For a long while, Grim just stared at the floor, deep in thought. Then his eyes reached hers again. There was no recognition there. But there was a faint whisper of understanding.
“So it was the loneliness,” he finally said, straightening, as if the answer was that simple. “I was lonely, and you were there.”
She bristled. She had survived knife wounds that hurt less. “You should give yourself more credit,” she bit out, wanting to wipe the satisfaction from his face. He thought he’d figured it all out, but he was wrong. “Love is a choice, and you made it.”
His eyes flashed with anger. With a challenge. “And what choice will you make, Wildling?” he said.
She refused to look away, and neither did he. They were locked in a duel once more.
He was the first to drop her gaze, but there was no victory in it. It was like he had grown tired of her. “It doesn’t matter now. I have the answers I need.” He leaned down so that he could say the words right in her face. “You might have meant something to me once...but you won’t again. I would never care for someone as weak and foolish as you. If you think there’s a chance at getting me on your side...don’t waste your breath.”
Then he rose to his full height, turned on his heel, and left.
The knights began escorting her to and from dinners after that. At the meals themselves, Grim didn’t even spare her a glance. And his indifference was worse than his hatred.
She missed him more than she could put into words, but even though they sat at the same table, he had never seemed farther from her. She was starting to realize that she wouldn’t be able to convince him to hand over the feather. Oro didn’t have that kind of time, and the thought of him defending their world alone...The thought of failing him, again, when he had asked her for the starstick, for just one thing...
No. She wouldn’t fail him. She would take matters into her own hands and steal the damned feather herself.
It was easy to stay silent during the dinners. To eat, and listen to the conversation, in case anything would help her situation. Nothing did. Cronan, she learned, only liked to talk about the planets he had conquered, the worlds he had brought to ashes, and his plans for all the power he would gain from his upcoming invasion of their world...and the galaxy beyond it.
The new people in the castle were a sign of celebration. After the dinners, there were parties, though she was never invited. Still, sometimes she could hear them, up above.
Celebrating every day her planet inched toward ruin.
The knights kept her under close watch. There wasn’t ever an opportunity to slip away. Isla studied their movements, noticing that there was no key for her to steal. It seemed like the cell door locked by their touch alone—and Grim’s.
Was it enchanted to respond to their blood? That would certainly make escaping harder.
Cronan always ordered the knights to take her back to the dungeons before the meal was finished. That would be the perfect window of opportunity to slip away. Grim wouldn’t be in his room. All the other heads of planets would be confined to one place.
But to overpower one of the knights, she would need a weapon, and she had none. Not even that knife she’d tried to take from the dinner table—thanks to Grim. She still had her armor, but now, itwas miniature, each plate far too small to cut deeply. Without her powers, she couldn’t transform the metal. She went through countless options in her head, even looking in the room where she was bathed and dressed every day. But there was nothing sharp. Nothing at all.
That evening, when she was thrown into the cell, she looked over at Lark, and an idea formed in her head. One her ancestor was certainly not going to like.
“How badly do you want that feather?”
ISLA
Isla reached her hands through Lark’s gaping chest and snapped one of her broken ribs. Lark hissed, her eyes gleaming. But she did not scream.
The witch was strong, Isla would give her that. Anyone else would have passed out from the pain.
Isla walked over to the cell gate. She hid one of her hands behind her back and used the other to rattle the metal. Hard. She kept going until she heard footsteps. One of the knights stood before her.
She was very familiar with these knights by now. They all wore armor that covered every inch...except a small gap between their helmets and breastplates. It was only visible when they turned their heads.
They were also incredibly dimwitted.
“The ceiling,” she said, gesturing upward.
That was all it took for the idiot guard to look up. And before he could call for help, she shoved the rib through the bars and right into his throat. He sputtered blood. He tried to scream, but Isla had torn through his vocal cords.
She reached both arms through the grate and caught him before he collapsed to keep him from making a sound. Her knees nearly buckled from the weight. Slowly, teeth gritted, she managed to move his arm to the lock. She pressed his palm against it—
The door unlocked and she pushed it forward, still holding on to the knight. By the time she gently set him on the floor, she was panting, her sweaty palms slipping on her knees.
She looked over her shoulder at Lark. All she saw was glowing green eyes. She expected her ancestor to make a break for it, but she remained very still.
