Page 42 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

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If my father had spent more time preparing for war, and less on sending his armies off to explore faraway places, he might have survived its final battle.

They both might have survived it.

We always knew Nightshade would try to take over Lightlark. Yet instead of fortifying our armies ... instead of protecting what we had ... my father sent his guards out looking for more. We were down hundreds of soldiers when they first attacked. In the years since ... we lost thousands more.

The war was won by the skin of our teeth. But not before my parents were both cut down, by the ruler of Nightshade.

This doesn’t feel like winning. Not at all.

My hands shake as I lower the last of the golden roses onto my mother’s pyre. As soon as she died, the plant died with her, as if in mourning. Agnes, who was my mother’s guardian before my brother’s, carefully collected the ones that were left.

This can’t be real , I think, but it is. Egan stands next to me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a comforting gesture, or to stop my trembling. My armor is clattering for how hard I’m shaking with rage.

They’re dead.

Our parents are dead.

Zed crashes down next to me. His own expression is severe. He loved my mother. In the time since we met, she treated him as if he was her own son.

Enya’s cries are muffled behind me, her face buried in Calder’s shoulder. Her mother lies next to mine on a pyre of her own. Best friends. Side by side, until the end. My brother steps forward with fire in his palm. He throws it onto their bodies.

Together, they burn. They all burn.

The fire burns brightly, fiercely, just like they did in their final moments.

I can’t move. My body, mind, and heart are stuck in this moment. The pain swallows everything. If I move, I think, then this will be all the more real. I don’t know how time is expected to creep forward, but it does.

Then, they’re gone.

Nothing remains but smoke and ash.

By the time I find the strength to turn around, everyone, including my friends, is on their knees. They’re facing Egan.

He’s king now.

I kneel.

At least I have him , I think. At least someone in this family is left.

Zed stands. He holds my parents’ swords.

If I tried to speak, I’m sure nothing would come out. But Egan’s voice is firm when he says, “Put them in the armory.”

It’s his first command as king. Zed nods, then shoots into the sky, toward the castle.

One by one everyone leaves, but I remain, kneeling among the cinders, cursing war and everything it took from me.

Cursing the Nightshade ruler who killed my parents.

Grimshaw, heir to Nightshade, is moving into the castle.

It’s a condition of the end of the war—a way to try to ensure his father won’t simply ignore the terms of our treaty.

He’s placed in the prisons, where he belongs.

According to Zed, he goes willingly. “With a smirk on his face,” Zed says, jaw tight.

Enya is frowning into her tea.

“What is it?” I ask.

Ever since her mother died, she’s been a husk of herself.

The quips and smiles are gone. What remains are glassy eyes and pinched lips.

She shakes her head. “I keep thinking ... Nightshade was winning. I don’t .

.. I don’t understand why they agreed to a treaty.

It doesn’t make sense. If they kept going—”

They could have won. I’ve had the same thought but have always come to the same conclusion.

The Nightshade ruler and his heir are heartless monsters. If there was a way to win, they would have taken it, no matter the cost.

Unless—

“You think they’re planning something,” I say.

She nods.

Zed gives us a look. “And what’s the plan? Him rotting in the prisons? Tied down in as many ways as possible and pissing into a bucket?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. I just—it doesn’t make sense.”

I turn to Calder. He’s remained quiet, as he mostly is, but he looks pensive. “What do you think?”

He stretches his long tan legs out in front of him. “I think the same thing I’ve always thought. War doesn’t have winners. People fight for causes most often because they’re ordered to.” His eyes shift to mine. “And none of us are our fathers.”

We are not our fathers . I remember that day, in the biting snow. I remember the moment his words sunk in.

But this is different.

Anger rises in me like a tempest. “Did his father force him to strike down everyone in his path with his shadows? Did his father force him to kill even the ones that begged for mercy, even the injured, even the ones that surrendered?”

Calder says nothing.

I stand.

My hands are shaking. So is my voice.

“Did his father order him to vanish the bodies, so their families wouldn’t be able to have a proper burial?”

They were all there, dead. And then they were gone, with Grimshaw standing in the middle of them. He had destroyed them, somehow.

It was cruel. It went against the ways of war.

Calder stands too. He places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s done. He’s in the cells.” He pauses. “But they will release him, eventually, to truly fulfill the treaty.” He’s right. “We will be living among him, at some point, whether we like it or not. Best to try to live in peace.”

Peace . It’s Calder’s dream. A world without conflict.

It’s a lie. It’s impossible. Because even though the war is over ... this doesn’t feel like peace at all.

Stretches of Lightlark have been reduced to ash and rubble. War has left its mark not just on the island—but on my mind.

Rage is all I know. I retreat to quiet corners of the island to burn everything in my path. I find myself dreaming of sailing to Nightshade to stab a thousand blades through its ruler.

His son is the next-best option.

“I’ll visit him,” I say, calmly.

All eyes shoot to me.

“Oro—” Enya says, her voice a warning. She knows the state I’ve been in. I haven’t been myself. None of us have. That’s the thing about war. There are no true survivors. No one walks away unscathed.

“I’m just going to talk to him,” I say through my teeth. “You’re worried he’s planning something. If he is ... I’ll know.”

They all know about my flair. If anyone can learn the truth of the Nightshade’s intentions, it’s me.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Calder says.

He’s right.

But I’m doing it anyway.

Grimshaw Malvere still looks like a demon, even tied up in a prison.

He bites out a laugh when I step in front of the cell. Without even looking up, he seems to sense me, somehow.

His arms are above his head, chained to the wall. His head is bent forward, dark hair hiding his face.

His voice is pure amusement. “They sent you ? The second son?”

Fire erupts in the middle of the cell. I used to pride myself on control. On burying my emotions.

But I can’t. I see him—and I see his father.

I see his father cutting down my mother.

I’ve never wanted to kill anyone until now. He deserves it. He might not have wielded the blade that killed my parents, but he killed thousands . He’s responsible for endless death.

I expect him to fight his chains as the fire rages closer. I want him to scream, to suffer, the way I have suffered .

But he doesn’t move. Not an inch. Flames spread through the cell, catching on dry leaves and hay, roaring until it’s almost at his feet.

“You’re going to die,” I tell him, my voice unrecognizable. This is reckless. This will lead to even more bloodshed. But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I grip the iron bars of his cell, so I can watch.

He still doesn’t shift a muscle. Even as the fire travels close enough to burn.

Finally, he looks up at me. His pale face is marred with cuts and bruises. “You act as if it’s a bad thing.”

I rip the flames away in shock. My hands are in fists around the bars of his cell. My voice is pure malice. “You killed a lot of people for someone who doesn’t value their own life.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

“You—”

Truth.

Truth .

I didn’t know he was capable of it.

My eyes narrow. “I didn’t come here for conversation,” I growl, and the demon smiles, ripping open a cut at the corner of his mouth. Blood trickles down his chin. He doesn’t seem to care.

“No? But you’re so good at it,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from every word.

I glare at him. I remember what Enya said ... about how the ending of the war didn’t make sense. He won’t answer, I know that, but I have to ask anyway. “Why did you surrender?”

Grimshaw tilts his head at me. He looks almost curious. And far too casual for someone who nearly burned alive a minute ago. I blink in surprise when he does answer. “I tired of death.”

He lives on death . He’s a monster. A damned liar. I bare my teeth, ready to launch my disgust at his lies—

When sweetness smooths down my tongue.

I start to question the reliability of my flair. I lean forward. “Are you trying to get me to believe that you , demon warrior, famous for soaking your blade in the blood of your enemies, surrendered willingly ... because you didn’t want anyone else to die?”

Grimshaw smirks. Then, he drops my gaze like I disgust him. His face is nearly covered by his dark hair as his head hangs. “Believe anything you want, second son. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

He doesn’t speak again.