Skyshade (The Lightlark Saga Book 3) (The Lightlark Saga, 3) (Volume 3)
Skyshade: SNAKE

She and all of Nightshade wouldn’t survive the storm season, unless she could replace the portal. Unless she could extend her life long enough to change her fate.

Part of her felt rage. Her life had barely been her own. Since she was a child, she had trained for the Centennial. Then, she found herself the ruler of two realms. Now, she was practically a walking corpse, her life tied to another, on borrowed time.

Freedom was what she had craved since she was a little girl, but fate was the ultimate restraint. It was the glass in her room, caging her; it was the bracelets, keeping the worst of her at bay.

The stormfinch sat watching her from inside its cage. She watched it back, willing it to sing. Willing a storm to break, so she could replace the portal. Its beak remained closed.

It always stood in the same place. No matter how many days she left the door open, the bird never tried to fly out.

“You’re smarter than I am,” she said. For years, all she had wanted was to leave her room in the Wildling realm. She dreamed of adventure, of freedom.

Look where that had gotten her.

She was lonelier than ever, out of necessity. It wasn’t like Grim hadn’t tried to seek her out. Along with her favorite flowers, her favorite foods had been brought by attendants. He knew them all, and she didn’t think too hard about that fact.

The plates were all empty now, and she craved a bit of comfort. Something warm and sweet that would make her forget, for just a few moments, that there were only a couple of months left of winter.

It was long past midnight. She left her room, stepping carefully over the built-up pile of flowers, intending to replace the kitchens. The halls were empty.

She walked through them, taking the long way to avoid the room Grim had been staying in, since he had given her his quarters. Part of her wanted to go there, to seek comfort in him, but no . . . her heart was too confused already. What she longed for was a friend.

What she longed for was a home.

There was an emptiness in her that had always existed. A place where perhaps a mother or father or friend would have gone. Celeste had filled it for a time, but she hadn’t been real.

So much hadn’t been real.

She remembered the carving on the augur’s wall. Her, looking the part of the vengeful snake-queen the people here believed her to be. She could almost see the serpents now, slithering around her arms. Hissing. She could almost feel them, cold scales slipping against her skin, even though she had returned the serpent she often wore to Wren an hour ago. It felt almost familiar. Almost right.

She turned the corner and hit something solid. Before she knew it, she was pressed against a cold wall. Her hand reached toward her blade on instinct but was pinned by her side before her fingers could curl around the hilt.

Grim rippled into visibility before her. His grip on her wrist was loose. She could easily escape it, but she didn’t. She remained very still, even as his thumb gently brushed across her pulse. It was getting faster. He could feel it. He tilted his head, looking down at her with a preternatural focus.

She was grateful she had scrubbed the blood from her skin, from her hair, from her clothes; but under his unrelenting gaze, she wondered if he knew where she had been. If he knew that while it seemed she worked for his realm’s benefit, she was also making plans without him.

She lifted her chin. “Following me?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Always.”

He leaned down, and she didn’t move a muscle, even as his lips inched closer. Closer. She swore her traitorous pulse must be hammering beneath his thumb, because his mouth curled in wicked amusement. Part of her wanted him to bridge the gap between them. Part of her wanted any comfort he could offer her, especially now, especially with everything falling apart. Instead, his lips swept past hers, dragging across her cheek all the way to her ear to say, his voice like a finger down her spine, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

She swallowed. He traced the movement of her throat with his gaze. “I’ve been trying to get information. About . . . about the portal.” It wasn’t completely a lie. She kept her emotions steady.

His lips were still inches from her ear. He leaned in, as if he could smell her feelings, as if he could taste them. Lower. His mouth pressed ever so gently against her pulse. She didn’t think she was breathing.

Then, he abruptly pulled back. Stared down at her, with eyes filled with something like fury. Something like worry.

“What happened?”

Of course he could sense her sadness.

She said nothing. She wondered what he would read into that—if it would make him suspicious of her comings and goings—but, if anything, he only looked more concerned.

He couldn’t have known she had been looking for the kitchens, but that was where he brought her, before she could blink.

Without saying a word, he began preparing something, moving around the room in a familiar, practiced way.

The words stumbled out of her. “You cook?”

He pretended to look offended by her surprise. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning against a counter. The dark stone was cold against her spine.

His gaze slipped down her body for just a moment, and she became aware that she had left her room in one of the nighttime outfits from her wardrobe, two small pieces of silk that left swaths of skin uncovered. His eyes darkened.

Then, he turned back to what he was doing. She watched as his hands worked quickly. Diligently. He was chopping something up and putting it in a pot. She couldn’t see exactly what it was. What she could see were his broad shoulders. His muscled back.

He faced her again, and she quickly shifted her gaze. “I learned during training. I often found myself alone. If I wanted to eat . . . I needed to cook.”

She knew little about his upbringing, other than a few mentions of it in the past. She knew he had undergone extreme training to be a warrior. It was difficult to imagine him without the comforts of his castle.

Now, though, as she watched him stir something in a pot, she could picture it. Grim, hair curled around his ears the way it was now, messy from a clear lack of sleep. His wide shoulders draped not in a ruler’s cape but in a black fabric that didn’t look soft at all, not soft enough to sleep in. She wondered if he had any comfortable clothes. All she remembered was him in his training clothes, or armor, or formal attire, or out of it.

The thought made her cheeks burn. She heard a scrape of movement—Grim, replaceing a mug. Pouring something into it.

That was when she smelled it.

She met his eyes. She must have looked far too excited, because he smiled again, like he treasured her excitement, like he would do anything to make her make that exact expression again.

He carried it over to her; and in her happiness, in her anticipation, she slipped her fingers over his around the mug. Together, they held it. Together, they brought it to her lips.

She groaned, tasting the chocolate. It was velvety, rich. Hot compared to the cold of the stone still against her back. Her eyes fell closed, savoring it.

When she opened them again, she found him studying her. He looked transfixed. Before she could make another move, he gently took the mug from her hands, set it on the counter beside her hip, and brought a thumb to her lips, which she imagined were covered in chocolate. He brushed against them, and she shivered.

She didn’t know what came over her—perhaps the reminder that her life was fleeting—but when he moved to drop his hand, her own came down over it.

Grim went still. His eyes bore into hers, waiting. Waiting for her to tear away from him the way she had so many times before. She didn’t; and slowly, so slowly, his calloused fingers curled around her jaw. Threaded through her hair. Her fingers molded over his.

They just stared at each other, until his gaze dropped to her lips. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Missed some chocolate.” His voice sounded strained.

Her own was breathless. “Then get it.”

He made to move his thumb again, but she kept her hand firmly over his. He frowned. Then, his eyes seemed to go wholly black as he understood her meaning.

With a gentleness that had her heart racing, he slowly, so slowly, dipped his head.

He was the ruler of darkness. He was a brutal warrior who had killed a member of his court in cold blood simply for speaking ill of her. Now, he was almost trembling as his lips hovered inches from hers.

Slowly, reverently, his tongue traced her mouth, licking away the chocolate, and she was burning, she was aching. She wasn’t sure she was breathing when he took her entire bottom lip into his mouth—and slowly dragged it through his teeth, tasting her completely.

That was it. In this moment, she didn’t care what had happened or about the prophecy; she wanted him. She wanted him so badly, her skin felt raw, needy, ready. Her lips were swollen as he stared down at her, his chest heaving just as much as hers.

She wanted him to lift her onto the counter behind them by the backs of her thighs. Wanted him to settle between her legs, drag his tongue over the rest of her heated skin, taste her everywhere.

He could feel that want. Feel that aching need. She could feel his own, against her stomach. It nearly made her ask for everything she wanted.

Instead, she said, “Thank you for the chocolate.”

And went back to bed alone.

The scrape of a boot against the floor awoke her.

Before she could move a muscle, every single one in her body tensed as if turned to stone.

A hand was curled around her wrist.

A gravelly voice said, “The whispers are true. You don’t sleep with the ruler.”

Tynan. She fought against his iron grasp on her bones, but she couldn’t even summon a groan in response.

“No, no . . . you can’t move at all, can you?” She heard him tap his foot. Her eyes were wide and glued to the ceiling. Tears streamed down her face after just seconds of not being able to close them. “The ruler seems to believe you are special in some way.” He spat at her. “But you are just a distraction. An enemy.”

She knew the sound of a sword scraping its scabbard. He forced her head back with his power, controlling her every muscle, stretching the skin of her neck taut. Her body trembled with the strain of trying to overpower him.

“The ruler has gone weak. You, Snake, have made him so. With you gone, we’re going to invade Lightlark. We’re going to finish what we started.” He leaned down until his putrid breath was right against her mouth. “You don’t even know how priceless this necklace is, do you? Only in death is it released . . . so I’ll just have to kill you.”

No. He didn’t know her and Grim’s lives were tied together. He didn’t know killing her would secure his own demise.

Tynan gripped her wrist so tightly it was a wonder the bone didn’t break. She would have cried out if she could.

The sword came into her view as he lifted it high over his head. She watched the flickering of her hearth’s flames reflect upon it.

A low growl sounded in front of her.

Tynan might have been right about Grim not sleeping in her chambers . . . but whoever had told him that information clearly didn’t know about the leopard that did. The one who was barely visible when he slept in the corner of her room, sinking into the shadows.

A roar, and then her wrist was released. Her limbs were freed of the invisible vise.

She doubled over and gasped for air. Sweat streamed down her back and the middle of her chest.

Tynan was thrashing on the floor, holding a hand against the gash Lynx had made in his neck.

Lynx’s teeth gleamed with his blood as he awaited her instruction.

Grim landed in the room with a crack. His wide eyes went straight to her, quickly assessing her state, then to the bleeding man on the floor.

His hands were shaking. His voice was not the predatory calm she had come to expect.

No, his words were laced in pure fury as he bent down, grabbed Tynan by his bloody neck, and said, “My wife? You dare threaten my wife?”

Tynan made what must have been a gurgled plea that didn’t translate into words.

Grim bared his teeth at him, his mouth turning into a twisted smile. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

Shadows spilled across the floor, poisonous and ruinous, nothing in the world could stop them—except for the hand Isla placed on Grim’s shoulder.

At her touch, he stilled immediately. He looked up at her.

“Let me,” she said, in a voice she didn’t completely recognize. His shadows instantly retreated. Tynan’s eyes wildly searched the room, as if looking for a final chance at escape. But there would be no escape. He was injured, unable to wield his ability. She wasn’t frozen in her bedsheets any longer.

She took the dagger at her thigh and plunged it through his heart. Blood spurted through his ribs, down her hand, but she only twisted the blade deeper. Deeper, until the tip dug into the floor.

Something within her seemed to sing.

As she watched the life leech from his eyes, Isla realized with horror and fascination that taking it felt good.

Tynan wouldn’t have been the only one in the Nightshade court who wanted her gone. She needed to send a message.

Grim’s people didn’t need another reason to hate her. But she would gladly give it to them.

Air was stolen in sharp gasps throughout the room as Isla strutted through it. They had all gathered before Grim, who watched her from his throne. His posture might have been casual, but there was nothing mild about the lingering fury in his expression.

Snake queen? She would be the villain they already believed her to be.

Her black dress had thin straps and a plunging neckline. The fabric clung to her skin like a sheet of water, its loosely curled ribbons streaming gently onto the floor. Thin, poisonous snakes curled around her waist, sliding up and across her chest, keeping her decent, slithering. Two more wrapped around each of her arms. They hissed at the closest nobles as she passed them by, making one stumble onto the floor. The thinnest snake of all curled around her neck like another necklace.

Their looks of horror weren’t about the snakes, however—though each was poisonous. No; they stared at what she gripped loosely in her hand, emitting a line of dripping blood next to her.

Tynan’s head, held by the hair.

She reached Grim’s throne and threw it at his feet.

“Eat,” she said, and the snakes slithered down her body and raced to the floor, sending the closest people screaming. Their poison worked instantly, melting flesh from bone. The creatures devoured his eyes and tongue in front of the crowd. They swallowed the remaining flesh, and his eyes, all in front of the crowd. Wren had trained them well.

Someone loudly vomited. Another fainted.

Grim forced them to watch. Isla stayed until Tynan’s head was no more than a skull.

“Well,” she said, her voice echoing in the silence. “If anyone else wants me dead, you know where to replace me.” Then, she turned on her heel and left the throne room, her snakes not far behind.

“That was quite the display.”

Isla stopped brushing Lynx’s fur to replace Astria standing behind her, posture straight as ever, donning those curved crossed swords on her chest.

“Thank you,” Isla said. “I was sick afterward, but it’s the show that counts, right?”

Astria made a huffing sound that almost resembled a laugh. Then she frowned. “Tynan had it coming. For someone ordered to wear gauntlets all the time, he found plenty of excuses to go without them.” Isla felt a rush of joy at having been the one to end them. It didn’t seem like the first time he had ventured into a room at midnight and made a person a prisoner in their own skin.

Grim’s general reached a hand toward Lynx, and Isla opened her mouth, ready to warn Astria that Lynx had developed a reputation for biting Nightshades.

But, to her surprise, her bonded allowed Astria to touch him. He only started to growl when she got too close to his ears.

“So,” Isla said, looking the woman up and down, trying to replace some similarity. “How long have you known?”

Astria’s hands absentmindedly drummed her swords’ hilts. “That you’re my blood? Grim told me right before you were married.” She frowned. “Right after I suggested you might be a spy and he should consider putting your head on a pike.”

“Nice,” Isla said, knowing how lucky Astria was to have escaped that conversation with her life. She began brushing Lynx’s fur again. “And the fact that we’re related changed your mind?”

“No,” she said, considering her. “It isn’t ever too late for Grim to take my advice.”

Isla looked over her shoulder at her. “And it isn’t too late for Grim to get a new general. I hear the position runs in the family.”

Astria smiled. Then laughed a little.

Isla smiled too.

She bent down to clean between Lynx’s pads. He made a peeved sound and tugged his foot back. She glared up at him. “Do you really want another rock incident?” she asked him. There had been a stone lodged in there for a week, and it had gotten infected. For as tough and ancient as Lynx was, he had been awfully dramatic during the days of resting his foot.

He begrudgingly lifted his leg, and Isla spotted a pine needle lodged right between two of his pads. She shook her head, and tried to pull it out, but it was stuck. Lynx growled.

“Here,” Astria said, bending down low. She pulled it out quickly, and the leopard roared. Then he glared at Astria, who took a few steps back. She watched Isla work until she was done, and then said, “I looked for him, you know.”

Him. By the intensity of her tone, Isla knew exactly who she was talking about. Isla slowly rose to face her cousin.

She remembered what the augur had said: When you learn the truth of who you are . . . your path will become clear.

She was desperate for any detail about her parents. She wanted to know them, even through the eyes of others.

“I searched the newlands with the ruler, just in case there was a chance he was alive. Then . . . when too much time had passed . . . I grieved him.” Her nostrils flared. “He was like a brother to me, and I don’t understand his choice. I don’t know why he chose her.”

Her mother.

Lynx growled low.

“He wasn’t . . . an emotional person,” she continued, eyes studying her bonded. “I can count on a hand the number of times I ever even saw him smile. He wasn’t cruel, no . . . but serious. About his duty. About serving his realm.” She frowned. “Now that I know he didn’t die, that he left . . . I can’t respect his decision. I can’t respect what he did.”

Isla understood. Even though she was talking about her father, and not in the greatest light, Isla appreciated that Astria was even talking to her at all, let alone telling her something so personal.

Isla knew what it was like to choose her heart over duty. If that was what her father had done, she couldn’t judge him. But things were more complicated than that.

Her father and Grim had searched for the sword that controlled the dreks together. Her father had found it.

“He stole the sword, to keep it away from Grim. He must have believed Nightshade was better off without it.”

He must have believed Grim would use it to overtake Lightlark. He must have been trying to save the island, the same way she was now.

Astria shook her head. “Even if that’s true, that wasn’t his call to make. We serve our rulers. Their word is law. We are their sword. He knew that.”

Isla didn’t know what to think. She just wished that she had known her parents. How different her life would have been, if they had survived . . .

It made her think about what Terra and Poppy had said. If they really didn’t kill her parents—which she wasn’t quick to believe—then who did?

It also made her think about the Wildling traitor. They hadn’t struck again, to her knowledge, but dissent was dangerous. What was their end goal? What did they want?

“You have his frown,” Astria said, knocking her out of her thoughts.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s exactly the same. Almost uncanny. Everything else, I suppose you got from . . . her.” Astria studied her closely, as if trying to imagine what her mother would have looked like.

Part of her wanted to forget their connection at all. Why develop a relationship with someone now, when they all didn’t have much time left? Another part, the little girl who had sat in her room and dreamt of having a place to belong, refused to let this opportunity slip by. “I don’t have any other family,” Isla admitted, and immediately felt exposed, like she had shown far too much of herself.

Astria studied her. She raised her head. “I don’t either.”

Isla didn’t know why that was a comfort, when she should have been sad that they had both lost everyone related to them. “I suppose we have each other,” Isla offered.

Astria’s suspicious gaze did not falter in the slightest. But, after awkward moments passed, she said, “Yes, well. I suppose having you is better than having nothing.”

Isla’s smile spread across her face. “And here, I was thinking you incapable of giving me a compliment.”

Another day passed without a storm. She was restless, impatient, knowing it was what she needed to replace the portal. With her starstick, she brought Lynx to the Wildling newland, if only to feel a whisper of home. They tore through the familiar woods, his legs stretching happily as he leapt into trees. He had missed it, she realized. Both of them had.

Part of her wished she could feel the forest, its heartbeat, but the bracelets made everything quiet. Dead.

By the time they approached her old room, it was dark out. She left Lynx outside and portaled her way in, with the goal of retrieving some of her old knives. The ones Grim had provided were nicer than any she had ever had, but she missed their familiar feel in her fingers. Their simplicity.

She walked toward her vanity and began opening drawers. There were a few simple blades inside that she hadn’t used in years. She grabbed one of them, a simple dagger, without any markings.

And dropped it.

Its tip nearly went through her foot. She didn’t even look to see where it had landed.

Her eyes were caught on the piece of parchment before her, and the white feather atop it. It had been weeks since she had written her name on the page.

Now, there was a new line below it.

Hello Isla, it read.

The words themselves weren’t what made her stomach drop—it was the handwriting, which she knew almost as well as her own.

Aurora’s.