Page 45 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

ENEMIES

I walk into a previously abandoned floor we’ve overtaken as our own, to find my friends there.

They’re seated on a mismatched assortment of the most comfortable couches Zed could steal from various parts of the castle.

We each have our favorite chair. Zed is currently sitting in mine. “Let’s go swimming.”

They look shocked. Probably because I’ve never been the one to propose night swimming in my life. Even though it’s one of my friends’ favorite things to do.

“It’s the Nightshade, isn’t it?” Zed says, looking amused. “He got you wound up.”

No use in denying it. I just scowl. “Consider yourselves lucky that none of you have my flair. I don’t think I’ve met such a miserable person in my entire life.”

“Now then. Don’t disrespect your father so soon after his death,” Zed says.

There’s a moment of silence.

We all burst into laughter. It feels wrong, but also right, to be finally laughing . How long has it been since we’ve all laughed together like this?

Enya hops to her feet. “Oro’s decided he’s a good time. Let’s get going before he starts frowning again.”

I give her a look, and she just loops her arm in mine. “You’ve been a little miserable yourself, you have to admit.”

She’s joking, but I scowl, remembering the Nightshade’s insistence on how similar we are.

Enya notices. She squeezes my arm. “You have a reason to be miserable. We all do.” I remind myself I’m not the only person who lost someone close to them. And I’m not the only one grieving my mother. “Tonight though ... let’s just forget. For a few hours.”

We leave the castle. On our way down to the beaches, I think about all our reasons to be upset. To be angry. Grim has those reasons too.

He didn’t have a mother. His father killed her.

I remember the weight of the power in my chest—how it felt when I fought to control it ... how it felt like I was teetering on the edge of two fates—burning the world down ... or keeping it whole.

My mother is the one who kept me on the right path. Who reminded me I was loved, and why this world is beautiful and worth saving to begin with.

What would I have turned into, if my father had killed my mother, before I experienced that love?

Who would I have become, without my mother’s guidance?

Who would I be without my friends? Without Egan? Without all the people I care about, and who care about me? Each of them has helped me find light, even in crushing darkness.

Rage has often turned me into someone I don’t recognize. I wonder if Grim’s right. If a few turns of fate could have made me into exactly what he is.

I shake the thought away as I enter the water after my friends. As foaming waves overtake us. As Calder creates ice floats for us to lie on, shivering, at Enya’s instance.

I refuse to feel empathy for my enemy.

Grimshaw’s head is still down as his voice, made gravelly from thirst, echoes through the cell. I haven’t even turned the corner, yet he can sense my presence. “Ivon Wolf.”

I frown. “What?”

“Ivon Wolf.” He finally looks up. Blood has crusted down his mouth. The prisoner isn’t supposed to be touched—but it seems the guards haven’t kept their orders. “Two hundred and seven years old. Three daughters. A wife pregnant with a fourth. Taller than either of us and could whistle any note.”

“Why—”

“Alinor Frey. Expert swordswoman. Husband of four centuries. Familiar with every type of metalwork.”

He continues. He rattles off dozens of names. Characteristics. Without breaking eye contact.

“People, you see, just like your soldiers. Not mindless faces. Not faceless monsters.” He bares his teeth at me. “You killed them. You , with your sword. All of them.”

I swallow.

His people were attacking my land. “It was in defense—”

He tilts his face. “Do your intentions matter, when they’re all dead?”

“What was the alternative? Allow them to kill my own?”

Still, the names circle through my head. Children. Families changed forever. Lives lost. I never once thought about them. I never considered who they were beneath their helmets.

Grim looks pleased, sensing my turmoil.

He’s trying to confuse me. Trying to get me to sympathize with him. I will not feel empathy for my enemy .

“What game are you playing?” I ask through my teeth.

His grin is nothing short of poisonous. “Not a very fun one, since it involves speaking to you. And not one with any goal other than getting you to see that everything you hate about me is in you too.”

My nostrils flare. “You like being in here, don’t you?” I demand, changing the topic.

He shrugs as much as he can with the chains weighing him down. “It isn’t so bad when a boring second son isn’t tormenting me.”

Truth.

“Why?”

He leans his head back against the wall. “My father isn’t here.”

“You would rather be in a prison ... than around your own father?”

I did not have the best relationship with my father. But I would have preferred his presence over this.

He considers my words. “They’re not so different.” He sighs. “At least in here, my sword is clean.” His sword. The one bathed in blood after every battle.

I don’t stand down. “You love battle. You love killing. I could see it.”

He glares at me. “I don’t love anything .” He’s telling the truth. Of course he is. “I enjoy turning it all off ...” he says. “Everything. My thoughts. My feelings. Everything becomes simpler.”

We stare at each other. Out of nowhere, he growls like an animal. “Your pity is disgusting. Do not pity me. I would rather be miserable than delusional, like you.”

“Right,” I say, laughing. “You think having friends, and loving my family, makes me weak.”

“Yes. And also, an idiot.”

That makes me laugh. And, I might be imagining it, but I swear the corner of his mouth turns up for just a moment. Then, he’s back to scowling.

“Why do you come here?” he asks. “Is it to torture me?”

Any hint of amusement leaves me. I remember again who he is. Why I’m here. I could lie. He doesn’t have my flair. I could easily keep my emotions in check. No . I try my best not to lie. He is not going to be the cause of me losing myself.

“I’m here to find out if you’re working against us,” I say, truthfully. “If you being here as a term of our treaty is part of your plan to overtake Lightlark.”

“Ah,” he says, apparently unsurprised.

“Well? Are you?” The words hang in the air between us, bookended by silence. I don’t dare breathe. One second passes. Another.

I don’t expect him to answer. But then he says, “Not right now.”

Truth . I finally breathe. My body uncoils. My people are safe, for now. I got what I came for.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

And then, I leave.