Lightlark (The Lightlark Saga Book 1)

The next night, Celeste stared at the materials between them and frowned. “Is this really everything?”

“Yes.” Or, at least, what Isla thought she needed to make the elixir.

It was the fifteenth day of the Centennial. Isla was anxious to search the next library for the bondbreaker as soon as possible. It hadn’t been on Star Isle, but perhaps they would get lucky and it would be in the Sky Isle collection. If not, she would have to wait until the full moon to go to Moon Isle. And she still hadn’t come up with a plan to get onto Sun Isle unnoticed.

She tried to remain positive. She could very well find the bondbreaker that night. Then they could use it, and both of their bloodlines would be rid of all the curses that afflicted them. Isla would get her Wildling powers she had been denied at birth. The Wildling realm wouldn’t have to kill their beloveds or live on hearts any longer. Celeste and all Starlings would live to see their twenty-sixth birthday.

The bondbreaker was the key to both of their freedoms. And right now, they were counting on some sparse hair dye instructions to get it.

Isla held the torn piece of parchment between them. She couldn’t have asked Poppy for help with this alternate plan, so she had taken a page from one of her guardian’s books, swiped some Wildling-specific ingredients, and hoped for the best.

She read the list out one last time.

“Rose water.”

Check. She had swiped a vial of it from Poppy’s vanity.

“Ash-leaf extract.”

She had only been able to find an ash leaf during a last-minute expedition in the forest and hoped that would do.

“Soil from the ever-changing tulip.”

Check. She had grabbed a small shovel of it from Poppy’s collection. The enchanted flower only grew by the coast in the Wildling newland, where her great-great-grandmother had planted it, straight from the island’s soil. Many of Lightlark’s flowers had been transplanted there in the aftermath of the curses, attempting to create some sort of ecosystem like their island.

And many of them had died since Isla had been born.

She poured a portion of the small pouch of dirt into the pot of hot water Ella had brought her, supposedly for tea.

Finally, she needed some of the color she wanted her hair transformed to. Though Azul’s own hair was dark, many Skylings had hair the color of their realm. Maybe it was fashion, or a way to honor their power source, or perhaps it was natural, like Celeste’s own silver hair—she didn’t know.

All she knew was that she needed to fit in, and this would be the most inconspicuous color.

The recipe called for a flower petal with the shade, but there weren’t any in Wildling. As a substitute, she carefully ripped the bottom of her stolen dress’s hem and threw the fabric into the potion.

It bubbled a bit, thickened. Isla and Celeste watched as it became a paste.

The Starling peered into the pot carefully. “Is it supposed to look like this?”

“I don’t know,” Isla mumbled. Nerves flurried in her stomach. She wasn’t just sneaking onto another ruler’s isle. She was impersonating another realm. None of the Centennial rules stated against it, but it was still dangerous.

No one could recognize her. It would immediately put her and their plan in jeopardy.

The enchanted dye had to work.

“It’s cooled,” Celeste said. She had dipped a gloved finger into the mixture.

They took the bowl into the bathroom, and Isla sat in the bathtub as her friend coated her long brown hair in the light-blue paste.

Celeste worked in silence, her fingers careful, rubbing into her scalp, then making her way down to the ends.

“How does it look?” Isla finally asked after most of her hair felt like it had been covered.

Celeste said nothing.

She whipped around to look at her friend’s expression.

And found a smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“What?”

She finally laughed. “It—You just look different,” she offered. “But it’s good. The color is nearly exact.”

“Nearly?”

Celeste waved her concern away. “No one will be able to tell in the moonlight,” she said. “And no one will be in the library this late . . .”

Isla groaned. So many excuses, so many elements out of her control that had to go right.

The mixture was enchanted, thanks to the ever-changing tulip soil. Without it, the color wouldn’t have stuck nearly as quickly or effectively on her dark hair. Still—the blue would only last a few hours.

Her friend took her stained gloves off and gripped her hand tightly. “This will work. You do this all the time.”

Isla gave her an incredulous look. “I sneak onto another realm’s isle all the time?”

“No. But you sneak into other realms’ newlands all the time. Wearing stolen clothing. Impersonating another ruler’s people. With your starstick.”

That was true. But this was different.

This was the Centennial.

“You move like a shadow,” Celeste continued. “You strategize like a general. You can blend in anywhere—I’ve seen you.”

Her friend was right. She had spent years unwittingly gaining the skills she now needed to find the bondbreaker.

Isla washed the paste out of her hair, combed it, and hoped it would dry by the time she reached her destination.

“Right,” Isla said, staring at her reflection, feeling strange in a color she had never been allowed to wear. “So far, I’ve been a thief. A liar.” She sighed. “Time to become a fraud.”

It took forty-five minutes to reach the Sky Isle bridge. Once, the island was whole. Then, thousands of years ago, it was sliced into pieces, so each realm could have its own. All the isles were connected to the Mainland by rope and wood that didn’t look even remotely steady. Wind whistled through large gaps between each plank. The strings holding them together were thin and frayed. The entire thing rocked back and forth like a pendulum. Isla looked down at what had to be two hundred feet, the water churning roughly below, a soup ready to boil her.

“No,” she said simply, the word slipping out of her mouth, into an empty night.

She had read about these enchanted bridges. Though everyone was traditionally allowed on any isle they wanted to visit, some realms had been known to restrict access during political turmoil. If Azul or the Lightlark-based Skyling government had decided those outside their realm weren’t allowed to pass, the bridge would collapse, sending her hurtling hundreds of feet below.

It was unlikely—but not impossible. If she fell, no one would hear her screams. Worse, if someone did, there would be nothing left of her to save.

Her entire realm would die in an instant, just because she was foolish enough to fall off a bridge.

It was too big a risk.

Isla took a step back.

Right into someone’s chest.

She stilled, forcing herself not to scream, then whirled around, hands splayed in apology.

A tall, freckled Skyling man stood there, eyes half-closed, a large cup of drink in his hand. “Crossing?” he said merrily, staring down at her as if nothing was amiss.

He didn’t question her hair.

Didn’t stare at her clothing or face like he recognized her.

His gaze narrowed then, and Isla froze, wondering if he was about to yell to all Lightlark that Isla Crown, ruler of Wildling, was trying to get onto Sky Isle.

Then she remembered he was staring at her strangely not because he was putting the puzzle pieces of her identity together but because she had been gaping up at him for several seconds without responding.

“Yes, of course,” she managed to say, forcing a smile.

He smiled back. His eyes flickered behind her, as if saying, So, are you going to cross, then?

Now she had no choice. Isla took a step, feeling at least a glimmer of comfort that should she plummet hundreds of feet, someone would know her fate right away.

Her foot was met by a steady plank.

Relief needled down the backs of her legs.

The rest of the way across was unsteady and filled with at least half a dozen more stomach-sinking feelings, but she made it to the other side in one piece.

Only to stop and stare at the world she had entered.

Sky Isle was a floating city. Giant chunks of rock hovered high above, strung together by bridges like beads on a bracelet. Waterfalls spilled right off levitating mountain ranges, their triangular bases and roots trailing far beneath them, almost to the ground. On the largest floating piece sat a palace with spires that shot so far up into the clouds they must have scratched the sky itself.

The ground beneath the floating city was far inferior—Isla felt like someone walking on the seafloor, looking up at the surface in wonder. Poppy had taught her that Skylings used to be able to fly, once upon a time. Before their curse bound them forever to the ground.

The only person who could fly now was Oro. As an Origin, he had all the Lightlark realms’ powers. But not their curses. Only Sunling’s, since his family had claimed the realm as their own long ago.

The second city, built beneath the first, covered every inch of a mountain. At its peak stood a tower tall enough to reach the very bottom of the closest floating rock. Isla wondered if that was how one entered the flying city—and who was allowed to. At the mountain’s base sat a marketplace that smelled of peppermint and ale.

Mostly ale.

Someone tumbled from the closest pub, right into the street, face bright pink, barely missing a puddle of vomit.

Skylings were well-known for their celebratory nature. Part of her wanted to rush into the closest bar and down her first drink, knowing it gave others courage.

But she couldn’t risk the distraction or an adverse effect. Not tonight.

Celeste had found out the location of the library through her attendant, a Skyling boy with pale skin and a voice so soft it was hard to even hear him. It supposedly used to be located high above but now had taken over a tower in the newer Sky Isle castle, at the base of the great mountain.

Isla had wondered about the best way to sneak into the palace—but, it turned out, Skylings weren’t as pretentious or paranoid as other realms. The castle doors were open, welcoming any of its people, from nobles to other islanders, inside. No guards were present.

This late at night, there were just a few visitors milling through the halls. A couple, walking hand in hand, sharing a foaming drink between them. A cluster of teenagers, taking turns throwing a ball at each other, only using their power to harness wind.

The people of the realm were not unlike their leader. Content. Happy.

It was a bit unnerving, more than two weeks into the Centennial. Weren’t they anxious? Did they know something she didn’t? Did Azul have a plan for this Centennial that he had shared with his people?

Isla made a turn to the east side of the palace. She studied it carefully. It was surprisingly well-kept for being the home of a ruler who only returned for a few months every century. It was just a fraction of the size of the Mainland castle and painted light blue, a giant bird’s egg. Its ceilings were designed to resemble a massive, endless sky and were remarkably tall. Wind whistled through the corridors, from various windows left open.

Free. Airy. Light.

The tower wasn’t difficult to find. It was one of just a few and had unlocked glass doors, which revealed its interior.

Books. Floors of them, in a circular shape, going around and around, in a spiral leading up to a rounded skylight. All empty. Celeste was right. No one seemed interested in reading at this hour.

Now she just needed to find the protected section.

She studied the space and frowned. There were no hidden back rooms. Everything in the library was on full display, shelves built into the walls. Isla started up the spiral walkway, forcing herself not to look too carefully at the books. If she saw any of their titles, she wasn’t sure she would be able to resist the temptation to sit down and read.

You will have plenty of time to read once your curses are broken, she told herself. After using the bondbreaker, she would have the freedom to pillage the library in the Wildling realm and devour every book if she wished.

She just needed to find it.

The tower was taller than it looked from the bottom—it took several minutes to reach its top.

When she did, she frowned. No protected section.

No relics. Just books. Thousands of them.

Isla gripped the railing, staring a hundred feet down at the bottom. The library was empty. Hollow. She barely resisted the urge to fill it with her frustrated screams.

But she hadn’t colored her hair and stolen her clothes and stepped foot on another realm’s Lightlark territory to give up so easily.

Every isle’s library had a protected area.

This one must just be hidden.

Isla backed toward the wall and felt it carefully, knocking gently. It was solid, books covering nearly every inch of the tower’s interior. Its middle was air.

No room for a secret.

Unless—

She looked up at the skylight. If she stood on her toes, she could reach it.

Her stomach roiled as she carefully grabbed the gloves from her pocket. They felt rough and thin enough to tear if she wasn’t careful. She tried not to think of what they were made of, of who they were—

No. She had to keep her mind on the mission, lest she retch her dinner.

Hoping Celeste was right, and Azul’s essence was indeed imprinted on the fabric, she rolled them on, then pressed her gloved palm against the glass—

It dropped open, along with an elegant pair of metal stairs that unfolded before her eyes.

Isla’s grin was a primal thing, pure satisfaction. She had uncovered a ruler’s secret. She had figured it out alone. A powerless young ruler.

There is no time to celebrate. Terra’s scolding was in her brain. Whenever Isla beamed after mastering a skill or managing to disarm her guardian, she would be chastised.

Time can stand still for just a moment, Isla once said.

Not for you. From the moment you were born, the clock began counting down, Terra had replied. Any time not used to prepare for the Centennial was wasted. Wanting anything more than to defend and protect her realm was selfish. Her life had never been her own.

With the bondbreaker, it could be.

Isla took the first step up the ladder.

The skylight was a door, leading to a small glass room awash with moonlight. There was a bundle of ancient scrolls. A scepter with a gem-stone top that was milky, the color of someone blending clouds and sky together with their thumb. A sword with a braided blade, two sheets of metal intertwined, locked together like lovers.

But there was no oversize glass needle.

There was no bondbreaker.

Disappointment made her reckless. Isla entered the Mainland castle without her normal precautions. She did not wait in the shadows to ensure no one was around. She did not cloak her steps, which would require slowing her pace. She did not take the long way, through halls that were always empty because they were ancient and let cracks of moonlight and cold drafts through holes in the stone and didn’t have any of the monstrous hearths that filled the rest of the palace.

All she wanted was to get to her room as soon as possible, wash the dye out of her hair, tear the light-blue clothes to pieces, and get any remainder of sleep the night allowed.

By the time she quickly turned a corner into the main hall, it was too late.

Cleo had already spotted her.

Isla was gone in an instant. She kept walking straight instead, not knowing where she was going, heart thundering, wondering how good a look the Moonling ruler had gotten at her face.

It was dark. She had been on the other side of the hall.

No, not close enough to have seen it was her.

But certainly close enough to make her suspicious.

Seconds later, Isla heard the unmistakable sound of steps behind her.

Following her.

Just a few long strides and the Moonling would catch up to her, confirm that the girl with the light-blue hair and Skyling clothing was a fellow ruler.

An impostor.

The discovery would spin so many questions and stab so many of her secrets, Isla began sweating, panting.

Cleo wouldn’t give up until she had Isla backed into a corner. Her steps were just a few moments behind hers.

Another turn came up, and Isla took it, using the few seconds that the Moonling ruler couldn’t see her to take off at full speed.

She ran, ran, then took another turn—

And crashed into something solid.

Her mind spun behind her eyes. She would have fallen backward if it wasn’t for two strong hands catching her by the waist.

Grim.

Footsteps sounded behind her, echoing through the last hall. One turn, and the Moonling ruler would find her there, both of them.

The Nightshade ruler stared down at her, confusion drawing his brows together. His eyes caught on her colored hair, her clothes, a question in his expression.

No time to explain.

“Please,” she said, gripping his arms, hating the way her voice broke on the word.

He seemed to know what she wanted.

Because before Cleo could turn the corner, Grim gathered Isla to his chest and they both disappeared.

The Moonling ruler froze at the entrance of their corridor, finding it empty. Isla might have found pleasure in the shock on Cleo’s face, if she wasn’t so afraid.

She was trembling. Cleo was just feet away. If the Moonling discovered her, Celeste’s plans and help would be for nothing. Just because Isla was foolish enough not to be cautious. Just because she was upset that she didn’t find the bondbreaker on her first try.

The Moonling took a step forward, right toward them. Silent as a shadow, Grim lifted Isla as if she weighed nothing and shifted them both to the side of the room. The rough stone wall dug into her back. Grim was shielding her. She could feel his breath against her forehead.

Isla tried not to focus on what else she could feel. His tight grip on her waist, the cold emanating from him searing through the thin fabric of her stolen clothing. The chill that licked her spine like night blossoming in her bones.

Out of fear, she told herself, fear of being discovered. Nothing else.

The Moonling walked the entire length of the room—before finally retreating the way she had come.

Only after her steps were too faint to hear did Grim make them visible again.

And Isla was shocked by his proximity.

She was pressed against the wall, and he towered over her, head bent so low his nose almost grazed hers.

He looked down at her. “Have you decided to change realms, Heart-eater?” he said, reaching up and taking a strand of her colored hair between his fingers. “If so, you might consider Nightshade. We can’t compete with Skyling when it comes to sweets or inventive drinks, but if debauchery is what you’re after . . .” His dark gaze gleamed in amusement. “We are most famed for our thorough exploration of pleasure.”

What was he implying? His hands were still on her waist, his fingers long against her ribs. She took a shaky breath.

Then batted him away, scowling. “Count me uninterested,” she said.

But Grim only grinned as he took a step back.

Of course. The demon could feel her emotions, the heat pooling in her stomach as she thought about his surprisingly gentle touch. The way his lips had curled around the word pleasure . . .

No. What was wrong with her? She had always judged the Wildlings reckless enough to begin to have feelings for someone. They risked the relationship ending in death.

Isla’s actions put her entire realm at risk.

She wanted freedom. She wanted to break her and her people’s curses. That was all.

That was everything.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Then she darted out of the hall as quickly as she could.