“Me?”
Remlar nodded. “It has been thousands of years since a single person wielded both Nightshade and Wildling power. You cannot begin to understand what that means.” It reminded her of the reverence with which the Vinderland had treated her.
“Tell me what it means,” she almost begged.
“You don’t need me to tell you,” he said. “You will see yourself.” He motioned around him. “The creatures as old as me on the island will join you. They will immediately understand what you are.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
He looked at her, and she saw a gleam in his eye. “Hope.”
“Hope?” she asked, before turning toward a sudden trickling sound. A column of water was impossibly falling from the sky.
She blinked, and the rest of the forest fell away.
BEFORE
The bath was almost full. The water was murky, darker than a bog. She could see the pillar of water from his bedroom.
“Medicinal,” Grim said gruffly. “Helps with healing.” He began to shed his clothing, revealing deep gashes that would have been deadly for anyone without a ruler’s power.
They had visited the cave five times. Each visit, they uncovered another enchantment designed to keep thieves out. Grim always took most of the impact, but that day, when a million ice chips had rained down from the ceiling, some had cut down her arms, face, and back before he’d pulled her out of the way.
Isla winced as she reached to pull her starstick from its place against her spine. Her skin was coated in blood. Her vial of healing elixir was steadily running out. She would have to sneak into Poppy’s quarters while she was sleeping if she wanted to get more.
“Stay.”
The word was followed by silence. It was said matter-of-factly. Flatly.
“Stay?”
Grim was down to just his pants. His chest was a canvas of gashes, blood, and, of course, the mark oh so close to his heart. “The bath is big enough for two. It will help you not scar.”
Isla just stared at him.
He didn’t leer or make a suggestive comment. It seemed he was too tired to even say anything worth glaring at him over.
“I’ll face the other direction.”
Isla found she was too tired to turn down the offer of a warm bath with healing properties. But . . .
“I can’t,” she said. “Remember?” It seemed like years since they had dueled.
Before she could say another word, Grim said, “I take back my win. You’re welcome in every part of my palace.”
Isla told herself it was shock that made her step into the bathroom. True to his word, at least this time, Grim turned around. She did too.
The sound of his pants being discarded seemed to echo through the vast bathroom. Then, the sound of water parting, letting him in, settling around him.
She didn’t check to see if he was facing away as she peeled her own clothes off. It was a painful process. Fabric stuck to her wounds, blood making a most inconvenient adhesive. She made a small sound of pain and hoped he didn’t hear it, though she knew he heard everything. The shuffling of her pants being rolled down past her ankles. Her fingers unraveling her braid.
The groan as she placed a leg into the tub, chills sweeping up the back of her calf and up her spine, burrowing into the crown of her skull.
Grim was very still as she lowered herself completely. All she saw was his back, tight in its rigid posture, his shoulders nearly as wide as the tub itself. Everything else was hidden beneath the dark water, swirling with healing enchantment.
“You can turn around,” she said. He did not move an inch. “The water . . . it covers everything.” It was true. The only part of her that was visible was her head, framed by wet hair, her shoulders, and collarbones.
Seconds passed. Tripped over themselves. Finally, though, he turned.
She was pressed against one side. He was pressed against the other. The tub was enormous; they might as well have been on opposite sides of the room. They just stared. No words were exchanged, but she saw an understanding there. Two people who had fought back-to-back for something they both wanted more than almost anything. A chance to save their people.
The water became clearer and clearer, the medicine dissolving, until Isla crossed her legs, pressed them to her chest, and looked away when Grim did no such thing.
Isla was still looking away as she heard him stand, the water scattering just like anything in Grim’s path always did, and he left.
ARMOR
It was time to have armor made for Lynx. She had practiced riding him in the forest, up hills, down steep cliffsides. With every session, his disdain for her dimmed, little by little. He almost seemed pleased that she was now able to stay tethered to him, no matter how fast he ran.
“See?” she had told him the last time. “I can hold on now.”
He had promptly taken a hard turn, which had her falling straight into a stream.
As long as he wasn’t intentionally trying to throw her off, she felt confident she could bring him into battle.
Wren was training with the other Wildling warriors when she found her.
“I want to have armor made for him,” Isla explained. “I was hoping to get your advice on what that would look like.”
Wren frowned. “You don’t need to have it made,” she said.
“I—”
“Lynx already has armor.”
Isla slowly turned to look at the leopard, and he just blinked at her.
“He does?”
Wren nodded. The light in her expression suddenly dimmed. “He fought bravely. With . . . your mother.”
“Fought who?” she asked, bewildered.
The Wildling smiled. “It’s quite a story. I would be happy to tell it to you.”
She wanted to hear it more than anything . . . but not now. Not when every hour mattered. Less than a week remained before the battle. “Another time, I would be very grateful to hear it,” she said. “Do you know where the armor is?”
Wren led her to a store of weaponry. There were dozens of swords, sets of armor, and shields. In the very back were enormous sheets of metal that could only fit a very specific, easily annoyed creature.
Isla had to focus for several seconds before she was able to shakily use her Starling energy to move the armor onto Lynx. It included iron plates down his sides and around his front and neck. It even had small holes for his pointed ears and a place for her to sit. Wren helped her put the piece together, and once they were finished, Isla took a step back.
“Don’t you look menacing,” she said.
Lynx made a sound of approval. He seemed to like being back in his armor. He lowered his head, motioning for her to get on his back, and she did.
“Thank you!” she told Wren, as Lynx took off.
He raced out of the structure, into the forest. Isla gripped the strange saddle, finding it made holding on infinitely easier.
She bent her head down low as they shot through the brush. The first few times, she had felt afraid of being so high up, but now she felt safe. Protected.
Lynx slowed in the middle of a clearing. He bent his head, his silent request for her to jump off. She did.
There was nothing around. What did he want to show her?
Usually, Lynx would have straightened by now, but his head was still bent. She touched between his eyes, silently asking what he wanted, and went rigid.
Her sight was taken away. No—replaced. She was in the same clearing, but it looked different. There were more trees. The grass looked healthier.
There was a girl. Her? It looked just like her. But she didn’t have those clothes . . . she didn’t often walk with her hands on her hips.
The image became clearer, and her voice shook as she said, “Is that—is that . . .”
Her mom.
She had never seen her mom before. There weren’t any paintings of her. Terra and Poppy hadn’t given a description, beyond once commenting that she had her mother’s face.
Now, she saw it clearly. Lynx was showing her.