Her mouth tightened as she fought to keep her gaze steady against the words coming from his mouth. “That’s—that’s not true. Just because you don’t remember, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“Is that so? Tell me—what happened? Why are you so desperate to convince me you care for me when you’re going to kill me?” His eyes searched hers almost desperately. And Isla realized it had nothing to do with her or their love. It was an urge to understand.
Of course. Part of his mind was missing. He must want to know what it contained.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She didn’t know how to convince him that he had known that she might kill him but still came to save her anyway. He was right to doubt it. Their love didn’t make sense. It never had.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t real and worth fighting for.
At her silence, Grim looked her over with nothing short of disgust. “Right. Forgive me for not taking kindly to my future murderer,” he said.
With that, he dragged her into the halls of the castle. But instead of going straight toward the galaxy room, they made a turn. He shoved her into an unfamiliar room. “Get her ready,” he snapped at someone behind her, before slamming the door closed.
Isla sighed and dropped her head. If he would justlistento her...
She turned around, only to be met with five beautiful women with skin that glistened like smeared starlight. Their limbs were long and lithe. They reminded Isla a little bit of the forest wraiths, but without the claws or fangs.
“Who are you?” Isla asked, stepping away as they approached, and they gave no indication that they had heard her. “Can—can you help me?”
Their eyes were blank. Emotionless. Had Cronan gotten into their heads? Had he permanently broken them, the way he had tried to break her?
The only answer was the sound of water running from somewhere close by. Isla was firmly pushed into another room. The door was closed behind her.
A porcelain white tub had been filled with steaming water and swirling suds of soap. Her instruction was clear—she was to bathe.
Isla’s mind spun, and she wanted to refuse. Why would she need to be bathed? What was Cronan planning?
But she would have to keep playing his game in order to have the time she needed with Grim.
And she could use a bath.
She had just peeled off her filthy clothes and stepped into the deliciously warm waters of the tub when the doors opened, and the women slipped in. Various types of soaps were cupped in their hands. One reached for her hair, and Isla slid away. “I can bathe myself,” she said, and the women either didn’t understand her or didn’t care, because they started working the soap through Isla’s hair until the strands untangled. They scrubbed her raw, aching skin, until finally she snatched a bar out of one of their hands and did the rest herself.
After she stepped out of the bath and was dried off, she was eased into a chair in front of a mirror. She took in her reflection, surprised at how different she looked. Her cheekbones were sharper. Gaunter. Her skin was paler than usual, as if Cronan’s vise on her and this world was costing her more than just her abilities.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been shocked that her appearance had changed so much—after all,everythinghad changed in her time here.
She sat still as they combed her long hair and styled it half up in a crown-like braid and left the rest in a dozen loose curls. She allowed them to put paints on her face that weren’t so different from the ones that Poppy had taught her to use, masking the signs of pallor.
The dress they presented was ridiculous, even by her standards. The thin silk had diamond-shaped cut-outs at the sides of her waist, and a low neckline that nearly reached her navel. It allowed all her skyres to be seen. The one on her arm that helped her control her powers. The one that had allowed her to break through the hold on her abilities in the maze. And the barely visible remnants of the one over the starlike scar on her heart. This was clearly meant to make her uncomfortable, meant to show her off—but to who, she didn’t know.
When she looked at herself, she did not see a woman in a revealing dress, primped and painted like a prop. No. She saw a warrior in her armor. This was the battlefield that she had spent her entire life preparing for ahead of the Centennial. She was in her element now and was ready to fight.
She wasn’t only fighting for Grim. She was fighting for her world and what was coming for them. She was fighting for Oro, who was doing his best to defend it. She was fighting for everyone she had killed. And she would fight for this world too. For these people and creatures whose home had been turned to ash.
Cronan thought he had everything under control. But Isla was used to being in a cage.
And she had broken out before.
ISLA
The women walked Isla out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the galaxy room. She had no idea what to expect when she got there. Why had Cronan insisted she be dressed this way? He had never given the smallest impression that he cared about her appearance. What did he have planned for her?
When the doors swung open, she realized they were not alone.
A long table sat in the center of the room, at the exact same spot where she had writhed in pain on the floor countless times. Six new men filled the seats, but only one she recognized—that man in the strange green clothing with the serpentine smile. The rest were dressed differently from each other, with various hair colors and styles and shades of skin. They glanced at her with a mixture of fascination, clear desire, and indifference.
Grim was seated at the end of the table. When his eyes found her, he immediately frowned.
