Page 60 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

TRUTH

My mother gave me her love of tea and taught me everything she could about its properties.

I try not to focus so much on the Wildling and the fact that her face lights up when she sips one of my favorite varieties.

This isn’t about her. Or me. It’s about the future of this island.

It’s about the future of everyone I’ve ever cared about.

“Your greatest secret is written in the leaves,” I tell the rulers as they finish their tea, and watch for their reactions. “Whoever shares their secret wins my trial.”

Each of us has three teacups in front of us. The Starling drops hers first. Odd. What secret could the young ruler be hiding? Azul’s is next.

But my eyes are on the Wildling. On the subtle tells of her panic—the way she pulls the end of her hair. The way her lips slightly part.

I clench my jaw, barely restraining myself from simply rushing over to read her secret, hoping she slips up and actually tries to win this trial. It would be useless, I know. Cleo and I are tied. A win for Isla would mean little. Still, I hope.

But she’s not stupid. I watch, muscles tensed, as Isla pushes her cups to the floor, and her secret—the one I’ve been obsessing over for weeks now—shatters.

Grim is next. He’s looking at me like he longs for my death as much as I long for his. Good . Then, he pushes his cups over the edge.

Only Cleo and I remain. The Moonling has a secret. Does she care more about keeping it? Or winning? I hope the former ... but the Moonling has surprised me before. I hold her gaze, waiting.

Finally, she pushes her cups over the side.

And I’ve won the trials. I get to decide the pairs. My shoulders settle, relief filling me, even as I’m about to share my own greatest secret.

It doesn’t bother me as much as expected. There are no secrets worth keeping, I reason, if they stand between life and death. The curses must end. It’s all that matters.

“I.” The first cup goes over the edge.

“Am.” There goes the second.

I look up—and those eyes ensnare me. The ones that haunt my every waking thought and dream. I wasn’t trying to look at her ... but there she is. Looking at me .

I frown and hold her gaze as I say the last and most important word, written in the leaves.

“Dying.”

Panic ensues. Of course it does. Try being the one dying.

Soon, it’s time for me to choose the teams. I’ve gone over every option. Every alliance. Every benefit and consequence.

My goal is to find the heart of Lightlark.

And I know who can help me get it.

This is wrong. I can feel the mistake of this choice, and all its possible reverberations, even as I seek to justify it.

Anyone but her. I should choose anyone but the Wildling who all but lives in my mind.

But her realm’s connection to nature, and the knowledge she proved by recognizing the rash on my hand, make her the best possible person to help me find a heart tied to a living thing. She is my last hope.

Or my last regret.

When it comes time to decide my team, the words leave my mouth before I can think better of them: “My choice of partner is Isla.”

I knock on the Wildling’s door, wondering if this is the most foolish thing I’ve ever done in my long life. It swings open immediately, and there she is, mouth already open.

Then she sees me, and she closes it. Her eyes widen. Apparently, she was expecting someone else.

Who? Grimshaw?

Irritation heats my skin, but I bury it. I will know soon enough whether she is plotting against me with the Nightshade.

And right now ... she’s working with me .

This is for the good of the island, but there is nothing that justifies how long I look at her now.

Because she looks different. Another side of her, uncovered. She doesn’t look like a Wildling temptress, or ruler, or warrior. She just looks like ... a woman. The paint on her face has been scrubbed away, her hair is tied up, and she is in clothes that appear not to fit at all.

She has the nerve to look annoyed. “Do you normally call upon rulers at midnight?”

If I needed a reminder that she gets on my nerves, this is it. “May I enter?”

Her voice all but announces her disappointment over being paired together. “I suppose.” She steps aside and I walk in, expecting to see everything she’s been hiding.

Instead, I find ... mess. Clothes everywhere. Endless cups of half-drunk tea.

The door clicks shut, and I turn to find her there, looking at me not with the respect I’ve come to expect as king, but with irritation . “Yes?” she asks, her tone dripping disdain.

Regret. I’m already feeling its teeth sink into me.

Best to get this over with.

“I would like to make a deal.”

Her expression remains unchanged, but I hear the unease in her voice as she asks, “Oh? What is it you propose?”

That voice. Always beautiful, even when her words are dripping poison.

I clear off a chair. “May I?” I ask, even though this is my own damned castle. She nods, still glaring at me, and I take a seat.

This is going to be pleasant. I can already tell.

“I have a theory about the curses, one I’ve been working through the last half century. And I believe you are able to help me. You see, I require a knowledge of nature. One you clearly possess.”

She’s looking at me like she doesn’t trust me. That’s new. Over the centuries, I’ve become known for my honesty more than anything else. But she’s looking at me like I’m lying. Like I’m going to trick her.

As if she isn’t a little liar herself .

“What is the deal?” she finally asks.

“You are, of course, aware of the second-to-last line of the oracle’s riddle.

One of our realms must fall for the curses to be broken.

” She nods. “As we are a pair, I cannot harm you.” It’s part of the rules, to encourage working together.

“And, if you help me find what I seek, I will do my best to protect you from the other rulers as well.”

I find it to be a fair proposition. I’m pleased with myself. I sit back in my chair, awaiting gratitude.

Instead, her look is withering.

I blink. Does she not realize I’ve just offered her a lifeline in this competition? Does she not realize I’m saving her? Her anger makes me angry. I shouldn’t have come to her room. I shouldn’t have believed the Wildling could be reasonable.

She’s captivating, and fascinating to watch. She’s a constantly evolving mystery. She has eyes that rival any of this world’s beauty.

She’s also fucking irritating.

“ You want to protect me?” she says, looking me up and down with pure and utter disdain. “I thought you were dying.”

Yes. So very irritating.

My own anger flares; I can feel it heating my skin. I grip the side of her chair so hard, I think I might break it. Does she think this is all a joke? Does she not realize my death will doom thousands? “Is it a deal or not, Wildling?” I spit out.

That only makes her smirk. And that ... just angers me more. It also makes me question again whether she was ever trying to beguile me at all. It can’t possibly be her plan. Or maybe, she’s just incapable of being pleasant for more than a few seconds.

The disdain must be clear on my face—but she just smiles .

“I disgust you, don’t I?” she asks. She takes a step toward me.

“Is it the heart eating?” I frown, because yes, that part of their curse does disgust me.

It only makes her grin wider. “Or the dresses?” I try very hard not to think of the dress she was wearing when she plunged off the balcony, wet and dripping and tight against her skin.

Or every single one she’s worn since. I have them all committed to memory, like I’m a damned tailor.

“What a shame the only person who can help you with your supposed theory repulses you so much.”

I stand, then step toward her, hands curled in fists.

Yes , I think. You disgust me . The fact that I can’t stop thinking about you disgusts me. The fact that I can’t breathe around you disgusts me. The fact that I’ve been following you around for weeks and you don’t know it disgusts me.

The fact that you are my enemy and still you haunt my every waking thought and dream disgusts me.

“You are wasting my time,” I say through gritted teeth, meaning it in more ways than one. “Do we have a deal or not?”

She considers it. Then she says the last thing I expect. “It’s only a deal if I am able to decide a second realm that will remain safe.”

Second realm . Of course. She means Nightshade. Grim . I already suspected it, but the proof makes my skin feel icy again. “Is there one you have in mind?” I need to hear her say it. I need to confirm it once and for all.

She shrugs. Tellingly, she doesn’t answer. She just says, “If I’m helping you break the curses, I should at least get to determine one other realm that deserves to be saved. And, since you require me, it seems there might be room for negotiation.”

My jaw tenses. Chimes sound through the castle, marking the time.

I could leave. I could rescind my offer.

I could find someone else to work with. I could get a fucking grip .

But as frustrating as she is ... I need her to help me find the heart.

If the Wildling can help me, I will spend every waking moment with her if I need to.

I will do the one thing I try to avoid. I will lie.

“Fine,” I say, knowing I won’t save Grim, if that’s who she chooses. It isn’t a clear lie, but it certainly isn’t the perfect truth. “So, it’s a deal?”

I watch her shoulders melt in relief—and feel a small inkling of guilt for my partial deception.

“It’s a deal,” she says.

“Good.”

She walks me to the door, lighter on her feet now. She’s practically skipping. More guilt.

“When do we start?” she asks.

“Now.”

“Now?” Her voice has gone panicky again. Why? Was she hoping to fill Grimshaw in on our agreement? Was she going to seek him out tonight? For some reason, the idea of that disgusts me more than anything.

My gaze narrows. “Is that a problem?”