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

Wind rattled the windows. Rain hit the glass with the force of throwing stars. Some of it had been frozen solid.

She stood, watching. Listening. Even through the thick stone exterior, she could hear it now, howling. The sky had gone a strange shade. Whorls of green and purple peaked between clouds, illuminated by flashes of light. The stone rumbled with thunder.

The old woman’s words might usually have been enough warning to keep her inside . . . but the storm was the perfect cover for her own plans.

Before she could think better of it, she was in her training clothing and portaling to Wraith’s specially made stable. His head had been down in boredom, but he rose as she stepped toward him. He flashed his great teeth at her.

Guards typically patrolled outside. Tonight, they protected the castle’s exterior, the sides that weren’t facing the cliff, against any creatures. She had watched them from the windows, forming a perimeter, decked in thick armor. Grim had told her to stay inside—the palace was built well. It was secure.

She needed to hurry. Wraith’s dark scales shimmered as he stepped out beneath the moonlight. Rain slipped down them.

The weather might be good for staying hidden, but it would make it far harder to stay on.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk . . .

A memory of Oro flashed in her mind. Sitting among the wildflowers. Her golden rose necklace still around her neck.

According to the prophecy, she might put a blade straight through his heart.

She thought of the village. The ash. The ruin.

As it stood, her death would be the end of everyone on this island. Including Grim.

If anyone knew how to change her fate or extend her life, it was the oracles.

She took a step forward. Wraith did too, as if to meet her. “Would you let me ride you? Alone? In the storm?”

In response, Wraith bent down, offering his neck for her to climb. She only made it three scales up, before slipping, barely catching herself. Her heart was in her throat. She didn’t dare breathe until she hauled herself onto his back. Her grip was tentative, at best. She swallowed. She didn’t even have to say a word. The moment her seat was secure, Wraith stepped one foot forward. Another. And then shot up into the clouds.

The sky raged like a battlefield. Thunder and lightning dueled, one striking and the other responding. Night seemed to shatter all around her, and the rain was thicker than it should be, striking like throwing stars. Isla ducked low, holding on to Wraith for dear life, fear settling in her stomach.

It wasn’t just the height. Something about this storm was wrong. She shouldn’t be up here. Not alone. Not when her life was now tied to all of Nightshade’s.

“Watch out!” she shouted, as a full-sized tree was launched toward them. Wraith moved at the last minute, careening left, and she fought to stay on, her teeth sliding painfully together as she smothered a scream. An entire forest had been ripped away by the storm, and it circled them, flying past, riding endless winds.

Wraith moved to dodge each tree, and her stomach dropped as he turned sharply upward, to fly farther into the clouds.

Up here, the sky changed shade. It was what she had seen shards of, from the castle window. The purple-tinged clouds, the greenish tint. She tasted power on her tongue, smelled it, like copper, like blood. Power from what? They climbed higher and higher, until they were drenched in it. The air felt heavier, alight, full.

Lightning struck, not far. It gleamed like a branch on fire.

Wraith’s wings flapped faster, shooting like an arrow through the sky, dodging projectiles. She held on tightly as he swerved. It was a wonder she hadn’t slipped off. Only fear had kept her steady. Her head was bent low. Rocks of ice pounded against her arms, sure to leave bruises. Still, she held on.

The purple deepened the farther they went. The green seemed to glitter.

Out of nowhere, her chest began to ache.

Her heart. It began to burn, as if the seams of her scar were breaking. She risked a look down, half expecting to see her shirt soaked in blood, but there was nothing but rain.

Her hands wrapped tightly against Wraith’s ridges, she folded over as the pain became stabbing, like a blade was carving her heart out little by little, trying to wrench it through her ribs. She screamed.

Wraith turned to face her. She could barely see the land below; it was a blur beneath them. Her grip tightened.

Then, a flash of light. A monstrous strike of lightning flared through the sky.

It blinded them. Wraith didn’t see the tree until it was too late. It crashed against them with such a force, Isla was knocked clean off his back.

And then, she was falling.

She screamed until her voice went hoarse, and her limbs flailed helplessly. The force of the air was too strong; she couldn’t move her arm, couldn’t pull the necklace. Couldn’t reach for the starstick she had tucked down her spine. Couldn’t do anything as the wind howled around her, and she fell alongside the rain.

Her body broke through the storm, hurtling toward the ground. It rushed up to meet her.

With a breath-stealing thud, she was knocked back against a set of scales. Wraith had caught her on his spine, just feet before the dirt. He reared up, and her body flew off again with the force, but her hands held on. He lowered again, and she molded herself to him.

Go back. Go back. It was the voice of survival in her head, knowing she wouldn’t get lucky the next time she fell. This was reckless. Foolish.

But she needed to find the oracles tonight. Grim couldn’t know she was seeking them out; he couldn’t know about the prophecy. Especially since she might very well kill him to fulfill it.

Unless she could change fate. The oracles’ information could save them all. That was what kept her going.

Below, the ocean raged, peppered in whitecaps, like the sea had grown teeth. The waters between Lightlark and Nightshade were vast. Part of her knew the impossibility of finding anything out here, especially in the darkness, but Cleo had an entire armada. They would be together, like a legion.

She hoped she would get lucky. She hoped she was right.

The storm weakened away from Nightshade, but it did not disappear completely. Would Cleo’s fleet be sailing away from it? Or would they be harnessing the power of the upturned waves to get to Nightshade even faster?

For hours, she watched the endless dark beneath her, waiting for any sign of the Moonling, her grip never loosening.

Nothing but waves.

She nearly gave up. Almost told Wraith to head back.

Then she saw it. White sails like ribbons in the storm, whipping wildly. Hundreds of them. It was a wonder the tempest didn’t swallow them completely.

There.

Cleo’s ship was the largest. It had extra sails that rippled like silk. “Keep circling, but higher,” she told Wraith.

Then she slipped off his side, holding her starstick.

For a moment, she was falling again, hurtling through the storm.

Then, she was on a deck.

Her knees buckled under her; her legs weakened from fighting to stay on Wraith’s back. She slumped against a pillar, hiding behind it, rain plastering her hair over her face. The wood below was white oak, crafted from the pale forest she had seen on Moon Isle.

Yells swirled around her, Moonlings struggling to tame the sea and keep the ship steady. She needed to move. Quickly, she looked around, squinting through the storm. A light. There was a light on, in what looked to be the captain’s quarters. Cleo.

The oracles would likely be below. Another touch of her starstick, and that was where she went.

It was quieter down here. She took a shaking breath, shivering, not realizing how cold the rain had been until she was out of it.

Her legs shook as she got to her feet, leaning against a barrel. She slid the lid off with a grunt. Food. Almost every barrel was filled with it. Still . . . the Moonlings wouldn’t last forever on water and fish without resupplying.

What was their plan? Would Grim allow them to get food from Nightshade?

It didn’t matter now. All she cared about was finding the oracles.

The last time she had seen them, they had been frozen in ice. She wondered if Cleo thawed them or kept them entrapped.

Only one way to find out. She opened every single barrel, every crate, until her arms were sore.

No sign of them.

She searched every inch of the hull. She considered that they might be on another ship, but no . . . Cleo wouldn’t let anyone as important as the oracles out of her vicinity.

They were above, then. If they were freed from their ice, they might be locked in a room. She touched her starstick. Winced, wondering if she was about to be surrounded by Moonlings.

The room she had appeared into was, mercifully, empty. Waves pelted the windows. The wooden ship groaned.

The space was large. Luxurious, even. She looked around, searching for any sign that the oracles might be staying here.

The more she looked, the more she realized every part of the cabin had been meticulously crafted. Moonstone floor. Expertly carved paneling.

It was a room fit for a ruler.

A floorboard groaned behind her.

Before she could take a single step, the sea crashed through the window, knocked her off her feet, and slammed her against the wall.

Isla’s body shook as she tore against the icy restraints. She was trapped, splayed, just like she had been during the Centennial.

Cleo tilted her head at her, watching with pursed lips. “You must enjoy getting captured. You’re so very good at it.”

Isla spat at Cleo’s feet, and the ice hardened further, nearly choking her.

Then, all at once, the ice turned to water, and she fell on the floor, gasping for air. She gripped her dagger immediately. Held it in front of her as she got to her feet, ready to strike.

Cleo looked bored. “What do you want, little Wildling?”

There was no use in hiding it. Cleo could have killed her, and she hadn’t. There must be a reason.

Her teeth were chattering. “The oracles. Where are they?”

Cleo’s answer was immediate. Emotionless. “Dead.”

Something within Isla wilted. “You’re lying.”

“You aren’t worth lying to,” Cleo said flatly.

Isla had her dagger to Cleo’s heart in a flash.

The Moonling barely spared it a glance.

“Why?” Isla demanded. Her hand was shaking.

Cleo only blinked. “Isn’t it obvious? I took their prophecies and killed them so that I would be the only one to know the future.”

Fury battled within Isla. She wished for her powers, so she could tear the ship to pieces, so she could shatter the sky and sea like a storm. It was this dangerous anger, this serpent within her always ready to strike, that was why she needed to keep the bracelets on. She knew that, yet still yearned for that power so she could paint the sky the shade of her endless rage.

“What did they say?” Isla roared, knowing she was foolish for even asking. But she had to try.

Cleo’s smile was serpentine. “So much about you. None of which I will share, of course.” In a flash, the Moonling hit her square in the chest, sending her back with a whip of water. Her dagger hit the ground. A half dozen ice blades were positioned at Isla’s throat, like a death necklace. Cleo stood above her, still amused. “Fear not. Your end will come in time, but not from my hands.”

In time.

Isla would have given anything to know when. To know how. To know how to stop it. To know any sort of explanation, or guidance, or hope that the oracle was wrong, and her fate could indeed be changed.

She felt so alone. The only two people she wanted to confide in were the ones she was in danger of killing.

“I’ll give you anything,” Isla said, meaning it. The anger had been put out and replaced by pure desperation. She was trembling, back against the corner of the room. She had never felt more powerless, and it had nothing to do with her lack of abilities. What was the point in having any power at all, when she couldn’t even control her own destiny?

She had never imagined willingly being at the Moonling’s mercy, but for this, she would beg. “Please. You must want something. Tell me what the oracles said, and I’ll help you get it.”

“All I want is my child back.”

The only way to do that was to go to the otherworld, where souls could rise again. Getting there would require the death of all Lightlark. Thousands, including Oro. It wasn’t an option.

Cleo seemed to see it on her face, because her expression completely hardened. “Leave now. Don’t make me tempt fate.”

Isla gripped her portaling device and obeyed.

It had taken hours to get Wraith home. Portaling them both while flying with her starstick hadn’t worked. She’d had to wait until they reached land, where she could draw her puddle. By the time they went through and reached the stable, the storm had nearly crested. Wraith rolled onto his side and fell asleep immediately. Isla shivered as she portaled back into her room, barely meeting Lynx’s gaze as he snarled at her, displeased. She closed the doors to her bathroom and winced as she lowered herself into the steaming tub, the one she had once shared with Grim.

Now it was just her, knees against her chest, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.

The oracles were all dead. There was no one left to ask about her fate. No one left to help navigate the prophecy.

There was no easy option. Each would break her in different ways.

Oro was the obvious choice. Her life wasn’t bound to his.

She refused. She loved him—and, even if she didn’t, she couldn’t doom all his people and the island.

Grim’s death would also kill thousands, including her.

Then, of course, there was the fact that she might not have long to live at all anyway. How much time did binding Grim’s life to hers give her? The oracles might have known.

As she tightly gripped the edges of the tub, pinching her lips against a frustrated scream that would wake half the castle, part of her wished for her life before the Centennial. A fool locked in a glass room, thinking the only thing she would ever want was freedom. She remained in the tub until the water went cold.

First thing in the morning, a knock sounded on her door. She expected to find Grim there, to visit the other villages affected by the storms.

Instead, she found an attendant. He stood on the opposite side of the corridor, as if afraid to get close to her.

“Yes?”

“You have visitors,” he said. “They’re waiting in the throne room.”

She frowned. “I do? Who?”

“Your guardians.”