Page 54 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

“Weak stomach, Grimshaw?” I tighten my grip around the knife at my plate, considering its many uses.

His cocky grin doesn’t reach his eyes. “We all have our weaknesses, Oro. I’m counting on them.”

Weaknesses .

If only he knew how weak I feel right now.

The rest of the dinner passes in a blur. Afterward, I stand in my room in front of the mirror. Wincing, I peel off my shirt, tensing when I see my reflection.

The gray-blue has spread. It snakes down my arm, almost covering it entirely.

I’m dying.

No one knows it but me and my friends. Only they know the truth: This is not just another chance to end the curses ... it is our island’s last chance for survival.

Which is why I allow myself to do something foolish. I slip my shirt back on, and head into the hall.

I barely tap on the door before it opens a crack and Grimshaw slips through it, into the corridor. He leans against the stone wall, affecting boredom. By now, I’m well acquainted with most of Grim’s posturing.

“Looking for a bedtime story, King?”

I dismiss the barb. “Why are you here?” It’s one thing to have invited him; it was another for him to accept. He must know that we will all rush to kill him to fulfill the prophecy, once the first fifty days are over.

So why come? What does he want?

Instead of answering me, he tilts his head, and says, “You invited me ... so you must have figured out I didn’t spin the curses.

You must believe me now.” I remember that day.

The hurt in his eyes. When I didn’t believe him.

His voice is unnervingly calm, but I see a flash of that same hurt now.

It’s gone with a blink. “So why, Oro, do you still hate me?”

It’s a fair question, I suppose. At first, I hated him for everything he and his realm had done during the war.

Now I hate him because I blame him for the curses—whether he directly spun them or not. I blame him . I trusted him, I let him in, I let him out of his cell, and this is what it all led to.

I hate him because, the eve before the curses, I had hope, for the first time in many years, that the future could be bright. That we could work together toward a greater world. Peace, between our realms, for the first time in millennia.

Instead, we were plunged into utter darkness.

And I blame him .

“I don’t believe for a second that you are here for innocent reasons.

That you are here simply to break the curses.

I think you’re plotting against me. I think you are here to cause us all even more ruin.

Of course I hate you.” He just looks at me.

He does not deny any of my theories and that, I think, is telling. “So, I ask again. Why are you here?”

“I have my reasons, of course. Not that I owe you any of them.”

He turns back toward his room, but I’m not finished. I block his path with a wall of towering flames. He turns slowly, annoyed.

“The Wildling.” My words catch him off guard. He stills. Interesting .

“What about the Wildling?” he asks. His words have a hard edge. Why? He saved her from the cliff. He stopped her from eating the heart. I didn’t miss the shadow of relief on her face after it was taken away. He must have sensed her discomfort, with his power.

Why would he care?

“You’re interested in her.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Who wouldn’t be?”

It isn’t a direct answer. He’s being deliberately evasive ... as if he knows about my flair. He never guessed at it before. Or did he? Now I wonder if all my questions in the cell made it obvious. If he knew then ... why was he so forthcoming?

“Why are you here?” I ask again.

“To secure my realm’s survival,” he replies. The truth of his words sinks onto my tongue. Still, I don’t trust him at all.

“You must know I’ll kill you the second there’s opportunity.”

“Of course.” He nods. “Which is why there’s something you should know.” My eyes narrow. What could possibly change my position?

“Kill me, and something worse will be freed on Nightshade.”

Truth.

Curiosity overcomes my hatred for just a moment. “What do you mean?” What could be worse than this demon before me?

He waits, considering. Likely wondering if he should tell me. I can see the indecision in his eyes before he finally says, “Lark Crown is alive.”

My entire body goes still. I’m not breathing. Lark Crown . I haven’t heard that name in centuries. “Impossible,” I say. “They’re all dead.” All the founders of the island have long since died.

But he’s telling the truth.

“Not her. She can’t be killed. Her flair is regrowth. Cronan buried her, to stifle her powers and keep her at bay.”

Of course, I’ve heard the stories of the founders’ world-building. Of Lark’s power. Presumably, all of us rulers have. If accounts of history are accurate, she’s more powerful than all of us combined. After centuries of being trapped, she’ll be hell-bent on revenge. She’ll be unpredictable.

“My bloodline keeps her imprisoned,” he says. Truth. “Kill me, and she’ll be unleashed.”

Well, fuck .

It also means Isla can’t die to fulfill the prophecy. Her ruling line wouldn’t end, if Lark is still alive.

He smiles, sensing my frustration. Reveling in it. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he drawls. “I know how much you’d love to kill me.”

On that, I allow my flames to burn out, and he slams his door in my face.

I can’t kill Grim to fulfill the prophecy.

Not unless I find the heart of Lightlark first. It is said to contain original Nightshade power, from his bloodline.

If I learn to wield it, perhaps I can keep Lark imprisoned after Grim is dead.

It’s a plan born of desperation, a reach.

I have no way of knowing whether the power in the heart will match Grim’s own.

But right now, it’s the only plan I have.

Because if one of my realms falls ... it will kill thousands on the island. Lightlark won’t survive it. That leaves either Wildling or Nightshade.

And now I know the Wildling’s death wouldn’t solve anything. Not that I was in a rush to kill her anyway.

The singing rings through my head again. My back teeth clench together.

It’s only the first day, and everything has already gotten so much harder.

The next few weeks will be full of trials, planned by each ruler, designed to showcase each of our strengths and weaknesses. A way to try to convince each other that our realms should live.

Whoever wins the most trials decides the teams we split up into. It’s an illusion of control in this twisted game.

I don’t trust any of the other rulers, save for Azul, who never fights to win.

So, I must be the winner. I must decide the matches.

Grim’s trial is first. He proposes a duel.

I’m paired with Azul first. Besting him takes only seconds. Cleo and the Starling—Celeste—are next. Cleo doesn’t hold back. She never does. I almost pity the Starling.

Then, it’s the Wildling— Isla— and Grimshaw. I don’t care if she lives or dies, beyond the rules of the Centennial, even if I did save her. That is what I tell myself, as I watch them duel.

I want her to lose. I want the chance to duel Grim, so that I can maim him in public.

She doesn’t lose.

No, she is a better fighter than I imagined she could be, given her lack of experience .

.. Interesting. I’m still considering this fact when I’m called to duel Cleo.

My delightful former instructor. I’m so distracted by my surprise over the Wildling’s fighting that Cleo manages to get a hit in—slicing down my arm, my blood pouring to sand below.

The flash of pain is enough to get my head back in place, and I best her in seconds. She grins at my injury.

Fucking Cleo.

I dig my sword in front of me and wait, because I know who I’m dueling next. I watch her tentatively walk forward, as if she didn’t just defeat Grimshaw.

Best to get this over with quickly.

I swipe my sword deftly, thinking it’s over—

But it meets steel. I frown. A sound escapes her parted lips and ... why am I looking at them? She deepens her stance, meeting my force with her own.

I push back against her. She adds another hand to her grip, then presses toward me. I respond with a quick jab, irritated, wanting to be away from her distracting lips and the song in my head as soon as possible—

Metal against metal. She blocks me again.

She swings her blade, and I stop it, studying her more closely. Studying the differences from the last time I gazed upon her. Because this ... this is different . This isn’t the poised ruler, sitting with perfect posture at the table, or the carefree ruler, singing on her balcony.

No. This is a different side to her.

Her full top lip is curled back in a snarl. Her eyes are narrowed and gleaming with focus, and those eyes—

Green. Her eyes are green.

And I never thought a color could send a chill down my spine, until two green eyes pinned me in place, and made me forget my name.

Made me forget my crown.

Made me forget her blade, just inches from my heart.

Because that green ... it’s the green of my favorite place. That beach I escape to in my dreams.

And I have a sinking feeling that she’s about to fill all of them.

No .

What am I thinking? Have I lost my mind?

I grit my teeth as I lunge forward, and her footing falters. At my next approach, her arm shakes. Good. Great . She’s tiring.

Let’s get this over with .

Hit after hit, she weakens, until it’s time for my last strike. I make my final move—

And she blocks it with brutal strength, leaving me stumbling forward.

I blink. She tricked me. She’s been storing her energy. She was pretending to be tired out.

And I fell for it .

I stumble back, barely blocking her blows, the arm Cleo cut to tatters on fire. I’ve lost a lot of blood. My strength is not what it’s been since the blue began spreading. She pounces at me, sword in the air, a second away from ending me.

She’s going to beat me. That thought gives way to a surprising mix of awe and anger.

Then, she falters. It’s subtle, but I’m studying her so carefully that I catch the slight change in her expression. And I see her adjust her aim slightly lower—instead of leaning into the blow, she loosens her grip on her sword ...

When my metal meets hers, her sword swings wildly away, before clattering against the ground, pushing up sand. She faces me, unarmed, her chest heaving.

The Wildling let me win.

The crowd erupts in cheers, but I barely hear them. As I look at her, something awakens. Curiosity that I haven’t felt in centuries. I see her for what she is.

Liar .