The Moonling looked intrigued. “Here I was, thinking we were enemies.”
“You’re not my enemy,” Isla said. “I’ve watched your every move. You always do what’s best for your realm. Leaving Lightlark would be a mistake.”
“Would it?” she said, seeming bored.
“Lightlark is the base of your abilities. If you leave and Lightlark falls, your people won’t last.”
Cleo almost smiled. Surprisingly, it didn’t look cruel. Her expression, more than anything, seemed sad. “You know so little,” she said, her voice empty of any contempt. “You assume you know my motivations. You assume your facts are truth.”
Isla narrowed her eyes. “You found something out before the last Centennial. That’s why you didn’t attend. That’s why you’ve been building ships. That’s why you are considering evacuating your people from Lightlark. Isn’t it?”
Cleo said nothing. The Moonling only tilted her head at Isla, as if appraising a dull rock, searching for any hidden glint.
Isla took a step forward. “Answer me,” she yelled, and thorns grew around her wrists, out of nowhere, trailing down to the floor.
A dozen Moonling guards surrounded her in seconds. Avel and Ciel were at her sides, each of their hands on her arms, ready to fly her to safety. She had her starstick just in case. She felt invincible.
The Moonling frowned at the thorns dripping from Isla’s palms. “What a waste,” Cleo said, then she turned toward the massive, frozen doors of her palace.
“We could work together,” Isla said.
That made the Moonling stop in her tracks. She turned around, the hem of her white dress hissing across the iced-over stone.
Isla took her chance. “Wildlings and Moonlings are more similar than you might like to imagine,” she said. “You have frozen, infertile lands. We have started to learn how to grow crops again. We could help you, so you don’t have to rely on fishing. You can vary your diets.” Lately, Moonlings weren’t seen in the markets. They had almost completely cut themselves off from the other realms.
The Moonling’s expression remained as still as the frost beneath her feet. Unconvinced.
“We are also healers,” she said. “The elixir I demonstrated during the Centennial—we know how to make it. Between your people’s natural healing abilities and the ones we can extract from nature, we could mend almost anything.”
Cleo stared at her for a moment. Another. Then, she turned away again.
“What happened?” Isla asked. “What happened a century ago? Why didn’t you attend the fourth Centennial?”
At that, ice swept across the isle. It rippled in every direction and hardened beneath Isla’s feet. She had to sprout vines from her hands to root her in place, to keep from slipping. Ciel and Avel braced her sides, wind circling around their bodies to keep them still.
Cleo turned. “You dare ask me a question like that?”
Isla took a step forward, beyond her Skyling guards, her roots digging into the ice, keeping her grounded. “I do,” she said. “Something happened. What was it?”
For the fraction of a second, Isla caught a sliver of real emotion that made its way past the Moonling’s normally icy mask. Pain.
Cleo could feel pain?
“We both want the same thing. For our realms to survive.
We can help each other.” Cleo looked doubtful, and Isla growled. “I know you hate me, but you love your people. Do it for them.”
To her immense surprise, the Moonling smirked. “I don’t hate you,” she said. Then she turned, and the ice around her retracted, curling back to its source.
Only when she was almost at the palace’s front doors did Isla hear the Moonling ruler say, “I’ll consider it,” before sweeping inside.
Grim was coming to destroy Lightlark in twenty-nine days.
From her vision, she had figured an attack was inevitable, but that didn’t help the pain of knowing someone she once cared about was set on destroying everything she now loved.
Oro was irrevocably connected to Lightlark, as king. If the island fell . . . so would he.
All representatives were called for a meeting first thing the next morning. Isla hadn’t told Oro about her visit to Cleo the night prior. As she watched the door, her hope the Moonling would stay withered. Grim’s declaration of an attack was the perfect excuse for Cleo to leave Lightlark once and for all, on her ships. The Moonling newland was well established and not under threat. It would be so easy for Cleo to take her people and flee.
They couldn’t leave. If the other realms went to war with Nightshade they would need Moonlings and their healers more than ever.
Enya was at her side, curling and uncurling her fingers. Anxiety spiraled through the room. The same people from the dinner were present now, but this time there were no floating foods or flame-trimmed goblets, or fish trapped in ice.
This time, instead of whispers, there was only silence.
The clock began to chime, marking the hour.
Just before the last ring, Cleo swept into the throne room, and Isla tried her best not to fall out of her chair in surprise. The Moonling ruler had listened.
She had stayed.
Soren’s cane cracked against Cleo’s icy wake as they both made their way to their seats.
Oro did not waste a moment. “We have twenty-nine days before Lightlark is under siege. Twenty-nine days to figure out how to stop Grim.”
Silence broke open, and questions spilled over.
“Can he even do that?”
“Does he control the winged beasts from the coronation attack?”
“It’s five realms against one; we can protect the island, can’t we?”
“What did he mean ‘new future’?”
One of Isla’s necklaces sat heavy against her throat as she swallowed, seeing flashes of her vision.
Grim could do it. Grim could destroy them all.
She blinked and found Cleo watching her intently. The Moonling wasn’t focused on the lively debate around her. She was just staring at Isla, the specter of a smile on her mouth, the look of someone who knew a secret.
“Yes?” Cleo said suddenly, responding to Oro, because apparently, she had been listening. Her eyes remained fixed on Isla’s.
“Is the oracle awake?” Oro asked.
She shook her head. “I visited the moment I returned to the isle, and she refused to thaw.”
There was muttering. Heat flamed from Oro, but he moved on to his next question. “How many healers do you have?” Oro asked.
“Nearly a hundred on Lightlark. Triple that on the newland,” Cleo answered.
Isla jumped in. “Combined with our healing elixirs, we’ll be able to heal almost any injury. We’ll start producing more right away.” Her back was straight. She glanced at Soren, daring him to question her the way he had at the last dinner. He said nothing.
“Both will be critical,” Azul said. He trailed his gem-covered fingers across the table and shook his head. “If Grim is taking on all other realms, he must be well equipped, and determined. He must want something. This isn’t just about destroying the island, or he would have done it during the curses, when we were most vulnerable.”
For a moment, Oro’s eyes flicked to Isla. She knew what he thought.
Grim wanted her.
No. If this was about wanting her, he could have appeared at this very moment and taken her. She agreed with Azul. There was a purpose for Grim’s destruction. If they knew what it was, perhaps they could stop him.
Oro’s gaze was pure fire. “Whatever he wants, his intent is clear. He is coming to destroy us. We need to use every resource we have, every bit of ability.” He addressed them all. Heat scorched the room. “This is our home. It is our future. Our power lives here. Without the island, our realms will die. We have twenty-nine days to either save Lightlark . . . or lose it forever.”