Run.
She took off down the side of the hill, into a forest. She didn’t know if nature was dangerous everywhere, but she would rather take the risk of the woods hurting her over a blacksmith who sensed blood.
Her heart drummed in her ears as she fought her way through the thicket. The branches cut through her clothes. She used her arms as shields, barreling her way through.
She felt the moment the creature entered the woods. All her senses seemed to heighten in warning. The forest itself seemed to still. Chills swept down her spine. It was as if her body knew there was a predator. And she was being hunted.
There was the crack of splitting bark as an arrow lodged itself an inch to her right, into the tree at her side. It was metal tipped. It would have gone right through her neck, with better aim. She gasped and took off again.
Another arrow whizzed by, and Isla didn’t even bother to look where it went. She just ran and ran, crashing through branches and jumping over snaking vines.
The forest dipped low, and she lost her footing.
Suddenly, she was falling. She screamed out as her shoulder crunched painfully, her elbow scraped against a rock, her leg moved in an awkward direction. Her body tumbled quickly, only stopping when she hit a tree.
Then, silence as the world stilled and her pain caught up with her. She screamed soundlessly against the back of her hand. Dirt and mud caked her every inch. Her shoulder—something was wrong with it. Her entire body felt like a bruise.
Get up, that instinct in her mind said.
It was too late.
Footsteps sounded close by. Heavy steps that she heard even through the rain. Isla didn’t dare move a muscle as the predator inched closer. Closer.
He stopped right in front of her.
The blacksmith leaned down, crouched to look upon the heap that was her broken body.
That was when she struck. She gripped the dagger she always kept on her and stabbed the blacksmith right through the eye.
He roared, and Isla scrambled to her feet. It took one step to realize something had happened to her ankle. She couldn’t move—
She had to move.
Isla spotted a fence and limped forward. It was high. The gate was open. If she could just get through, maybe she could get it closed. Maybe she could figure out a plan.
She could hear the blacksmith getting up. He roared words into the rain that she didn’t understand. She didn’t dare turn around.
The whistle of an arrow, and she ducked low. It skimmed right above her head. She leaped to the side—her shoulder and ankle screaming in pain—behind a tree, and another arrow flew past.
She ran the last few steps, dragging her foot behind her, until she was past the fence. Her shaking hands hauled the gate closed and she collapsed against it.
Her teeth gritted against the pain. She closed her eyes as her body trembled against the gate. Hopefully it would hold. Her hands ran down its strange pattern. It was so smooth. Made of mismatched parts. So—
She opened her eyes. Looked behind her at the gate. And found that the entire fence was made of melded skulls and bones.
A yelp escaped her throat, and she scrambled back on the muddy ground, her fingers sinking into it. Her back crashed into something solid, and she screamed again.
Just then, the entire gate ripped off its hinges.
The blacksmith stood there, her dagger still lodged through his eye.
He was the most muscular man Isla had ever seen. His arms were enormous. He was holding a massive hammer that looked like it would go right through her body if she was hit with it. He had long, flowing black hair. Skin the pallor of a corpse.
Isla scrambled back against the other wall she had hit, a scream lodged in her throat.
The wall spoke. It sounded bored. “You can’t have her, Baron. At least . . . not yet.” She looked up and saw Grim frowning down at her. Not a wall. She had crashed into his legs. He raised an eyebrow. “I told you not to cut yourself, Hearteater.”
The overwhelming urge to put a dagger through his eye filled her, but she couldn’t stand again if she tried.
The blacksmith—Baron—hissed and returned the hammer to a holster on his back. “Ruler,” he said, bending onto a knee. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Black diamond hilt. Twin blades. You know the sword.”
The blacksmith smiled proudly. Isla wondered if he was ever going to take the blade out of his eye. “I do. A very special weapon indeed. Among my best work.”
Grim motioned toward her. “You’ve sensed her blood. Can she help me find it?”
The blacksmith pursed his lips. Considered. “She can.”
This was why he needed her. Isla was trembling on the ground, but she found her voice long enough to say, “Why can’t he find it himself?” She wondered if the blacksmith would answer her after she stabbed him in the face. Or if Grim would even allow him to.
The blacksmith met her gaze with his now single eye, and a shiver snaked down her spine. After a moment, he said, “The sword was cursed so no Nightshade ruler can claim it. If the sword so much as senses his ability, it will disappear.”
So Grim couldn’t use his powers to find it. This was why he needed her . . . though that didn’t make sense.
Why not force one of his people to search for it? Why choose one of his rivals in the Centennial?
Before she could ask anything else, Grim said, “Do you know where it is?”
“Decades ago, I heard it had been stolen from a Skyling market. I sensed it return here, to Nightshade. Since then, nothing.” He frowned. “I can’t feel it anymore. Wherever it is . . . it’s slumbering.”
“Is there anything else we should know?”
The blacksmith opened his mouth again. His eyes darted to Isla. Then he closed his mouth. “Nothing else,” he said.
“Good. Now, return the dagger. We’ll be going.”
The blacksmith roughly pulled Isla’s weapon from his eye. What was left . . . Isla looked away to keep from retching.
He bent low to return it to her. Isla reached out with shaking fingers. Dark blood coated her blade. The rain only partially washed it away.
Before he handed it back, the blacksmith said, “You weren’t supposed to be able to do that.”
Then he walked back up through the forest to his forge, and Isla was left with burning questions.
And anger.
She turned on the ground to face Grim. “You demon. You almost got me killed. You—”
He rolled his eyes. “I was there. You were never in any danger.”
Isla’s entire body shook with her fury. “Never in any danger? My ankle—something is wrong with it. And my shoulder.” She shook her head. “Why? Why let him hunt me?”
Grim shrugged. “I wanted to see how you would fare without me. Call it curiosity.”
“Curiosity? Curiosity?” She attempted to stand, dagger gripped tightly in her hand, but her ankle rolled, and she nearly fell over.
Grim caught her beneath the arms. She tried to shake herself away, but it was no use. His grip was hard as marble.
“Why didn’t you use your Wildling powers in the forest?” he asked.
The lie came easily. “You didn’t portal directly to the house. You didn’t use your own powers. I figured . . . there was a reason.”
He just stared down at her.
She tried to move away again, then grimaced as pain shot down her shoulder. Grim held her still. He frowned. “It’s out of its socket. I have to right it.” Grim twisted her around, so her back was to him. He leaned down and said, “This will hurt.”
Before she could object, his hands twisted, and she screamed so loudly, it hurt her own ears.
“Done,” he said. “Now, there’s nothing I can do about that ankle.”