Begrudgingly, he held his arm out and slowly lifted the sleeve.
A circle was carved roughly into his skin. The lines weren’t healing—as she watched, the skin was splitting and reforming, as if something was trying to undo the marking, reverse the skyre...and Grim’s power was fighting back.
This must have been how Grim was able to use his power in this world. It wasn’t his blood connection to Cronan after all. Somehow, he had discovered Cronan’s unique skyre.
Cronan would have immediately known that Grim had found a way around his shield. Isla imagined he wouldn’t have been happy about that, wanting instead for his heir to be as pliant and subservient as the rest of his subjects. But even if he could, he wouldn’t forcibly remove the skyre if he wanted Grim to be loyal—just like he was trying to make Isla loyal. So, he was using his powers to fight it.
Did this mean Cronan was afraid of Grim attacking him? Of Grim actually joining with Isla and finding a way to destroy him, together?
Isla bit her lip. She didn’t have her healing elixir here, and even if she did, she wasn’t positive it would work. Not for an injury like this.
But she knew someone who could help.
Grim accompanied her to her cell. Lark was curled up on her side, glaring at both of them.
“Has the happy couple reunited?” she asked.
Isla sighed. “I need your blood,” she said, flatly. “What do you want?”
Lark’s power was regeneration. If Isla’s theory was right, her blood would be the most potent cure.
Her ancestor’s lip curled back. “You know what I want,” she said. “He has it.”
Isla’s pulse quickened. The feather was the way she was going to get Oro the information he needed to find the starstick. She couldn’t lose her only bargaining chip now.
“No, I—”
Lark turned her mocking gaze to Isla, her question clear: Who did Isla want to help more, Oro or Grim?
Isla swallowed.
When she didn’t immediately answer, her ancestor turned to Grim and outstretched her palm. “I want my feather.”
Grim just blinked at her. At first, Isla wondered if he didn’t remember. After all, Isla had been the one to discover it.
But then he reached into his pocket. Of course. That was why she hadn’t found it in his room—he had carried it on his person. It must have been in the bathroom while he had bathed, in the clothes he had discarded.
“Why do you want it?” he asked, revealing the feather. It was half charred, but still, Lark’s eyes gleamed.
“It’s a part of me,” she said. “I want to be made whole.” She sneered at the gaps in her body, at all the places that had been ripped apart and crudely put back together. “As whole as I can be.”
Grim seemed to be weighing his options. Her ancestor had nearly leveled his lands. She had killed hundreds of his people.
“Do you want to be healed or not?” she said.
His eyes roamed over her wounds like he could just take her blood without giving away the feather.
Lark seemed to sense that, because she smiled knowingly. “My blood isn’t so easily taken. And if you try, I’m sure Cronan would love to hear about this visit.” She tilted her head at Grim. “So, what will it be?”
Grim’s injury must have been impacting him more than Isla thought, because she watched him hand the feather over. The moment it touched Lark’s hand, there was a burst of light. Isla watched as her body began piecing together—she wasn’t completely healed, but it was much better than before. She took a deep, shuddering breath, grinning.
Grim opened his palm in return. He clearly didn’t want to show her the marking, even disguised.
Lark gave him a scathing look, not trusting him either. She sliced her skin open with a sharpened nail, and only a single drop of blood was revealed. She dripped it into Isla’s hand instead.
“I’ll know if you use it for anything else,” she said to Isla. “And I’m in much better shape to hurt you in here.”
Isla’s jaw worked, realizing Lark could now pose far more danger to her.
