Page 52 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

THE CENTENNIAL

Only joined can the curses be undone

Only after one of six has won ,

When the original offense

Has been committed again

And a ruling line has come to an end

Only then can history amend .

“We’re all taking bets.”

Enya’s voice is casual, but I know her well enough to recognize the fear threading through her words.

“On what?” I ask, half my mind somewhere else.

“Whether the cursed Nightshade will grace our island with his presence,” Zed says, sprawled out on a chair on our favored floor, throwing his blade through the air, and catching it by the hilt.

At the sound of the word— Nightshade— anger heats in my blood, on instinct.

“I say no. He’s a coward. His curse isn’t so bad.

He gets the sunlight, though I suppose the demon would prefer night. ”

“I’ve had enough of night,” Enya breathes.

We all have. The first decades were torture. Not feeling the warmth of the sun, hiding from it like beasts. Some Sunlings went mad. They threw themselves outside to die. I saw a man do it once, through the sliver of a veiled window. For just a moment, when the sun hit him, he looked at peace.

Then he erupted in flames.

“Do you really think we have a chance this time?” Calder asks. He’s stone-faced, as always. But I can sense the hope in his tone.

“Only if he shows up,” I say tightly. And only if I can find the heart of Lightlark.

It’s the power seed of the island, made up of pure, ancient Sunling, Wildling, and Nightshade ability, formed by our ancestors.

Decades ago, I became convinced that finding it—and using it to spin the curses—was the mistake spoken about in the prophecy.

The one that needed to be repeated, to right everything.

If I’m right ... Grim didn’t create the curses. Someone else did, using the heart. And it makes me wonder about that flicker of truth when he told me he didn’t.

It’s the only reason I sent an invitation. He could have shown up at any of the Centennials, if he had wanted, but this time, I invited him personally.

It’s the only reason my friends are speaking his name, which they have cursed for centuries.

It doesn’t mean I still don’t despise him.

For even if he didn’t spin the curses ..

. I’ll never forget the hint of lie in his words when he denied being responsible.

Somehow, he was involved. After everything—our history, our friendship— his actions, inadvertently or not, led to my island becoming a husk of itself.

To my brother dying. And that is enough for me to hate him forever.

And perhaps I hate myself more than I hate even him, for ever trusting him at all. For ever thinking we could become friends . If I didn’t ... perhaps things might be different.

“Then I hope he comes,” Calder says.

None of us say it, but we agree.

We have this talk before every Centennial. “Well, then,” Zed says. “If the curses are broken, chances are one of us ...”

One or more of us will die .

One of the rulers must die to break them—it’s part of the prophecy. Because of our connection to our people and lack of heirs, it also means the end of an entire realm.

“None of us are dying,” I say, willing the words to be true.

If one realm does perish, we all know whose it must be. Grimshaw. Nightshade. But he can only die if he accepts the invitation. Only a fool would.

Only a fool would walk into near-certain death.