The dance started off innocently enough. The man stood a respectable distance away and led her through a series of moves that corresponded with the quickening beat of the drums. Then the Nightshade offered her a drink, and she swallowed it down in a single gulp, hoping it would give her the nerve to have the night of her life while she still could. Within moments, she felt light as a feather, and the beat of the music seemed to be synchronized to the beat of her heart, both quickening.
Keeping her eyes right on the Nightshade ruler, she stood in front of the man and danced. Grim’s knuckles became skeletal white as he gripped the sides of his throne.
He watched her like he could see right through her, like he was a moment away from turning the entire crowd of people before her to ash.
Still, he did not move to stop her. When the man asked her if she wanted to go into the hall—and Isla had seen exactly what happened there—she said yes and let him lead her there.
Isla expected Grim to follow, but he did not. Just a few steps out of the ballroom, she shifted her focus to the man leading her away.
She decided she was going to kiss him. Grim was the only person she had kissed before. Every time she was near him, she felt covered in sparks. Even when they were apart, she felt somewhat empty, like he had taken a part of her with him.
Maybe that was what it was like with every man. Maybe she would kiss this one and see that it felt the same. Better, even.
It would be a relief. Grim was her enemy. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—be attracted to him.
They found an empty corridor, and the man didn’t waste any time. He pressed her against the wall, and his mouth went straight to hers.
Nothing. Her skin didn’t prickle. She didn’t feel heat traveling through her core. He tasted of smoke and alcohol, so she turned her head, not wanting to taste him anymore. He took that as an invitation to continue a path down her neck.
Maybe she just needed to get used to him. She stood still as he explored her, hoping a connection would click.
It wasn’t like with Grim at all. The man palmed her chest in a way that should have made her groan. She felt nothing.
His hand started making its way down her stomach, and she watched it, knowing she could stop it but wondering how it might feel. He was so close. Maybe, if he touched her there—
Just as he reached the bottom of her stomach, he froze. He did not blink. His shoulders were hiked up in shock.
That was when they both looked down to see a sword sticking straight through his chest, its tip an inch from her own. The blade was quickly removed, and the man crumpled to the ground, revealing Grim, standing right in front of her.
“Don’t worry, Hearteater. He’s not dead. I will make sure of it,” Grim said in response to her expression of horror. He leaned down to whisper, very slowly, “Because I’m going to bring him to the brink of death a thousand times before I will finally allow him the mercy of dying.”
Isla stared at him in shock. “Because . . . he kissed me?” she asked, chest still heaving.
Anger flashed in his eyes, then disappeared. “No, Hearteater,” he said. “Because he poisoned you.”
She shook her head. “What?”
“The drink he gave you. A few minutes more and you would find yourself paralyzed, a motionless vessel for his pleasure.”
Even as he said the words, Isla felt her muscles tightening, like every part of her was hardening into bone.
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t until you were leaving. Your face and chest are flushed scarlet. It’s a sign.” He tilted his head at her. “You feel it, don’t you?” he said. He offered her a small vial. An antidote? She swallowed it down. “Better?”
Better. The tightening loosened.
All softness left his expression. He looked down at her, at every inch of her dress, the fabric wrinkled in the places that had been gripped by the man now gurgling on his own blood at her feet.
“Hearteater,” Grim said, voice mocking, “who knew you were so desperate for pleasure?” She glared at him, and he only grinned. “If you wanted someone to bed you so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
She took a shaking breath. “I would rather die than have you touch me, demon,” she said.
He frowned down at her. “Is that so?” He dipped his head, so his cold breath was against her mouth. “All right. I will not touch you again until you ask me to. I won’t touch you again until you beg me to.”
“That will never happen,” she spat. “I hate you.”
“You can hate me, Hearteater, and still want me in your bed.”
She laughed in his face. “In your dreams, demon.”
“All of the best ones,” he agreed. His eyes seared through her as he looked her slowly up and down. “We do such depraved things, in my dreams.”
Isla opened her mouth. Closed it.
Grim leaned closer, so they shared breath. “When you finally do beg me to touch you—and you will—you won’t want anyone else to touch you ever again, Hearteater.” His voice was a dark whisper against her ear. “Late at night, you will think of me touching you. With my hands. My mouth.” Isla’s chest went tight at his words, his proximity. Her insides puddled; she was hot everywhere. “And you will dream of me too.”
Isla closed her eyes tightly, trying to force herself to be repulsed by his words.
When she opened them, both Grim and the Nightshade who had poisoned her were gone.
NEXUS
Five days remained. Isla was back on the Wildling newland. Enya was helping her make the final arrangements for the warriors to travel to Lightlark. The Sunling had already found space for them in the castle, close to Isla. They catalogued the healing elixirs that were left, after she had given a great portion of them to Calder and Soren. Reluctantly, Soren had agreed to let Calder shadow him as he treated the Vinderland. Calder was an eager learner, writing notes, which only seemed to annoy Soren.
Every remaining drop of elixir was crucial.
They both worked without speaking, exhausted, but there was no time to rest. She finished her remaining tasks and, at the end of the day, portaled them back to Lightlark.
In Isla’s overstuffed chairs, they were finally still. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Isla asked, “Do you have anyone? Anyone you’re . . . worried about, beyond Oro, Zed, and Cal?”
“You mean, do I have a partner?”
She nodded.
“Not at the moment. I’ve loved many women through the centuries, but it always seemed selfish to take a wife, knowing . . . what I do.” Knowing when she would die.
The Sunling tilted her head at Isla. Her red hair was vibrant against her pale skin. “You are different than I thought you would be. I like you, Isla, I really do,” she said, and Isla felt the same way. She wanted to tell her, but in the same breath, the Sunling said, “But I don’t like you for him.”
For him.
For Oro.
Isla’s previous love for the Sunling woman hardened into rock. “What do you mean?” she said slowly.
Enya sighed. “May I be honest with you?”
Isla nodded, even though her teeth rubbed together, painfully, behind her lips.
“Oro is king of Lightlark. His duty, from the moment his brother died, was to his people. Not himself. Not me. Not anyone he cares about. I used to hate it. I used to hate that one of the people I loved most would never truly know happiness. Now, I accept it. Because his happiness, and mine, are not more important than the happiness of everyone else on this island.”
Enya filed her fingernails against her pants. “He loves you, and that love is making him weak. If he’s not careful, it will be the death of Lightlark.”
Isla felt her face twist. “How can you say that? How can you paint love as the enemy?”
“Because I’ve watched thousands of people die, I’ve watched devastation for five centuries—all in the name of love.” The curses.
“This is different,” she said.
Enya smiled, and it was sad. She didn’t look cruel, or mean, and that made her words sting even more. “I believe those words have been spoken by every person in love since the beginning of time.”
You don’t know anything about us, Isla thought.
It would have been easy, so easy, so convenient, to ignore Enya’s words as jealousy or misguided advice.
Deep inside, if she really thought about it, she knew Enya was right.
Isla was almost done portaling the rest of the civilians. By tomorrow, only warriors would be left on Lightlark.