Maybe she should give up? It would be so much easier...
Just then, the silver woman’s words sounded in the back of Isla’s mind, in a hidden pocket that Cronan’s shadows could not access, one wrapped in light.
When you start to doubt yourself, I want you to picture a pool reflecting every moment you were brave. Every moment you fought, when it was easier to give up. And Isla did. The silver pool appeared in her mind, and she saw herself train every single day since she was a child, she saw herself breaking the curses, she saw herself shattering the manacles Lark had shackled her with. She saw herself bleeding and broken and crawling, yet not stopping. Never stopping. Then, the waters went still again—and a little girl rose from the center of the silver pool. It was herself, at eight years old. Holding a dagger in her hand. She stepped toward her. “We are strong,” the little girl said. She reached for her hand. “Never forget.”
Isla blinked as the galaxy became visible once more. Cronan’s bared teeth came into view, his shadows having been pushed away.
“I have been caged my entire life,” she said, and she could hear the echoes of that little girl within her speaking. “I have been used and manipulated and lied to. You will not be the one to break me.”
Cronan narrowed his eyes at her. And as she was dragged back through the room toward her cell, he said, “We’ll see.”
GRIM
If Grim had a skyre, it would be an infinity symbol.
With Isla, he felt infinite, for the first time in his long life. Even now, she gave him strength from worlds away.
The wind crackled as he portaled to the Algid in search for Cronan’s skyre. He was standing right in front of where he used to train as a child, along with his siblings and the other noble children.
Back then, he believed he was destined to die young. All he knew was preparation for the Gauntlet—the tournament where he and his siblings would fight to the death to determine the heir. He was under no pretenses that he would win. Not when he could barely summon a single shadow.
Grim couldn’t access power easily, so instead, he relied on swordplay. His shadows might have failed him, but his metal never did. He didn’t know, of course, that his abilities were great. They were simply hidden.
Just as Isla’s had been.
When they finally emerged, it was in a path of endless ruin.
Just like Isla.
It was strange to think how much they had in common, when they seemed, at first glance, so different. He was reminded of it now more than ever, as he portaled across his lands in rapid spurts, looking for hidden symbols.
Instead of skyres, all he found were reminders of her. This was where they had fallen in love, and their memories were everywhere. They had painted over all the pain of the past.
Before Isla, Grim’s life had been stuck in winter. She was his spring. The moment he met her, his world finally woke up. Meeting her made him understand why people bothered falling in love.
He had lived centuries before her—but his life had only truly started after her.
He never wanted to go back to that cold darkness again.
So he portaled to every ancient ruin, searching for the skyre. When he still couldn’t find it, instead of leveling an entire swath of land, he took himself to the field of nightbane. Not because of Cronan’s skyre...but because he wanted to feel close to her.
The endless violet was now ash. But once, it had been a field that had made Isla gasp with wonder. It was where he had gotten down on both knees and asked her to be his wife.
“I want everything with you, Hearteater,” he had said. “I want marriage, I want children, I want to be standing next to you, holding your hand, at the end of the world. I want to live endless lifetimes with you, because one isn’t enough. Not for me. Not even close. If we live a thousand years—I’ll want a million more. I’m selfish, I’m greedy, I want you for endless eternities.We are infinite.”
They were forever bound. Nothing could keep them apart. Not even the universe itself.
He wouldn’t rest until he found that skyre.
ISLA
Isla had told Cronan he would not break her. But he was intent on trying. From the morning until night, he pierced his shadows into her brain, battering the walls she had put up. He couldn’t go through them—so he whittled her strength down, over time. Scraping, scraping, scraping, the shadows were like knives, peeling fruit of its skin. She didn’t want to scream, but she couldn’t stop, until finally—her voice gave out. Or, Cronan grew tired of the sound and put a vise on her throat. She wasn’t sure.
All she knew was that this pain was unbearable. To make it stop, she gave him insignificant moments, letting bits of her fortress fall. The relief only lasted seconds. He knew there was more. He kept trying. Until her mind became a blurry haze, logic gone, leaving only feeling. Emotions, which had always been her downfall. After hours of torture, it was instinct to think of the men she loved. She realized her mistake immediately. But before she could shift her thoughts, Cronan latched on. He lunged for the parts of her mind where she kept them. And she was too tired to stop him.
Cronan went through every moment between her and Oro and Grim as she thrashed as much as his hold allowed, tears running down her cheeks. And he began to laugh, slowly and cruelly.
“Did you think I didn’t know where you got access to such ability?” he asked, his voice as cutting as his shadows. “The king and my own progeny...what fools they are. And you...you are the greatest fool of them all. Having such power, such access, and bringing it all to me...”
