Page 133 of Grim and Oro
They were all there, dead. And then they were gone, with Grimshaw standing in the middle of them. He had destroyed them, somehow.
It was cruel. It went against the ways of war.
Calder stands too. He places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s done. He’s in the cells.” He pauses. “But they will release him, eventually, to truly fulfill the treaty.” He’s right. “We will be living among him, at some point, whether we like it or not. Best to try to live in peace.”
Peace. It’s Calder’s dream. A world without conflict.
It’s a lie. It’s impossible. Because even though the war is over ... this doesn’t feel like peace at all.
Stretches of Lightlark have been reduced to ash and rubble. War has left its mark not just on the island—but on my mind.
Rage is all I know. I retreat to quiet corners of the island to burn everything in my path. I find myself dreaming of sailing to Nightshade to stab a thousand blades through its ruler.
His son is the next-best option.
“I’ll visit him,” I say, calmly.
All eyes shoot to me.
“Oro—” Enya says, her voice a warning. She knows the state I’ve been in. I haven’t been myself. None of us have. That’s the thing about war. There are no true survivors. No one walks away unscathed.
“I’m just going to talk to him,” I say through my teeth. “You’re worried he’s planning something. If he is ... I’ll know.”
They all know about my flair. If anyone can learn the truth of the Nightshade’s intentions, it’s me.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Calder says.
He’s right.
But I’m doing it anyway.
Grimshaw Malvere still looks like a demon, even tied up in a prison.
He bites out a laugh when I step in front of the cell. Without even looking up, he seems to sense me, somehow.
His arms are above his head, chained to the wall. His head is bent forward, dark hair hiding his face.
His voice is pure amusement. “They sentyou? The second son?”
Fire erupts in the middle of the cell. I used to pride myself on control. On burying my emotions.
But I can’t. I see him—and I see his father.
I see his father cutting down my mother.
I’ve never wanted to kill anyone until now. Hedeservesit. He might not have wielded the blade that killed my parents, but he killedthousands. He’s responsible for endless death.
I expect him to fight his chains as the fire rages closer. Iwanthim to scream, to suffer,the way I have suffered.
But he doesn’t move. Not an inch. Flames spread through the cell, catching on dry leaves and hay, roaring until it’s almost at his feet.
“You’re going to die,” I tell him, my voice unrecognizable. This is reckless. This will lead to even more bloodshed. But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I grip the iron bars of his cell, so I can watch.
He still doesn’t shift a muscle. Even as the fire travels close enough to burn.
Finally, he looks up at me. His pale face is marred with cuts and bruises. “You act as if it’s a bad thing.”
I rip the flames away in shock. My hands are in fists around the bars of his cell. My voice is pure malice. “You killed a lot of people for someone who doesn’t value their own life.”
