Page 74 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

MOST IMPORTANT GARDEN

The last thing I want is to go to Carmel.

The Centennial tradition is a celebration for the people. To keep them in high spirits. This year, after the deaths at the ball ... it’s a wonder anyone shows.

It lasts a full twenty-four hours, though I can’t participate until the sun sets.

I’ve checked on the Wildling far more times than I should have, to make sure she’s okay, given that Cleo needs to show up to Carmel to qualify for the prize.

Cleo . I’ve always disliked her ... but now, I hate her. She left Isla to die.

What if she’s going to try to finish the job at the festivities?

I keep guards on the Wildling. According to them, she’s still in her room.

The Starling has visited her. A glimmer of happiness lights in my chest that she’s found someone to spend time with. I would be nothing without my friends, I know. I’m glad—I’m glad she’s found that.

The sun sets, and I find myself still in the castle, pacing the halls. Willing this celebration to end, so I can go check the last two places on Moon Isle with Isla.

I pace, and pace, in front of the windows—

That’s when I see her.

She’s in my mother’s garden. She’s wearing a dress covered in pink and red petals, like the most glorious flower, in the most important garden.

I think about those golden roses my mother used to make. Not since then has her garden seen anything close to this beautiful.

My guards trail her. I watch, lips twitching, as she avoids them.

I watch until I feel a pang of yearning, and then I turn away again. I walk back through the castle, pacing for over an hour. It’s empty, most of the attendants at the celebration. I’m lost in my own mind, when I nearly slip on something on the floor.

I frown as I bend to pick it up.

A petal?

There’s a path of them ahead. They’re familiar. They look like her dress. I find a crown of flowers next.

Then, something cuts through the silence.

Her voice .

Her singing.

I close my eyes. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard; it has to be a dream—because the world isn’t this beautiful, and I am not this lucky, to have heard such a sound twice.

But it keeps going. Then, I hear a burst of laughter. My eyes fly open.

I follow the petals, like I would follow them to the end of the world. There are more of them, going up stairs, down hallways, and shoes that I grab, all leading to her.

Everything leading to—

“Isla?”

She whirls around and smiles.

Smiles .

Just like she did in my dream.

“Oro,” she says, and my name—I’ve never cared about how it sounded until now. Hearing my name on her lips, her voice breathy and excited—

I swallow. The last time I saw her, she was glaring at me. She still hated me.

Has she forgiven me?

She walks over, barefoot. I’m carrying her discarded shoes in my hand, and she doesn’t even notice.

All she does is step over her own petals, laugh, then stand high on her toes, in a failed attempt to reach my height.

Then, she flicks my crown, and the teasing gesture goes right to the center of me.

I blink.

She laughs again. I wish this were real, I wish it was true, but Isla wouldn’t forgive me so easily ... she wouldn’t be laughing , not at a time like this.

“Are you all right?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You’re always so angry ... why ? Do you ever smile?”

Yes. I do , I think. I smile when I think of you.

She’s still on her toes, and she tilts, losing her balance. My arms shoot out on instinct, keeping her upright. As soon as she’s on her feet, I drop my hand.

She gives me a scathing look, the anger returning. “I’m not poisonous .”

Oh, but you are. You are the most lethal of poisons. You are the type that I’ll drink without limit, and enjoy, and crave , until it kills me.

I’m your enemy, remember?

I know. The fact that she clearly cares for Grim makes her my enemy too.

I know, and I can’t stop looking at her, in that dress she’s torn apart.

I can’t stop studying her every move. I can’t stop hoping that she’ll tell me even more truths, so that I can treasure them long after she’s gone from this island.

She twirls, dancing.

Clearly, she’s had some of the wine at the celebration. “I’ll take you to your room ... if you would like,” I offer.

I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to court a woman, and no , that’s not what I’m doing. Of course not. Still, I’ve never felt like this before: nervous, hesitant to say anything, lest I say the wrong thing.

She just shrugs. “Fine. I was going there ... but the hallways changed.”

Yes. She’s definitely had some of the wine. “Did you drink the haze?”

She nods happily, and then she starts singing again, right in the middle of her song, as if she hadn’t ever taken a break.

She sings louder and turns in a circle, and then she’s exclaiming that she’s never felt this good in her life, and she doesn’t know why Poppy and Terra didn’t let her drink before.

I wonder about those people. “Your guardians?”

She nods. “Did you have guardians?”

Her question brings me back centuries. Pain breaks through, as I remember the Starling I found on the floor. “No, I didn’t. I was never supposed to be ruler, or king. My brother was the one with guardians.” I don’t tell her about Agnes. But I want to.

“So, what did you think you would be?”

Nothing . I thought I would be nothing.

Until I found myself, and my strength, in my training across the isles. Over time, I proved myself enough to unite the forces. To train together. To prepare for a future my father deemed impossible: war. When Nightshade attacked, I was grateful for all the time I had spent uniting our forces.

“I led our armies,” I answer, simply.

She freezes. She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me incredulously. “ You commanded the Lightlark armies?”

Normally I might be offended by her disbelief. But I simply nod.

She continues. “That’s why you hate him, isn’t it?”

Him . Of course, I know who she means. I’m not going to stand here and tell her every unforgivable thing Grimshaw Malvere has done. I’m not going to poison her to him—even if I want to.

“We both lost many warriors,” I say simply. “And I didn’t agree with the way he fought.”

We’re at her door now. She’s still swaying slightly, and my brows pinch together. “Are you going to be all right?” The guards are here, they’ve followed. They will make sure no one gets close to her door. I could leave now.

“I’ll be fine.”

Of course she will. I ignore the strange bite of disappointment, nod, and turn to go. Her hand catches my wrist, and it’s as if my blood is being called to hers, as if something has jolted between us.

She looks as if she didn’t feel anything. “Wait. I still have so many questions. Will you come in?”

No. Don’t invite me in , I want to tell her, knowing how I’m feeling right now. Knowing that going into her bedroom right now, being invited inside , is only going to make this fixation worse.

She seems to sense my hesitation, because she says, “I’ll make tea.”

Tea . That’s what has me stepping through her threshold. Tea is innocent. We both like tea. It’s on the increasingly growing list of things we have in common. I warm the water. She unearths some strange blend of spices, with a ridiculous name, that actually tastes incredible.

Then, she leans forward, drawing so close to my face that I can see the small specks in her eyes. Gold. She has flecks of gold in her eyes.

I see flashes of that dream. Of her lips, against mine. Of her breath against my ear—

“You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

No , I want to say. I avoid sleep because all I dream about is you. And that is dangerous .

“No. I haven’t for a long while.” Because before her, before dreaming of green eyes, on a golden stretch of beach .

.. there were the nightmares. The memories from battle.

The never-ending screams when the curses were cast. “I have a lot of guilt,” I say simply, because it sums up all the reasons for my lack of sleep.

The island is tied to me. These people are tied to me. I should be spending every waking moment trying to find the heart, trying to break these curses, yet I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking of green eyes and red lips.

“How did you find me?” she asks suddenly.

“In the hallway? I followed the trail of petals.”

She shakes her head. “No ... before.”

Ah. In the Moon Isle woods. “I heard the bird. That’s how I found you. I followed the bird.”

She yawns. Her eyes look heavy. I’m jealous, for a moment, of her ability to be tired. To find sleep. She smiles, and I can’t look away, even though it almost hurts to look at her, like staring directly at the sun.

Now she’s lying down. Her head is resting against my leg.

I sit very still, as if this moment is glass and I can break it. I don’t even dare breathe.

“I have honey in my head,” she mumbles, and I smile, because I’ve felt that before, though I’ve never thought of it that way. Her breathing starts to get longer. Deeper. She’s asleep.

She’s asleep on me .

Does this mean she trusts me? I stare at her greedily, memorizing every detail. Every curve of her parted lips, every curl of her lashes, every strand of hair that is splayed out against my leg.

Beautiful. Perfectly beautiful.

That’s how I fall asleep.

Counting all the ways the world doesn’t measure up to her beauty.

Someone is in front of me.

I jerk up on instinct, hand outstretched, warmth building, fire forming—

Before I see two green eyes blinking back at me through the darkness.

Right. I fell asleep ... in her room.

With her.

I frown. I haven’t slept this soundly in years. I lower my hand.

“You fell asleep,” she says quietly. “Thank—thank you for staying with me. I’m sorry, I think you missed part of the ... party.”

I did.

Panic flares. I need to attend Carmel before it ends. It’s still dark outside. I still have time—

But I’ve never done that before, slept through a responsibility. I’ve never been so reckless.

So irresponsible.

My people died at the last celebration. They need to see a strong king. They need to see someone to give them hope.

She gets up, looking a bit ashamed herself, avoiding looking down at her dress—ripped high up her thigh.

I stand too, averting my eyes.

“I should go to the celebration,” I say, regretting being here. Regretting everything.

She was drunk on wine. She didn’t mean to invite me here. She didn’t want to spend time with me. This was all a lie. And now, it’s over.

“You should,” she says, and she has the nerve to reach up and touch my crown.

As if we are familiar. As if any of this was real.

“Two more places on Moon Isle,” I say, my voice flat and perhaps cruel. Our focus is our people. Anything more is selfish. Ridiculous.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to one. The next, the other. Then we’re done.”

“Good,” she says just as curtly, telling me everything I need to know.

As soon as I’m out in the gardens I am filled with even more regret.

For speaking to her that way? I could have sworn, when she turned away from me, there was a hint of something. Hurt?

No. Impossible.

I regret being in her room. I regret thinking for a moment that we could ever be anything more than partners in this game, this game that we are currently losing.

At least the island seems in higher spirits. Haze is being drained from wine glasses. Some empty goblets litter the lawn my mother used to walk on.

I sigh and begin picking them up, one by one. Attendants rush to help me, but I tell them not to worry. I tell them to enjoy their night. I end up far into the gardens. Distracted, I take a wrong turn in the maze. When I turn around, I see an ancient, crumbling stone bench.

And I realize where I am.

It’s the place my mother’s golden rose bush used to grow. She used to sit on this same bench and look at the delicate flowers.

“Careful,” she said, when I was a child and got too close. “The most beautiful roses have thorns. You’ll get hurt.”

“Why do they have thorns?” I remember asking, after pricking my finger on one of them and watching a droplet of blood form.

“It’s like armor. It’s their protection.”

I sit on the stone bench and gently run my hands down its crumbling sides. “I’m sorry it never grew back,” I say quietly, into the night.

I wait, as if there could ever be a response. Of course, there isn’t. There never is. I place my hand in the center of the bench, where she used to hold mine.

“I hope there are golden roses wherever you are,” I whisper into the darkness. “I hope you duel every day, and drink tea every night. I hope there’s always enough honey. And I hope ... I hope you’re happy.”

Wind hisses past my ears. I lean back, staring up at the sky.

“I wonder, sometimes, if you can see me. If that flicker in the hearth sometimes is you, telling me to find my fire, even though I’ve lived for centuries in darkness.

” I swallow, my throat tightening. “And sometimes ... sometimes I wonder if you’re with Egan.

Then I get jealous. I get jealous that you’re all somewhere without me. ”

I take a shaking breath. Pain ripples up my arm, all the way to my shoulder, the blue spreading once again. “Maybe soon, I’ll join you,” I say, and, for the first time, that thought doesn’t fill me with dread.

I stand—

And a scream pierces the night.

Then, another.

Another.

I rush forward, confused, trying to find the path through the maze.

Then, I hear another scream. This one, I would recognize anywhere.

I shoot into the air, landing only once I see her. Relief hits me in the chest and melts through me like ice. She’s all right. She’s alive . Then, I see the Starling, floating, wrapped in webbing.

Someone has attacked her. Who?

Isla cares about the Starling. Her eyes are wide. They’re full of pain and fear.

Time is running out for all of us.

We must find the heart.