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

Isla stared at the necklace against her pulse and wished she could rip it away.

She really couldn’t do this. Sitting across from Grim, sleeping in the room they once shared—it was too easy to slip into the past. Too easy to forget that half of her heart belonged to someone else—someone she had fought the urge to run back to every moment since they’d parted.

Oro. Her eyes burned as she thought of him. As she remembered the look of pure devastation on his face when she took Grim’s hand. Even when they were nearly gone, he had reached for her.

He had reached for her.

It had been only two days, but it felt like a lifetime away from him. Her hands curled in fists, her marred palms biting in pain. This wasn’t how the battle was supposed to go.

By now, she was supposed to be on a stretch of golden sand, just him and her, Oro’s favorite everything in his favorite place. She closed her eyes and could almost see and feel it—her cheek pressed against his warm chest, his hand making lazy strokes down her bare back, the unrelenting sun blazing against every inch of her skin.

She opened her eyes.

Instead, she was in this cold castle. Staring at herself in a mirror. Wishing she had never agreed to put on this damn necklace.

Nothing would break it, she had tried. Only in her death would it be released.

Soon, then.

Her jaw tightened; her teeth ground together. Enough. She was done speculating about how much time she had left, or the prophecy’s meaning, or whether her fate could be changed at all. She needed answers.

Unfortunately for her, the only person who could give them to her—the oracle who had given the prophecy in the first place—was dead.

She sighed, moving toward the wardrobe, then stilled.

The oracle was dead . . . but she’d had sisters. Other oracles who hadn’t awoken in thousands of years. Cleo had captured them.

Something dangerous—something like hope—began to bloom in her chest.

If she found Cleo’s fleet, if she found the oracles . . . they could tell her more about the prophecy. About the time she had left. Maybe even how to change her fate.

It was a risk. Cleo was her enemy now more than ever. Isla didn’t have powers; she would be easy to kill, if she could even locate the Moonling’s fleet. Cleo’s ships could be anywhere. They would likely be on their way back to the Moonling newland by now.

No, she realized. Not the Cleo she had come to know. Cleo wanted to go through the portal more than anything; it was the only way to be reunited with her child. She wouldn’t simply retreat to her isle—she would have a plan. Grim’s portaling power was essential to getting to the otherworld. Cleo would attempt to convince Grim to reconsider his decision.

The Moonling would be heading to Nightshade.

Isla’s steps were quiet as she paced the room. Even if she was right, the sea was vast. The journey from Lightlark to Nightshade was long.

If only she could fly. If only she hadn’t given up her powers.

She could portal back to the blacksmith right now. He could take the bracelets off. It would be so easy. She could even have him put them back afterward . . .

Isla pulled that thought out by the root. That was how it would start. Excuse after excuse, reason after reason, until the bracelets were off more than they were on.

Until something terrible happened again.

The ash. The ruin. The bodies—

No. She didn’t need power. She hadn’t needed it for most of her life.

She would find Cleo’s fleet without it.

A bouquet of flowers lay outside her door. Dark red roses. She wanted to burn them.

A note was attached. It was scrawled in his sharp script, the same handwriting as the invitation to his demonstration during the Centennial.

I’m sorry, it said. Please have dinner with me. Again.

She wasn’t going to go. She had left the flowers untouched. But as she took a ride on Lynx’s back, mentally considering ways to find Cleo’s fleet, she remembered another creature.

A tiny bundle of scales.

She had spent the rest of the day looking for him in the castle, without any luck. He wasn’t in the stables either. By late afternoon, her chest twisted with worry.

Where was he?

Grim looked entirely too pleased to see her that evening. He stood immediately when she entered, then portaled to her chair to pull it out for her.

For the first few minutes, they ate their food in silence: him looking up every few moments, studying her, as if cataloging what she did and didn’t enjoy; her trying her best not to care that he had meticulously planned each course to coincide with things she liked. Again. Strips of seasoned meat cooked all the way through, fluffy grains, root vegetables spiraled into ribbons. There was a chocolate dessert course. Of course there was.

Being this close to him made memories expand, like they were a sea trying to drown her. Some, featuring the tiny creature.

“Where—where is he?” she demanded, heart sinking behind her ribs. What if the little dragon was dead? She hadn’t spoken his name in ages. “Wraith.” Her voice broke on the word.

Grim’s grin put her at ease. He hadn’t necessarily liked the creature, but even he wasn’t sinister enough to smile at its demise.

“I was wondering when you would ask.”

“I looked for him, in the castle.”

Grim made an amused sound. “He doesn’t sleep inside anymore.”

She remembered Grim glowering whenever the tiny dragon would take his spot in the bed. She glared at him. “Why not?”

“I’ll show you.” Isla followed him out the doors of the dining room, onto a wide, curling balcony. Salt burned her nostrils, her hair whipped back wildly. She squinted. All she could see was endless ocean. “Wait here,” Grim said before she could ask questions, and then he was gone.

Isla tapped her fingers against the stone impatiently as she waited. She hoped Grim had treated Wraith well in her absence. He was just a tiny creature in need of help.

She remembered the day she found him struggling to walk, his little leg injured. She had slowly healed it with the Wildling elixir. He would cry when she rubbed the nightbane in, and she would hold him tightly until he slept. He was small enough to fit directly over her chest, and that was where he preferred to be, despite Grim’s grumbling that the dragon had stolen his wife.

That moment, that life, had felt like home once. Now, she remembered and felt hollow.

She was leaning over the balcony, wondering why Grim had told her to wait here and why he was taking so long, when a gust of air sent her flying backward.

Stone dug sharply into her back as she landed.

Midnight-carved wings wholly blocked the moon, casting clawed shadows across the balcony. Her hair whipped behind her as they flapped. With a horrible scraping, talons almost as large as her body gripped the ledge, causing pieces of stone to crumble into the ocean. The talons were familiar. One was slightly crooked.

Wraith.

The tiny bundle of scales was now a full-grown dragon. And Grim was riding him.

Still sprawled on the floor, not daring move an inch, she watched as the dragon dipped his head down to study her. Her hand trembled as she slowly moved to touch his face. His scales were cold. He sniffed her.

Then the dragon leaned back and cried into the sky. She was off her feet in a moment as Wraith threw her into the air with his nose. He caught her using his neck, and she slid down his rough scales, narrowly avoiding falling when Grim caught her by the back of her dress, sending beads flying. He hauled her in front of him while Wraith screeched happily toward the stars.

Grim’s eyes seemed to glimmer under the night sky. “I’ve never seen him so excited.”

Isla gaped at him. “How—it’s only been a few months. He—”

“Grew.”

It was an understatement.

“Do you want to ride him?” he asked.

Before she could respond—and the answer was no, for this was just another form of flying, which she decidedly hated—Wraith took to the air, and Grim caught her around the waist to keep her from being cut to ribbons against the cliff.

Her scream was swallowed by the wind as Wraith shot into the clouds. “Hold on,” Grim whispered into her ear, and that meant holding onto him.

She sat facing him, pressed firmly against his torso, her head tucked into his chest. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Straddling him.

It was an unfortunate position, but she didn’t dare loosen her grip around his neck, not when the alternative meant hurtling to the ground below. Her ankles locked behind him, and she felt Grim go still beneath her.

This was familiar. Even as fear dropped through her stomach, so did an ember of heat. He overtook all her senses. He smelled of soap and storms and something distinctively him, and she fought the impulse to run her lips across his neck, his jaw. He seemed to be dealing with a similar level of restraint.

No. He was her enemy. She despised him.

“Wraith,” Grim finally said, his voice a dark whisper against her ear, skittering down her spine as he instructed the dragon to land. When he did—and not gently—Isla ground against Grim with the impact, and she made a sound like a whimper. Grim made a sound like a growl.

Then, Wraith turned over, and Isla slid into an undignified heap on the ground. She couldn’t be too upset at the creature; he was still young. Wraith grinned at her with his massive teeth, in what would have been a horrifying smile if she didn’t see within it a glimmer of the little dragon he had once been. He bent down to rub his head against hers, which knocked her back onto her backside.

Grim tried and failed to hide his laugh as he watched her from across the clearing. “He’s still getting used to his size.”

Wraith huffed, as if he could understand Grim’s words. Then the dragon proceeded to do the last thing Isla expected, which was lazily roll onto his back.

Grim sighed in a long-suffering way. “Insolent creature,” he said. Then, Grim did the last thing she expected and began rubbing the dragon’s stomach.

Wraith’s foot moved wildly in delight, and Isla watched with her mouth dropped open.

Grim shrugged a shoulder. “It was easier when he was the size of a shield.”

“And how exactly did he become the size of a hill?”

Grim continued while he turned to face her. “It was difficult returning without you,” he said quietly. His voice told her difficult was a mild way to put it. “We missed you.” He looked at Wraith.

“You bonded,” she said, in awe, thinking of her own connection with Lynx.

He nodded. “It was what he needed to grow. It happened rapidly.”

A spike of happiness shot through her at the thought of them both finding such a bond. Leaning on each other.

It quickly withered when she remembered why, exactly, he had returned without her. He had taken away her memories. He had left her out of his plans. He had made decision after decision without her.

He seemed to sense her shift in emotions, because his tone turned serious. He walked over to her and did yet another unexpected thing. Slowly, gaze never leaving hers, he went on his knees and bowed his head before her. He was so tall, his eyes were level with her chest. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When I returned, I regretted taking your memories away every day. It was my fault this all happened. I—all I ever tried to do was protect you.”

“By lying to me?” she said, her voice sharp as the blade on her thigh. “By turning me into some pawn? Some clueless puppet?”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” she said. “You did over and over again, and I trusted you, like an idiot.” He lurched back, as if her words had burned him.

Isla closed her eyes. She wanted to leave him here, on his knees. She wanted to tell him she hated him.

But his regret, she realized, she could use to her advantage.

“If you’re truly sorry, then swear you will never work behind my back again. Swear you will never enact a plan without telling me. Swear it on our marriage.” She gripped the stone around her neck.

Grim rose to his full height. He pressed his hand over hers, on the black diamond that now always remained visible. “I swear it, heart.”

Words meant little, she knew that, but she could see the regret on Grim’s face. She knew how much their marriage meant to him.

She hoped it would be enough to keep him from razing the world, simply to keep her.

They were supposed to be working together. “You said the storms brought deadly creatures. Like what? Where?”

“I can take you to a place that was hit particularly badly tomorrow, if you wish.”

She nodded. She wanted to see it. She wanted to understand the storms and the devastation that was coming for them.

She wanted him to be distracted from her own plans. For, as they flew back to the castle, Isla watched Grim’s movements carefully. The placement of his hands. The scales he touched, in a wordless communication with Wraith. How he bent low against the wind.

She watched, because she had just discovered her way of finding Cleo.

Grim could have portaled them to the village in half a second. Instead, she asked if they could take Wraith.

“Do you—do you think you could teach me to ride him?” Her tone was casual. Curious, even.

Isla expected him to see through her, to realize she must have an ulterior motive if she actually wanted to learn to fly the creature that had made her nearly retch just the day before. Instead, he only smiled. Something about that made it feel like a blade was scraping against her insides.

“Of course, heart,” he said.

There it was, that blade again.

Wraith slept in a specially made stable, on the other side of the castle, away from the rest of the animals. Apparently, there had been some sort of incident that had required his relocation. Something about trying to play with the other creatures with his teeth . . .

The dragon’s wings lifted happily when he saw her. He leaned his head down, so it was level with hers. Smiled.

He breathed out, and the force from his nostrils nearly swept her off her feet.

Grim caught her with a firm hand against her spine. She tried not to focus on the way he lightly ran his fingers down her back before he dropped it.

Wraith’s head lowered to the ground as Grim approached, not in deference, but in clear command. He wanted his head rubbed, and Grim complied, stroking the spot between his eyes. Wraith made a deep sound of satisfaction.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “You can portal onto his back—with your device, of course. Or mount him like this.” She watched Grim effortlessly climb up Wraith’s scales.

It looked easy enough. She approached Wraith. Rubbed her hand exactly where Grim had, which made the dragon smile. His teeth were nearly as big as her entire body.

Wincing, she gripped one of his scales. It was rough beneath her palm, and firm. When he was smaller, his scales had been smooth, almost soft, but now they were strong as armor. With a little maneuvering, she gained purchase, climbing first to his shoulder, then onto his back. She sat in front of Grim, leaving some distance between their bodies.

“May I?” he asked.

She looked down to see his hands hovering just inches from her waist. She nodded; then his fingers were curling around her hips, and he was effortlessly sliding her toward him, until she reached a place where her legs were almost perfectly molded to Wraith’s spine.

“Better?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to sound even remotely casual, not when he was still touching her.

“Finding places to hold on is obviously important,” he said, his voice right in her ear. One of his hands lightly covered her own. “Here.” He guided her hand to a ridge. “And here.” He gripped his fingers around hers, showing her the right spot. “His hearing is impeccable. He can hear instruction even in the sharpest winds.”

She hoped neither him nor Grim could hear the ridiculous beating of her heart as she leaned back, finding herself settled right between his legs.

“Do you have to sit so close?” she said sharply, her voice far too hoarse.

Grim said nothing as he shifted away from her. Good. She tilted back and forth, testing her position. She dried her sweaty hands on her pants, then gripped the places Grim had indicated.

“Go on, Wraith,” she said, chin high, when she was sure she was ready.

Isla was expecting a slow ascent. A few more moments to mentally prepare.

Instead, Wraith took just one step before shooting into the clouds.

Her stomach lurched; she lost her grip completely. She flew back, soaring breathlessly for half a second until she crashed into Grim’s chest, and he curled one arm around her, pinning her against him. Somehow he kept his grip, even though he was only holding on with one hand. A curl of darkness had her realizing he was using his shadows to keep himself steady.

“That’s cheating,” she told him, voice breathless with panic. Those same shadows inched toward her. They twined around her hips gently, reverently, extensions of Grim’s own arms.

Grim made an amused sound. “What an interesting way to say thank you.” He leaned down to say right against her temple, “You’re the one who decided to part with your powers, Hearteater. You can’t blame me for using mine.”

Wind stung her cheeks. Wraith dipped, and she used the momentum to lurch forward, away from Grim and back to her hand placements. She wouldn’t have his shadows keeping her secure when she rode Wraith alone. She would need to learn how to do it the hard way.

Her fingers were slick with sweat. Her thighs burned with effort as she fought to stay still. Her eyes watered from Wraith’s speed. Wraith tilted slightly, and she gritted her teeth against a rush of nausea as she peered at the ground far below.

She wondered, for a moment, about the first time Grim rode Wraith. He wasn’t particularly known for his patience. Part of her wished she could see it, the way they had bonded.

When she was relatively sure she wasn’t about to slide off, she risked a look at Wraith’s wings.

They were glorious—slightly translucent and massive, light filtering through like a shade. He soared through the sky in a smooth arc.

Most of the time, anyway. When they caught a trail of wind, Wraith turned sharply, riding the current. He was clearly still a child playing with a newfound ability, tilting side to side, then up and down. Her arms shook with the effort of holding on. Her stomach lurched.

“Wraith,” Grim said smoothly. “Isla is going to vomit, it’s going to land on me, and I’m going to be far less inclined to rub your stomach.”

Wraith straightened immediately. The ride was smooth for several minutes, until he began lowering.

“You’ll remember, his landing needs some work,” Grim whispered behind her, shadows circling her waist once more.

“What—”

Her voice was swallowed by the wind as they suddenly dropped what felt like a mile in one fell swoop. Her body lifted from Wraith’s back, hovering, until the shadows tightened, pulling her back in place. Her breath caught in her chest as the ground came into view. Closer. Closer.

Wraith’s wings spread for just a moment before they landed, and then they were sliding through the dirt, his talons ripping up a slice of farmland, dirt exploding everywhere, before finally stopping at the edge of a village.

The dragon looked over his shoulder at them, grinning.

Grim sighed in a long-suffering way, then portaled them off his back.

The village was comprised of quaint houses constructed from either river stone or wood. She could see the edge of a modest square, with wagons selling produce. There were the beginnings of a fence built around it all, stopping just shy of complete, as if someone had given up just before finishing. A few people were visible beyond it, but they weren’t moving. No, they were stopped. Staring.

The man closest to them dropped the harvest he was carrying, his mouth falling open as Wraith flipped onto his back, shaking the ground itself, hoping to have his stomach scratched. Grim ignored him.

Silence, then screaming. Mostly coming from children, who yelled excitedly as they flooded through holes in the not-completed wall, followed by mothers who screamed with far less excitement.

When they saw Grim, even the children paused. Bowed. There were whispers—ruler.

Then, their attention turned to Isla. More whispers. They bowed again. Some eyed her with suspicion. Some mothers looked at her with more fear than the dragon behind her.

She was used to it.

Whereas the others seemed frozen in shock, an old woman stepped freely beyond the small crowd that had formed. She used what looked like a fire poker to support her gait. Her hair was silver, her eyes were sharp, and her smile was kind.

“What brings you to our village?” she asked, her booming voice completely at odds with her age.

Grim turned to look at Isla. He was going to follow her lead, apparently.

She straightened. There was so much blood on her hands, but stopping the storms could mean saving hundreds of people. She needed to know what she was up against. “We—we had some questions regarding the storms a few years ago, and the beast it brought. Do you remember it?” Grim had filled her in before they left the castle. This village had been attacked by a creature no one had ever seen before, or since.

“Remember?” the old woman said. “I’m still finding blood stains in my floorboards.”

Isla swallowed.

“Follow me.” Isla and Grim exchanged a glance; then Isla nodded. The woman led them down the long dusty road, the villagers’ eyes following them all the while, until they arrived in front of her house. She pointed at places on the floor of her modest kitchen that were undeniably stained crimson.

“Snuck through the window. Attacked my husband. He survived, somehow, though not with all his limbs. He’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Isla hesitated. “What did it look like? The creature?”

The woman pursed her lips. Wrinkles sprouted from them like roots across her pale face. “Teeth. That’s what I remember. Lots of teeth. Oddly shaped too . . . crowding the mouth. It looked like a shadow, almost, slithering across the floor.”

The creature was eventually killed, Grim explained. Its teeth had been sold over time. There was nothing left now for them to look at.

The old woman shook her head. She sank into her seat with a groan. “I always said those damn storms were getting worse. They’re harbingers of the end, I tell you.”

The other villagers told them similar stories. Some died by running out of their homes into the night, thanks to the curse. Others were mauled by the great teeth that were described slightly differently, depending on who was speaking.

Most were far less welcoming than the old woman, at least, to Isla. She didn’t miss the way they studied her when they thought she wasn’t looking, like she was yet another creature, come to ruin them.

She also noticed how they looked at Grim—not with fear, which she expected, but with reverence. Some used the opportunity to air grievances, and Grim took notes. He promised solutions. He made plans to have people in his court follow up on every concern. She didn’t know why this shocked her, but it did.

All of the villagers seemed terrified of the start of another storm season. Some got to work packing their most valuable belongings and leaving them by their doors. There were tunnels built below Nightshade during the curses, to allow for nighttime travel. They had been used as shelters before, but the tempests were unpredictable, coming down without warning. Killing before anyone had a chance to run.

As they left, Isla turned the old woman’s words in her head. She had called the storms harbingers of the end. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Especially, when, just days later, the storm season started early.