Page 11 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

HER

The scar is getting worse.

It used to tear open every few decades. Now, it’s every few days.

I couldn’t even watch the witch sleep if I wanted to. Nearly every night, I’m bent over the scar, bleeding myself of my worst feelings and emotions. Causing myself pain so that it can be siphoned into power. Draining myself until I nearly pass out.

I’m too exhausted to think of her. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s why I inch closer and closer to the edge, to that bottom of my pit of power that, if reached, would kill me. I’m so filled with agony, I can’t think of her at all.

Even my endless pain is not enough. I won’t be able to hold it off much longer. Not even my army can help. Nothing but limited metal pierces their hides. Nothing but me can turn them into ash.

Nothing but the sword can stop them for good.

It’s been decades since I searched for it. There was another reason, beyond skill, that my general—Isla’s father—was helping me find it.

His flair. His immunity to curses. Cronan’s sword was cursed centuries ago, by a powerful Nightshade who knew its power, and feared it falling back in his hands. She cursed the sword never to be claimed by Cronan’s blood.

Which includes his descendants.

My general was supposed to break that curse, using his flair. It would have taken a significant portion of his power. It would have killed anyone else who didn’t have his centuries of mastery and control.

My people might follow me out of fear, but I know it’s often not their greatest motivator. It took a while of studying my general’s limited emotions to finally settle on his.

He hated the role he was born into as much as I hate my own. He was as skilled a killer as I ever met, but he hated it. He hated himself .

It was something we had in common.

Then, I realized we also had the same dream.

Escape . So, I promised him what I could never have: freedom, in exchange for finding the sword, and breaking its curse so I could wield it.

His role was inherited, and he would never abandon it— or so I thought .

With our promise, he would finally be free from his duty.

The oath made him search for the sword like a madman. It became an obsession. It led to his death. Or again, so I thought .

Fear was a better motivator, in hindsight. I should have threatened to kill his entire family if he didn’t find the sword and break its curse. Maybe then he wouldn’t have betrayed me.

I need help finding the sword. But it’s proven too risky to again entrust the responsibility to anyone in my court.

An idea forms instantly.

Her . I can use her .

But she doesn’t have control of her powers ... I suspect she doesn’t even know about them. Cronan’s sword is unmatched. If she tried to bond to it, to fully claim it, the powers within her would burst forth. Her flair would break its curse.

It would kill her, most likely. That rush of power, called forward by the sword and its own ability ... she wouldn’t survive it. Not without decades of training—time we don’t have. The thought of her death makes me strangely uneasy. Perhaps that’s exactly why I should do it.

I shove the idea away. She hates me, just like I intended. She would never trust me. Never work with me to find the sword. Never unlock it willingly.

I’ll find another way to stop the dreks.

A few weeks later, there is a disturbance in the market.

“Deal with it,” I tell one of my guards. Astria is at the scar, monitoring its seam for any weak points. The others are completely useless without her guidance.

A few moments later, the worthless guard is back. He opens his mouth to offer an excuse I barely listen to.

I roll my eyes. “I’ll deal with it myself,” I growl, irritated, and then I disappear.

I feel her instantly.

I feel the device.

She’s here .

It only takes a moment to portal to her. She’s on her knees, clutching the relic I foolishly let her keep.

I told her to stay away . She didn’t listen. She’s made a mess of the market. Chaos is ringing all around us. My men aren’t far behind. She outran all of them. It would be more impressive if they weren’t a pack of fools.

I should let her go. She’s safest far away from me. I’m safer with her far away ...

My hand juts out. The portal she was in the process of forming withers away, in deference to my ability.

Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and—

Her feelings.

Dread. But also ... something else. Something I felt before, when she clutched that portaling device to her chest.

A shred of her is happy to see me.

“You,” I say.

Her .

That’s when I know I won’t be letting her go. I gave her a chance not to come back. I gave her a chance to be rid of me. Now, she’s returned, of her own volition.

She’s mine.

The plan is monstrous. But these are monstrous circumstances.

I need that sword. Getting it will rid me of my two biggest problems.

The dreks ... and her .

She can’t torment me if she’s dead.

The hours since she was found have given me time to think.

My general disappeared. He left behind his entire life.

His family—who I know he loved— mourned him.

He was convinced he was close to finding the sword.

Why not bring it back to me? Earn his freedom?

Be able to do whatever he wanted, without having to fake his own death?

Even if he had fallen in love with Isla’s mother, he could have simply given me the sword and been with her. He could have visited his family whenever he wanted to. It would have been traitorous, of course, but I’m not sure any of us would have ever found out, with the distance between our realms.

Perhaps the sword wasn’t where he thought it was. Maybe this was his only escape from his duty without it.

Or—

Or maybe he did find the sword. Maybe he found it and decided not to break the curse on it. Which means he might have been the last person to handle it.

It’s a stretch. But if I’m right ... it could mean Isla would not only be able to break the curse on it ... but she might be helpful in finding it.

If I’m right ... the sword would sense his power in her. Ancient swords are almost sentient. They can be stubborn. Perhaps it might actually allow itself to be found, if she was with me, trying to locate it.

The prisons are freezing, even for me. My boots echo against the damp stone floor. The walls are cavernous, so low some places, that I have to duck. The ceiling rises the farther I get, into an older, quieter part of the cells.

There she is.

She’s hanging from her wrists, wearing a ridiculous excuse for clothing. The guards took her cloak and portaling device, leaving her in a scrap of silk. It takes all my hard-won self-control not to look at her body.

It makes me hate her more.

“Is that supposed to pass for black?” It is, at best, plum.

I can feel her burst of emotions as if she’s right in front of me, as if there aren’t any bars between us.

I feel the prickle of embarrassment, just as I watch her skin prickle. She notices my gaze. She blames me , somehow, for her current circumstances.

She’s the one who went against my orders. She’s the one who portaled directly into the market, of all places, guaranteeing exposure.

“Demon,” she calls me, and she isn’t wrong.

“Fool,” I reply.

I turn her restraints to ash, and she falls to the floor. Her spike of pain feels like ice against my skin. I keep forgetting how fragile she seems to be.

“You swore not to return,” I say.

She has the gall to argue with me. Everyone who has ever tried has ended up dead.

She will end up dead too, I suppose.

Our words fling back and forth, like just another duel. She’s so stubborn I might actually mean it when I turn to go, threatening to leave her here. She cries out, and I almost roll my eyes.

“You’re keeping me here?”

How dare she sound so outraged? How dare she feel shock and hurt?

“You appear in my realm, using a stolen relic. You stab me in the chest. You return and hide in my chambers. Then, you return yet again and attack an innocent man in the middle of the street.”

Her flare of anger is like fire in this cold, dark place. “Innocent? He wanted to scalp me and sell my hair by the strand!”

I found that man. I found him barely clinging to life, slumped in an alley.

I finished the job for her.

“What type of people did you expect to encounter at the night market, Hearteater?” I say the word mockingly, even though its edges have softened in my mind.

“My name is Isla,” she says, green eyes gleaming with fury. Its flames dance across my skin. She has the nerve to glare at me right through the bars.

“I will never call you that,” I say.

“Why?”

I look down at her. “Calling someone by their first name is a sign of familiarity. Of respect.”

Her nostrils flare. “You don’t respect me?”

I shrug a shoulder. “You don’t seem to respect your own life. Why should I?”

She scoffs. “Fine. Don’t respect me. I don’t care. You weren’t why I came here.”

The witch is powerless, yet her words have wounded me. I frown. “Clearly. Why are you here?” I demand.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

My plan. I’m glad she has reminded me of it. “I believe ... we might be able to help each other. I have a deal for you.”

Her shock is like a bolt of lightning. “A deal?”

“I’m looking for a sword. I believe you can help me get it.”

And unlock it with your life , are the words I don’t tell her.

I tell her more about it, promising to ally with her at the Centennial if she helps me. A lie, of course. I watch as she purses her lips in consideration. I clench my fists in impatience as she takes her sweet time.

Then, she says, “No.”

I blink. She is imprisoned, and she dares turn down her only possibility of freedom? How long has it been since I’ve been shocked?

“No?” I ask, incredulous.

She just shrugs in that ridiculous—infuriatingly distracting—dress. “No.”

My fingers twitch, desperate to take action. “Very well,” I say, barely restraining the anger surging through me.

If she wants to die in these cells, that’s not my problem. I’ll find the sword myself, though it would be easier with her help ... I’ll find a way for her to break its curse from inside this prison. Perhaps threatening her entire realm would help. Her guardians, maybe?

I turn.

“Wait—”

I pause.

“You wouldn’t leave me here, would you?” Her voice betrays her vulnerability.

“I would.” I mean it. If only to know exactly where she is, and ensure she isn’t causing me any more headaches with her recklessness.

I keep walking.

“Fine! Fine. But only if you return my starstick.”

Disgust twists my face. “Your what ?”

“My portaling device.”

Gods above. I return the starstick . “I feel strongly I will regret this,” I say, meaning it, before handing it to her.

She grins, and I swallow. That simple expression. That simple emotion ...

I frown. She shouldn’t be so happy. She has no idea what she’s just agreed to.

She’s just sealed her fate, and she doesn’t even know it.