She sighed, wincing at another shot of pain. “I was thinking I could find the sword without you,” she said honestly.
Isla leaned against his chest, gritting her teeth against the pulling of the glass. Some shards were small, but others felt like knives being plucked from her palms. She tried to breathe past it. The same pain, over and over, she could almost get used to. She had learned that during the hours she had spent preparing for specific Centennial ceremonies.
“I went looking for you, before,” she said, voice just a rasp.
“I know.”
The woman must have told him. Her cheeks suddenly heated with embarrassment. And . . . something else. Her next question bubbled out of her. “Who was that woman?”
“She’s my general,” he said.
His general. “Does she suspect . . . ?”
“I told her you were someone I had found to bed from another realm.”
Isla swallowed. He said the words so simply . . . was that what she was to him? A girl from another realm he had clearly, at Creetan’s Crag, wanted to bed?
Inside, she felt like shattered glass, but she closed her eyes and said as smoothly as she could manage, “I know where the sword is. The thief in Creetan’s Crag told me.”
“Where?”
“The Caves of Irida.”
“I know it.”
She expected him to look happier about this development; they were so much closer to finding the sword, but his focus was still pinned on her hand. The last piece of glass on that hand clinked against the bowl. He leaned down and whispered right near her ear, “This is going to hurt,” before he poured alcohol over her hand.
Grim pressed his palm against her scream. She was grateful. It was an anchor in the sea of pain.
It was blinding. She writhed against him, and he cleared his throat. One of his hands pressed against her hip, holding her still.
“If you can help it,” he ground out, “please stop that.”
Oh.
She froze.
She was suddenly far too conscious of his body pressed against her as he reached for her other hand and began again.
Underneath her, Grim had tensed completely. His eyes were trained on her palm. He looked intent on his task.
She was not. What was wrong with her? The pain slowly muted as she focused on every graze of his callused fingers against hers. Every part of her was too sensitive. She was now very aware of every place they were touching. The chin against the crown of her head. The muscled torso behind her, hard as rock. Beneath her . . .
She drew a shaky breath.
Grim seemed to rush, because just a few moments later, he said, “Done.” This time, he easily lifted her off him before pouring the alcohol on her hand. She closed her eyes tightly and didn’t open them again until the Moonling remedies began to reduce the pain.
He was staring at her.
“Thank you,” she said.
He said nothing.
“When can we go to the caves?”
“Once you can properly hold a sword again.” It wouldn’t be long. By morning, with her Wildling elixirs, most of her wounds would be healed. They would still hurt, but not enough for her to want to delay their search.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
He nodded. He reached to portal her back to her room, when she said, “Wait. There’s one problem.”
“Problem?”
She told him about the monster supposedly guarding the sword.
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of monster?”
“I’m not sure.”
Grim didn’t look too worried. Monsters weren’t scared of other monsters, were they? He offered his hand again to portal her back to her room. “Then I guess we’ll have to find out.”
ASKING FOR HELP
“We found the ore,” Zed announced during their next meeting. He had been searching the Forgotten Mines for days, with Calder, navigating through their dangerous tunnels. Most of the passages had collapsed over time. His face turned from smug to wary as he looked at Isla. “We need your help,” he said simply.
Enya was peeling citrus fruit, the smell brightening the room. She raised an eyebrow, and Zed shot her a look.
He didn’t particularly like Isla. That much was clear.
“With mining it?” she asked.
He nodded. “I tried using air, but the ores are almost impossible to move. But you . . .”
Control rock. Isla almost smiled, thinking how far she had come from glaring at the stone Oro had placed in front of her on Wild Isle. “Lead the way.”
Breathing was difficult in the mine. Zed kept having to move fresh air down deep into the tunnels, which only barely muted the smell of dirt, dust, and sulfur.
She held the fabric of her shirt over her nose. Zed walked in front of her, carrying an orb of fire he had gotten from Enya.
“I would say you get used to it,” Zed said. “But you don’t. Just feel lucky you haven’t been trapped down here for weeks.”
She suddenly felt extremely lucky.
They were mostly quiet as they walked. It was a mutual silence—both were happy not to speak to each other. After several minutes, though, she had a thought. “Why does everyone hate Soren?” She remembered how he had questioned her in front of the others, seemingly intent on proving her unworthy of being a ruler. “Beyond the obvious, I mean.”
Zed chuckled lightly. He looked over at her. She bet she looked ridiculous, half of her face hidden in her shirt. “He thinks Moonlings are superior to all other realms, and he acts like it. Under his guidance, healers closed their shops in the agora. Less Moonlings started visiting the Mainland at all. They became more closed off and guarded. He used the curses as an excuse to isolate their realm from the others.”
He was more awful than she had previously given him credit for. “If he believes that, then why did he stay? Wouldn’t he be happy to leave?”
“Perhaps he hates Nightshade more than he hates all of us,” Zed mused. He shrugged a shoulder. “Or he stayed behind as Cleo’s spy.”
She didn’t trust Soren in the slightest, but something occurred to her. “Is . . . is Soren a healer?”
Zed nodded, and hope felt like sparkling wine in her chest. He frowned. “You’re not seriously going to ask him to help you with the Vinderland.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” she said.
Zed finally stopped. He motioned to a wall, and all the rock looked the same, save for a tiny flicker of color. She pressed her hand against it and closed her eyes. Beyond, she could feel it—ore buried deep within the wall. It would take concentration to ensure she wouldn’t completely bring the entire mine down atop them, but she felt confident she could extract it.
“You might want to make a shield with your wind,” she said, before her hand burst through the rock wall.
The entire tunnel trembled—rock fell from the ceiling and was deflected by a stream of wind above them. She felt around in the wall, looking for the bundle of ore. Her fingers broke through stone like a blade through butter. She finally gripped it and pulled her hand back through. “I think this is what you’re looking for,” she said. It was the first of many. It didn’t look very special, but Zed had explained that with a Starling’s energy and Sunling’s flames, it could be turned into the drek-defeating metal.
Zed stared at her, the wall, then the ore, eyebrow slightly raised. “That’s one way to do it,” he said.
Isla found Soren on Moon Isle, looking quite comfortable roaming the palace. She didn’t know if he was a spy or had his own agenda, but she would soon find out which side he was on.
He seemed pleased to see her, which only made her more suspicious. He scraped his ice cane against the floor with a sound that stabbed through her brain. She got straight to the point. “Which side are you on? Ours? Or Nightshade’s?”
Soren blinked at her. “I assumed it would be obvious by my presence, here on Lightlark.”
“Good,” she said. “Then you wouldn’t have any problem healing potential warriors for our fighting effort?”
Soren’s eyes narrowed. She tried to look as innocent as possible. “I . . . suppose not,” he said.