Lightlark (Lightlark, #1)

by Alex Aster

There are lies and liars all around you . . .

Celeste’s smile only grew more serpentine.

“There never was a bondbreaker, little bird. This is a bondmaker. The only enchanted device that allows a transfer of ability.

When Isla had been pricked by the bondmaker, it had allowed Celeste to take all the power she had access to, even if she didn’t know it—Oro’s and Grim’s.

The Starling transformed. Her nose shortened. Her eyes changed color. Her cheeks hollowed. Her lips became redder. A different face. A different person. An impossible power—a flair. Celeste wasn’t Celeste at all.

Aurora. Isla knew that name. The Starling ruler who had died the day the curses had been cast. The one who had been set to marry King Egan. “I watched you die,” Oro said, his voice rasped. Aurora turned and faced Oro. “An illusion, I’m afraid,” she said. “Why?” Oro’s voice was guttural. Then realization hardened his features. “It was revenge, wasn’t it?”

Keeping secrets is easy in a realm where everyone dies at twenty-five.

She shook her head. “I’m powerless.” Aurora laughed. “Quite the contrary, little bird. You’re very powerful. Your Wildling abilities have simply been cloaked by your Nightshade powers. Made invisible. Unusable, unless a skilled Nightshade should untangle them . . . Manifestations of powers are so strange, aren’t they?”

“I did like you, Wildling. But all the rulers must die today. Again.”

“We did it for you. The Starling ruler gave us a choice—kill your mother and her lover so that their power would be transferred to you in time for the next Centennial and raise you to be able to seduce the king one day . . . or she would kill the entire Wildling line and end our realm. She demanded we convince you that you weren’t born with ability . . . so that you wouldn’t ever try to use it. She said it was dangerous, the mix of power, that it could kill you.”

But he had betrayed her in every way. He had taken away her memories instead of including her in his plan.

Instead of trusting her to make her own decision. He had made the choice for her.

“You’re not thinking of jumping again, are you?” She whirled around and glared at him. “I did not jump. You made me fall.”

“Don’t let me fall in.” His eyes met hers. “Never,” he said. Isla glared at him. “Never again,” he amended.

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.