There was no wind, yet the trees rustled in greeting. She took another step, and the dirt trembled around her toes, as if power surrounded her. All thoughts drained from her mind.
She placed a hand against the nearest tree, and moss flowed from her fingers, rippling down to the grassy forest floor. The grass grew to a wild height that reached a branch that sprouted bright-purple wisteria. The flowers spiraled down the branch in bunches like bracelets, until the end, where an acorn grew, drooping like an earring. It became so large that it fell, right into Isla’s palm.
This was what it meant to be Wildling.
She took off running. The world stepped to the side to let her through. Trees moved their branches, vines on the ground curled back toward their roots, animals waited for her to pass. A group of birds followed her path, their chirps sounding like encouragement. Flowers sprouted as soon as her feet left the soil, filling her footprints. A blanket of marigolds and roses bloomed in her wake.
She jumped into the air, hand outstretched, and a vine soared to meet it. She swung, careening through the forest, landing in a tree. She didn’t stop, she kept running, and a bridge of branches formed before her, spanning across the top of the woods in a pathway.
It was a flow, a heightened state, a different awareness. She tasted the forest on the tip of her tongue, moss and dew and pine. A warmth traveled through her bones, as if parts of her that had been dormant were now awakening, a flower in her chest finally blooming under the sun. The woods uncurled at her proximity.
The forest was alive—she could see it now as she ran across its back. It was on her side. It would never hurt her again.
It was part of her.
She ran and ran, climbing higher. Nature raced to meet her every need, without her even having to think it. Her focus was complete, she had given all of herself to the woods. In that moment, they were one entity—she could feel it around her, a heartbeat, an ever-changing and flowing force.
It felt like nothing could break that concentration, until she looked down and saw Grim standing far below, watching her.
Isla gasped. Her focus fell, and her pathway along with it. She crashed through the treetops. A branch hit her back, stealing her breath. Her vision swam with shadows. Her head knocked against another branch, and the pain was blinding. She reached for anything to hold on to, but her fingers were sweaty, and she couldn’t get purchase.
The forest would save her, wouldn’t it?
Her connection had given out. She was a stranger, yet again.
No. Her powers would lash out. Surely, they would save her. Her Starling abilities. Wildling. Even Nightshade.
They wouldn’t let her die—
She gasped, watching the ground rush up to meet her.
Just before she hit the forest floor, two strong arms caught her.
Avel was panting over her. Her pale face was flushed red and sweat dripped down her cropped hair. “You fall fast, Ruler,” she said, out of breath.
Isla’s eyes were wide. “You were there?” She had thought she had sneaked out of her quarters successfully.
She was such a fool. One drop, and her people would have been dead. How could she be so careless?
She had felt so in control. So powerful.
Control was fickle, she realized.
“We’re always here,” she said, and Ciel came crashing through the trees to land next to them. His face was flushed too. In that moment, they looked identical.
“Thank you,” she said, though those words would never be enough.
Avel and Ciel took her back to the Wildling palace, and Isla watched the forest floor for any sign of Grim.
LYNX
By the time the volunteers left, the Wildlings had their homes fixed, a steady food supply, new skills, and resources. Isla decided to stay behind for a couple of days, to spend time with her people. She sent Ciel and Avel back to Lightlark, to help in Azul’s search for the rebels. Oro had insisted on staying, not wanting to leave her alone, but she knew he had spent too much time on her already. She told him to trust her, and he did. On the Wildling newland, she felt safe.
She got to know each of the Wildlings in the village and ventured to other settlements close by. Wren took Isla into the forest and taught her a few Wildling wielding techniques, including stances, arm movements, and uses of ability. They spoke for hours.
At the end of one of these lessons, she caught Wren studying her, and said, “What is it?”
Wren shook her head. “It’s just—we always wondered why you never came to see us,” she said. “I know why now, but before . . . we were confused. Your mother is the only other ruler I’ve ever known, and she was always there. Playing in the village. Talking to us. She knew everyone. Everyone loved her.”
Her mother.
“What—what was she like?” Isla asked, her voice small. She felt like a child again, clinging to any mention of her mother. Terra and Poppy almost never spoke about her.
Wren smiled. “She was extraordinary,” she said. “Fearless. Reckless, at times.” Her smile faded. “We grieved her immensely and hoped to know you too. But . . .” She shrugged. “I suppose we did know something must be going on,” she said. “We were curious . . . when you didn’t take a bonded.”
Isla’s brows came together. “Take a what?”
“A bonded,” Wren said. She lifted her arm, and a massive hawk with a stripe of orange on its back came soaring down from the treetops, landing on her sleeve. The bird blinked at her with its sharp eyes.
“Oh, an animal companion,” Isla said.
“A bonded,” Wren repeated. Isla didn’t know why it seemed to be important to Wren, but if taking one showed that Isla was a Wildling, even though she hadn’t had their curse or powers up until recently—
“I’ll take one,” Isla said. “If it’s not too late.” It might be a pain to transport the creature with her everywhere, and she didn’t know how Oro would feel about an animal residing in the Mainland castle, but she would figure that out later. Gaining her people’s trust was more important.
Wren seemed surprised. “You would do the ceremony?”
Isla didn’t know anything about a ceremony, but she said, “Of course.”
Wren smiled. “Then I will announce it,” she said. She looked around, felt a leaf between two fingers, and studied the treetops. “Tonight is a good night . . . yes, tonight will work.”
Tonight.
Okay. Isla could do tonight. “So . . .” she said. “I can pick anything? An insect”—that would be easier to carry around—“a bird”—could be useful to transport messages—“a . . . butterfly?”
Wren shook her head sharply. “A bonded reflects the disposition of a person. For rulers, it represents their power and strength.”
So, Isla would be expected to bond with a larger animal. Great. That would make things more difficult, but she couldn’t very well back out now.
“And you don’t pick your bonded,” Wren continued. “It’s the other way around.” Her eyes were fierce. “The bonded chooses you.”
. . .
Isla was wading in water up to her knees. The ceremony, it turned out, was far more complicated than she had anticipated. This was a sacred part of the newland, Wren told her, the oldest part, born of seeds and creatures taken straight from Lightlark. It was a swamp, with grass that grew taller than her, water lilies as large as rugs, mud that seeped between her bare toes, and slick creatures that moved below the dark water, smoothing around her ankles.
She was at the very front, a leader who had no idea where she was going. She should have asked more questions, she thought bitterly, though they would have revealed how little she knew about her people and their customs.