Page 43 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

PRISONER

“How did it go?”

Enya, Calder, and Zed are waiting in my room when I return.

Usually, I’m happy to see my friends. Now .

.. I don’t know what to tell them. How do I explain I almost ruined the peace treaty by killing the heir of Nightshade?

How do I explain that the demon didn’t even seem to care? That he didn’t even try to lie to me?

“Well?” Zed pushes.

I sigh. “He told the truth.”

Enya frowns. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.” There is no advantage to telling the truth, unless his plan is complicated, and long-term, and involves gaining my trust.

But that doesn’t make sense.

“It’s like he doesn’t even want to leave the prison,” I say.

Zed raises a brow at me. “I’ve smelled that prison. Everyone wants to leave it.”

I’ve lived in it. I agree with him.

Still, it doesn’t change what I witnessed. I frown. “Well, he doesn’t.”

In war, I saw countless men face their death. I saw them, the moment they knew they were going to die. They always, always looked afraid.

Grim didn’t. If anything, he just looked dejected.

The warrior who had cut through fields of enemies was gone. If I didn’t have my flair, I would say it was a trick. An illusion.

“There has to be more to this,” Enya says, when I recount every part of our conversation—leaving out the fire.

It was a moment of selfishness. If I had killed Grim ... it would plunge us back into war. It would mean all the death we suffered would have been for nothing.

How could I have gotten so close to ruining this peace? My brother would have suffered for it. My friends. The entire island .

I knew all that, and still, I lost control. It was like my powers gave into my fury. Into emotion. I can’t trust myself not to make it happen again.

Enya’s brow is folded in thought. She paces my room. Finally, she looks up at me and says, “You need to go back.”

I’m pouring myself some of the tea they were enjoying while they waited for me to return, when I pause. Slowly, I look up at her. “What?”

Zed’s lips are pursed as he nods. “I agree. This is even more concerning than if he had lied.”

Unease starts to stir in my chest. If only they knew what had almost happened. If only I could move past the shame and tell them.

But I can’t. They’re already going through enough. I don’t want to give them yet another thing to worry about. I don’t want to be a burden.

I look over at Calder. He’s always the mediator in these situations. He’s avoiding looking at me.

“You too?” I demand.

His look is apologetic.

I growl as I sit back in my chair, tea forgotten. “I don’t want to spend another second in that monster’s presence.”

Calder lifts a shoulder. “But if they’re planning something ... we need to find out. We need to stop it.”

He’s right.

I’ve always thought of my flair as its own sort of curse.

Now, more than ever.

“He isn’t eating,” the guard tells me, as I walk into the prisons. “The prisoner. He’s refusing food.”

Like I give a shit , I think, then remember what the Nightshade’s death would mean.

“I was going to tell the king—”

My brother has more pressing matters to attend to than some Nightshade brat. “I’ll handle it,” I say.

My way of handling it is hurling the tray of food at him through the door I open then promptly lock, and saying, “Eat.”

I expect the Nightshade to growl, or threaten me, or ignore me. Instead, he lifts his head. Porridge coats his hair.

His voice is mocking. “Back so soon?”

My hands make fists as I fight the urge to set him aflame. “Unfortunately,” I say through my teeth.

He just stares at me, as if he’s trying to figure out why I’m here.

“Why haven’t you been eating?” I demand. Only then do I realize he can’t. Not by himself, anyway, what with the chains. Are the guards trying to spoon feed him? Of course he’s not eating.

He shrugs a shoulder. His voice remains derisive. “Not hungry.”

Lie. The first lie he’s told me. And it’s not even significant.

I glare at him. “I’ve been in these prisons. I know how hungry you are.”

This seems to interest him. He lifts his head higher, his hair falling back. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the lumpy, gray gruel clinging to it. “The king’s son? Imprisoned? Do explain.”

“I owe you no explanation.”

“Pity.” He sighs. “You were just starting to get interesting.”

He’s in chains. He is a prisoner . Somehow, though, he speaks as though I am lesser.

Of course, it’s a game. He’s trying to belittle me. Why? What is he planning?

I could outright ask him. I would know if his answer was the truth ... or a lie. Though, as my last visit taught me, he’s more than willing to ignore me completely.

Or—

What if I gain his trust, somehow?

He won’t tell me his plan if he despises me. But if he thinks I’m on his side ...

“I refused to gild a thief,” I say.

Silence. He looks surprised by my answer.

“Why?”

I clench my jaw, already regretting my plan. But if this is how I stop another war ...

“Same as you,” I say, recalling his words from before. “Useless death doesn’t interest me.”

My plan is over before it begins, because I can’t control the fury building in my chest, the anger surging in response to the smirk on his face. “See?” I hiss. “It is, in fact, possible to refuse a father’s order.”

He says nothing.

I’m not done. No, I can’t stand here and pretend he didn’t murder my people. I lean forward, gripping the bars. “You killed thousands. Thousands . Good soldiers with families.”

Hatred fills his eyes. He tilts his head to one side, sneering. “And you? Did you think our soldiers were mindless murderers when you were killing them?” He laughs without humor. “They were fighting because they were following orders. Same as yours.”

“You attacked first,” I say through my teeth, voice rising.

“ He attacked first,” Grimshaw says, his voice cutting.

We are not our fathers . Calder’s voice is in my head.

“We were defending our lands,” I hurl back.

“And they were protecting their lives.” Grimshaw looks at me like I’m dirt. “My father imprisons his soldiers’ families. If they run away or fail him, he kills everyone they love. He rules them by fear .”

Truth .

I blink, rearing back. Monstrous. It’s monstrous.

I feel an unexpected spike of guilt. I led our armies. We killed thousands of Nightshades.

No. I burn the feeling. I refuse to feel pity for the enemy. “And you?” I demand, finding my way back to my hatred. “What did he take from you? What did he threaten?”

He doesn’t answer. But there is something—I can see it in the flash of pain behind his eyes.

Good . I’m glad he’s capable of feeling pain. Because I’m going to inflict more of it on him. When he tells me what he’s planning, I’ll betray him. I’ll do anything I can to hurt him the way his family has hurt mine.

He sighs loudly. It echoes through his cell. “If you’re going to kill me, please do get on with it. It’s pathetic, watching you stand there, glaring at me.” He motions his chin toward the fire curling in my palms. “Go ahead. I’d rather burn alive than see your ugly face for another second.”

The fire in my fists rages. My eyes narrow. He’s begging for it , I think. Taunting me.

Does he think I won’t do it? Or does he actually want it?

“The treaty would be null,” I scrape out. And I need to find out what he’s planning. If he’s already set something in motion, his death won’t stop it.

He smirks. “Sure. That’s the reason. Not because you’re too much of a coward to do anything for yourself.”

The flames grow. “That’s rich coming from someone who followed every single one of his father’s orders.”

He stares for a second. Two. “I never said I wasn’t a coward.” His face projects the full extent of his disgust. “I’m not the one standing in front of a prisoner, truly believing that we’re so different. In a very probable alternate reality, our roles could easily be reversed.”

My jaw works. He’s wrong. We’re nothing alike. Nothing .

“Why do you hate me?”

His curiosity sounds genuine. I laugh without humor, the flames in my hands dying. I won’t give him what he wants.

“Truly,” he continues. “Think about it. Is it because of something I did? Or because someone told you to?”

I bare my teeth at him. “I hate you because you’re a monster who killed thousands of soldiers. I hate you because you are heartless and cruel. I hate you because your father—your father killed my mother .” Killed both my parents .

We are not our fathers , I remind myself. But everything Grimshaw’s done makes me think he may as well be.

I don’t know what I’m expecting him to say, but it isn’t—

“I’m sorry.”

Worse, I don’t expect him to mean it. I can taste that he does. Truth . It almost makes me angrier. I don’t want his apology. I don’t want his pity. I want my mother back .

“Be grateful you had one at all,” he remarks.

“You clearly had a mother.” My words are bitter.

“Yes, but I didn’t know her.”

Good , I think. The dark, twisted part of me that has been fed by rage is glad he has suffered. That he did not experience the love I did.

I want to rub it in. I want to keep trying to hurt him.

But I remember why I’m here. I need to gain his trust.

A moment passes in silence. Then I venture to ask, “What happened to her?”

His answer is immediate. Cold. “My father had her killed.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Am I so surprised? Is it not in line with everything I’ve learned about that family? About Cronan, the original Nightshade?

He studies me with dark amusement. “You see ... I have no love for my father. We have that in common, you and I.”

I want to spit, You don’t know me, monster .

Then I remember. Nightshades can have mental abilities. Grimshaw likely has a flair. Does he read minds? If so, he’s known my purpose from the moment I walked in. He’d know about my flair and how to avoid it. I need to proceed carefully.

“Why would you say that?” I ask, waiting to determine whether his answer is a lie.