot, nasty thing,” she says, and I turn to her, startled. She’s looking at my arm. At the rash that’s been forming from the poisonous plant.
“You know what this is?” I’ve never been to the Wildling newland. I know Wildlings took some of their seeds with them, but I’m shocked she’s familiar with a plant that grows on Sky Isle.
