Lightlark (Lightlark, #1)

by Alex Aster

Thousands of years ago, the island was cut into several pieces, so each realm could claim a shard. Nightshades left the island shortly afterward to form their own land. Wildlings left after the curses. The pieces that remained were Star Isle for the Starlings, Sky Isle for the Skylings, Moon Isle for the Moonlings, and Sun Isle for the Sunlings. Then, there was the Mainland, where all the realms had traditionally gathered together. It was the Centennial’s base.

The Sunling ruler and king of Lightlark. The last remaining Origin, with blood from each of the four realms that still had a presence on the island. He could wield each of the four Lightlark powers.

On Lightlark and beyond, love had a price. Falling deeply and truly in love meant forming a bond that gave a beloved complete access to one’s abilities. They could do whatever they wished with it. Wield it, reject it. Even steal it.

Sunlings had been cursed never to feel the warmth of sunlight or see the brightness of day—forced to shun that which gave them power. The king of Lightlark was trapped in the darkness of his chambers, only able to surface at night.

The king of Lightlark didn’t just control its power—he was its power. If something happened to him, the entire land would crumble away, and every Lightlark realm would fall.

No one realized how small their realm had gotten. Many more Wildlings had died than been born. Their powers had gotten weaker with every generation. Forests had shrunk. Wildlife had gone extinct. At the rate her lands and people were deteriorating, there wouldn’t be any Wildlings left by the next Centennial.

One of the six rulers had to die to break the curses, according to the oracle’s prophecy. But it was worse than that. A ruler’s power was the life force of their people. So, if one died without an heir— All their people would die along with them. Those were the stakes of the game. Breaking the curses meant eliminating an entire realm.

“And I don’t know what I enjoy more. Replaying the image of my sword against your throat . . . or thinking about how your heart might look on my plate.” Grim’s dark eyes flashed with amusement. “Careful, Hearteater,” he whispered, towering over her, standing far too close. “I might just give it to you.”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, is wrong with you, heart,” he said.

The door slammed open so hard it seemed close to shattering, and she whirled around to see Grim, running, frantic. His eyes were wide—filled with fear. His breath was wild. There was a sword by his side. He was in front of her in an instant. “Heart—are you hurt?”

“I haven’t told you what you do to me.” She blinked. “What?” “I haven’t told you that you’ve ruined me.” “Ruined?” He nodded. “Ruined. Tortured. You haven’t stopped tormenting me since the first moment I saw you.” Isla opened her mouth. Closed it. Considered apologizing, even. Grim continued. “A few conversations with you, and I was ready to make the most disadvantageous trade—all of me in exchange for any part of you you’d be willing to spare.” He shook his head. “You have invaded my mind. I have questioned my sanity. I think about you all the time.”

That was the moment I knew I loved you, he had said. When that arrow went through your heart, and it might as well have gone through mine.