Page 55 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

CROWN

“That Wildling ruler let you win,” Enya says.

No shit.

She’s making herself at home in my chambers, her mud-crusted shoes resting atop the wooden table that doubles as a desk. I sigh, lift her ankles, and place them on the floor. “I do eat there, you know,” I remind her.

“Oh, I know.” She flashes me a wicked grin. There is nothing Enya likes more than to provoke me.

“Don’t you have a court to run?” I ask, my voice as tired as I feel.

“And miss the chance to rub in your face that a ruler who hasn’t been alive three decades was about to beat you? Never.”

I opt to ignore her, more from exhaustion than decorum. My feet are practically dragging as I make my way to my wardrobe. For all Enya’s devilry, she must notice my fatigue, because she’s on her feet in a moment, gently helping me take off my armor, piece by piece.

“I’ve got it, I—”

Her fingers pause. I sigh. “It’s not—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The discoloration on my arm has spread even further. Enya puts the armor down and begins pacing the room. “There has to be a way to slow it down ... to stop it. This is getting absurd.” She throws her hands up. “You won’t even survive the gods-damned Centennial at this rate!”

She’s right. She’s always right. Still, I’m silent as I remove my remaining armor. As I change into more comfortable clothing. When I’m done, I collapse on the seat opposite Enya with a groan.

I’m ruler of Sunling ... and I’ve gone centuries without sunlight. Without warmth. It’s starting to have its effect. The blue is just a visual manifestation of this weakness. I can feel it inside. My power, dimming. This entire island, on the precipice of ruin.

“The only way this stops is if we break the curses.”

Enya gnaws at her lip, worriedly. “What if we don’t need the prophecy? What if Grim did spin the curses, and you kill him?” she asks. “It should end them. Right?”

If only it was that easy. “I can’t kill Grim.” I tell her why, just like I’ve always told her all my secrets. It’s the reason the Wildling’s death won’t fulfill the prophecy either. When I’m done, Enya frowns. “Are you really afraid of someone who has been buried for millennia?”

“Yes,” I say, because it’s the truth. Our world is suffering enough without adding a bloodthirsty Lark Crown to the mix.

Enya nods. For a while we sit in silence. Then she says, “This time must be different. You , Oro, must be different.” She sits next to me and takes my hand. “Look at me.”

I do as she says. “Oro Rey. You are dying. There is no room for morals, truth, or all the rules you live by. Promise me you will do whatever it takes to break the curses this Centennial. To save yourself and all the island. Even if it means not being honest for the first time in your long life.”

Even the suggestion burns me. I detest liars.

Liars like Isla Crown. My teeth grind, remembering the wicked Wildling, and how her shift in expressions and actions told me all I needed to know. She could have won the entire trial but didn’t.

She has a plan. She is not to be underestimated.

I always endeavor to be honorable. But Enya is right. My death would lead to the death of thousands. I must put their well-being above anything—even my own morals.

“I promise.”

The Wildling is speaking to Grim.

The sight of it makes something strange and unfamiliar twist in my stomach. He corrupts everything he touches. I don’t want him to do the same to her ... but maybe he already has.

Is that why he’s saved her, and taken an interest in her?

Are they working together?

We are in the dining hall for Azul’s demonstration: a show of power. Azul is the least likely ruler to create a scenario in which someone will die. But there is a reason behind everything he does.

I watch Grim and Isla, trying my best to guess at their possible plan through body language and gestures.

If they are working together ... are they here to kill me?

Is that why Grim has returned? No one from their realms has lived here in centuries.

My death would not affect them as much as the rest. But why would Grim align himself with such an inexperienced ruler?

Perhaps because it will be easier to betray her later.

Azul invites the Nightshade to start.

Grimshaw stands, and the strength of my hatred overwhelms me. He has the nerve to look over at me, as if he can feel my loathing. His expression is mocking, almost pleased. But there’s something else there ... something I can’t quite decipher.

The demon opens his palm, and the room shatters.

Nobles scream. Darkness spills everywhere, as though the night sky has fallen atop us.

I close my eyes tightly against the illusion—I know a lie when I see it—and fight against a wave of sadness long buried.

The screams sound just like they did the day the curses were spun.

When this demon’s power ruined the island. Ruined my life. Ruined everything .

The room is back to normal when I open my eyes again, but I’m more nervous than ever. He’s killed thousands before. Has he just shown us the future? Is he here to destroy the island?

He didn’t have those ambitions the last time he was here. But five centuries is a long time.

“Cleo, if you would,” Azul says, breaking my focus on Grim.

Cleo strides to the front of the table, her white cape flowing behind her, liquid.

She lifts her arms, and wine shoots toward the ceiling, forming sharks with mouths open to display rows of violent teeth.

Dramatic, of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my former Moonling instructor.

Just like Grimshaw, Cleo clearly came back for a reason.

Why return for this Centennial? Why miss the last?

“Celeste?”

The Starling stands. She looks nervous as she walks to the front of the room, under the scrutiny of nobles who view her realm as lesser.

It’s almost ridiculous, knowing that centuries before, they were one of the strongest realms. Starlings have had it the worst over the centuries.

Constantly dying. Not able to live past twenty-five.

Their isle is in peril. Just when I think I’m making progress toward solving some of their problems, new ones arise, as if impossible to tug from the root.

The room explodes in a mess of silver sparks. It’s an unfamiliar color in this court. We used to have great Starlings with magnificent powers. They were artists.

Now, all of them are gone.

Azul goes next. His power is graceful, mastered over centuries. He creates clouds, light and luminous, that quickly darken into storms.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. It seems prophetic. Inevitable.

The storms have swallowed the island for centuries, nearly wiping all our sun away, cloaking our island in near-constant darkness.

It makes our Sunling curse more manageable, but the clouds are known to clear erratically.

Many have burned by emerging during the day, putting their trust in the storms. Most of us don’t risk it.

My world has become one of night and darkness and cold.

The clouds dissipate and I wonder if Azul will ask me to demonstrate next, but he is very clearly looking at the Wildling.

The Wildling .

Everyone is watching her, and she is afraid.

Her fear is obvious in the way she slowly rises. In the set of her delicate jaw. In the lowering of her shoulders, as if she’s mentally reminding herself to look at ease, even if she isn’t.

I already know too much about her, her expressions and movements.

I’ve been watching her too closely.

Just as I’m about to look away, her melodious voice rings through the room. “King? Would you assist me in my demonstration?”

King . Just like my hatred for Grim, my hatred for that word has never wavered in the last five hundred years.

Her request is not something I should deny, not in front of all these people. So, I smooth my face, ridding it of expression. I bury my emotions the way I have every single day for centuries.

I rise.

I offer her my hand. It feels like I’ve already given her so much more. She takes it, and my lips involuntarily part. I feel my eyes narrow. A shock has gone through my arm, right to my chest—

She doesn’t notice my reaction. She doesn’t even look at me as she leads me to the center of the room.

“Stand there,” she orders. I should be outraged or at least irritated, but I’m too shocked to do anything other than obey.

She drops my hand and crosses the room. Using clumsy fingers, she sheds her rings, then removes her gloves.

She fetches a pin from her hair, and a tendril comes loose, falling across her cheek.

I shouldn’t be watching so closely. I shouldn’t be admiring how the light hits her hair to reveal darker shades and a few golden strands.

What is wrong with me?

If I wasn’t distracted, I would have immediately seen that the pin isn’t a pin at all—but a throwing star. A weapon. I blink—again, feeling that strange mix of awe and anger.

The Wildling has the nerve to take me in the center of the room and point a weapon at me. Her nerve almost makes me smile.

The crowd is outraged. I can hear their whispers, feel the heat of their fury.

“I didn’t realize you came to dinners armed , Wildling,” Cleo says, but I barely hear her voice.

I’m focused solely on Isla’s lips as she says, “I’m always armed.” And it feels that way. It feels as if there’s an invisible noose around my neck right at this moment. Our gazes don’t break; it’s like we’re the only two people in this room, on this island, in this world.

She takes the throwing star between her teeth, and I swallow.

Then she ties one of her gloves over her eyes.

The crowd gasps, but I don’t move a muscle.

I’ve been indifferent, frozen and unfeeling for so long, but right now, there is a heat burning inside of me.

Fury. Hope. Curiosity like a flame I can’t extinguish.

She takes the star from between her teeth.