Her mother was far more beautiful. She had tanner skin and thicker hair. It was shinier. Her eyes were a lighter green. They had the same lips, though. Same high cheekbones. Slightly different noses.
“Lynx, come on,” her mother was saying. “Terra’s going to have both our heads.”
The image disappeared, and Isla started to protest, until it was replaced by another one.
It was her mother again, but this time, there was someone else too. A man with black hair and lighter skin. He was looking at her mother the way Oro looked at Isla. Like he would gladly lay his life down for hers.
The image shifted, and there was crying. Her parents were holding a little bundle between them, looking like they might burst from happiness.
Isla fell to her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, into the grass in front of her. She could barely speak. “You—you met me,” she finally said.
Lynx had seen her as a baby.
That was right before her parents were killed. He must not have been there, because Isla knew for certain that he would have done everything he could to protect her mother.
Did he feel shame? Guilt? Had he partially blamed Isla for her mother’s death? Or did he blame her father?
Lynx made a soft sound as he bent down and wiped her tears away with his fur, on the parts that weren’t covered by iron. He ended up swiping his wet nose across her face, and she sputtered.
“Thank you for showing me,” she finally said. She wasn’t sure how exactly the bonded connection worked, but she felt grateful for it. “I never knew her, but . . . I think this would have made her happy. Us . . . finding each other.”
Lynx closed his eyes for a long time, and she could feel his grief like it was her own. She pressed her cheek against his and for a while, it was just them, in the clearing, sharing a memory between them.
When the sun went down, Isla portaled them back to her room. Lynx sat curled in his favorite corner as she stared at her swords, contemplating which ones to bring into battle. There was a whisper of movement behind her, and she turned, mid-sentence.
Only to see that Lynx had been replaced by someone else entirely.
BEFORE
Grim was standing in front of her. She was ready to go to the cave again, but he said, “Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I have a commitment.”
She frowned. “What is it?”
“A ball.” He said it with venom.
Isla laughed. “A ball?”
“Is that amusing to you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “You hosting a ball? Decorations? Dresses? Clinking wineglasses?” Isla had never actually been to a ball, but that was the picture painted by Celeste and the books she’d read.
“Hardly,” he said coolly. By his reaction, he made a ball seem like a death sentence. “I would cancel it, but it is a good distraction.”
“From?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but she imagined he meant whatever danger was threatening Nightshade. The threat that could mysteriously be solved by the sword. The reason there were often long stretches between his visits. The more pressing matter he often needed to attend to.
“Can I come?” she asked.
He looked at her as if she had asked if she could have his throne. “Absolutely not.”
Then he vanished.
Late that night, Isla was bored to death on her bed, reading her latest book for the tenth time. She had already filled the margins with notes.
With a sigh as dramatic as she could manage, she flipped onto her back and flung the book to the other side of her bed. She wondered what the ball was like. Were women throwing themselves at Grim? Of course they were. And he was probably accepting them with open arms. The thought made her more than a little nauseous.
She had already changed into her pajamas and was ready to go to bed when her starstick glimmered from beneath her floorboard. It was almost like an invitation.
One she accepted.
A quick, thieving trip to the night market later, she was dressed in about as little fabric as possible to still be considered clothed.
She doubted Grim would even see her. She would stay out of sight. Even if he did see her, so what? He would have to pretend not to know her, to keep up appearances. It was late enough into the night that most of the people at the ball were probably too intoxicated to notice. They couldn’t leave until daytime. The party was meant to last until the morning, she realized.
Isla portaled to the Nightshade castle.
If the word debauchery had been a place, Isla was looking at it.
The halls of the castle were filled with music so loud and fast it drowned out the moans she could hear only when she passed by the dark halls, people moving furiously in the shadows. Inside the ballroom, all pretense of propriety was abandoned.
People danced with long ribbons of black silk, on platforms lining the room between full suits of armor. In the darker corners of the rooms, couples were coupling, not seeming to care in the slightest that they had hundreds of people as their witnesses.
Before, Isla had felt embarrassed by the amount of skin she was showing, but now she saw she was wearing almost the most fabric in the room. Her dress was black gossamer, with a dipping neckline, two pieces covering her breasts, then coming together in the middle. It had a slit up to her hip.
Eyes were on her immediately. At first, she panicked, wondering if they somehow recognized her.
No—their gazes were not threatening. They were hungry.
Tonight, she embraced it. It felt good to be seen and wanted.
Isla assumed the party would be crowded and raucous enough that she wouldn’t even see Grim, but—
He found her immediately.
She felt his gaze like a brand, and when the crowd naturally parted at the sound of a new song, there was a direct path, across the room, from him to her.
Even from far away, she could see he was furious. Women fought for his attention, barely clothed, but he was watching her, eyes blazing with so much anger, he looked ready to wage a war.
Isla did the most foolish thing possible in response to his anger, which was smile and blow him a mocking kiss.
Immediately, he stood, knocking over some of the goblets that the women had placed around his throne. He didn’t even look down; all he did was take a step forward, as if he was going to portal to her and send her straight back to Wildling.
No. She knew it wouldn’t do much good if he really wanted to find her, but she ducked into the crowd. In the center of so many people, Grim wouldn’t dare appear and whisk her away. She was unknown in the court—it would lead to too much notice and too many questions that Grim had gone to great lengths already to avoid.
That was what she told herself, at least.
The music seemed to get louder, and Isla danced, just one person in a crowd. She met gazes that looked her up and down and seemed to like what they saw. One pair of eyes never left her as she moved until the song ended, and the man walked over.
He was tall and had a scar across his cheek and hair cut short to his head. He wasn’t shy with his notice. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”
Creature seemed like a strange term, but she had never been spoken to so boldly, and she felt her skin prickle. “I am?”
He took a step closer to her. “I’ve never seen a face like yours,” he said. “Not ever.”
Isla could feel herself blush. It was so stupid, but the compliment made her feel like a puddle.
“Would you dance with me?”
The crowd behind the man shifted, and Isla saw Grim clearly, sitting back on his throne. His gaze was set on her, expression fuming. His eyes narrowed, as if daring her, just daring her to say yes.
She smiled. “I would love to,” she said, watching as Grim’s grip on his throne tightened.