Page 2 of Grim and Oro
It’s only when we slip through the door, out into the gardens, that I finally loosen a breath. The cool air hits me and my muscles relax, tension uncoiling.
I hate the staleness of inside. Here in the cold, I feel like I can finally breathe.
One moment. I get one moment of peace.
Then Laila drops her shadow and starts running. She startslaughing. I curse and run after her, frost-coated blades of grass scraping my ankles as I weave through the perfectly shaped trees and ancient statues just beyond the giant, mysterious hedge maze. The statues represent our ancestors, immortalized in stone. Thewinners. The ones strong enough to continue our line.
The guardians could be watching from the windows, as they sometimes do. The patrolling guards could see us. We aren’t supposed to leave the winter palace by ourselves. More than that, we aren’t supposed to be speaking to each other, let alone being friendly. None of the heirs are.
Laila’s going to get us in trouble.
When I tell her so, she throws me a look over her shoulder. Her black hair is stick-straight, crudely cut by her own sword to just above her shoulders. “Good. I like trouble.”
“That’s because you don’t get punished like the rest of us.”
Laila is our father’s favorite. She’s one of his only children with a flair, an extra power that the bloodline doesn’t guarantee. She can turn into a bat, with fangs sharp enough to rip out someone’s neck.
She did, once. The act of violence only made Father like her more.
I’m not like Laila. Father has the guardians punish me every time I break the rules. Tonight, we’re breaking several.
Laila and I have broken the rules for years now, though.
Whenever we get caught, she uses her flair to fly away, leaving me to deal with the consequences. She doesn’t even feel bad about it. I know. I might not have a flair, but I can feel the emotions of those around me, an increasingly rare Nightshade power. I’ve never sensed anything remotely like regret from her. Maybe her abandonment should hurt. All I feel is admiration.
After all, it’s what will make her a good ruler one day. Just like Father, who has also never felt remorse.
One day soon, we will fight to the death at the Gauntlet to determine who becomes Father’s heir, just as Father did before us, and his father before him: each generation since Cronan founded Nightshade pitted against their own. Only the strongest from each generation continues the line, while the rest feed the land with their blood.
Once the youngest of us reaches training age, we must do the same.
Laila finally slows her pace, then stops, mud-laden snow sputtering around her leather boots. She’s facing a low stone wall that encircles the perimeter of the grounds. I come to a halt next to her, our breaths releasing in clouds. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” Laila says, turning to face me. “The Gauntlet.”
“No.”
She laughs. It’s a gentle sound, completely at odds with her sharp, catlike eyes. “You, Grimshaw, are a terrible liar.”
I scowl. “Don’t call me that.”
Father calls me by my full name. And my skin crawls every time I hear it. It doesn’t sound like me. It sounds like someone else.
“You are a terrible liar,Grim. Happy?”
Never.
I sigh. “Fine. I was thinking about it. Don’t you?”
She shrugs. “Of course I do. But I don’t get sad.”
“That’s because you know you’re going to win.”
She grins, flashing her white teeth, canines sharper than mine.
“I’ll make it easy,” she says. “Your death. I won’t make it hurt.”
Small mercies.
I crouch to help Laila up, and, when she’s at the top of the wall, she reaches back for me. My feet are frozen in my boots by the time we trek up the hill. My nose is numb. I don’t mind the cold—in fact, I like it—but it also feels like I might be dying. If I had known we would hike for this long, I would have worn thicker fabrics. I would have found socks that didn’t have holes in them. I’m about to tell Laila we should turn around, when I see it.
