Lightlark (Lightlark, #1)

by Alex Aster

The Centennial was many things. A game. A chance at breaking the many curses that plagued the six realms. An opportunity to win unmatched power. A meeting of the six rulers. A hundred days on an island cursed to only appear once every hundred years. And for Isla— Almost certain death.

Are you ready, Isla? a voice in her mind said, mocking and cruel.

She spoke of kings who could grip the sun in their hands, white-haired women who could make the sea dance, castles in clouds, and flowers that bloomed pure power.

Five hundred years before, each of the six realms—Wildling, Starling, Moonling, Skyling, Sunling, and Nightshade—were cursed, their strengths turned into their own personal poisons. Each curse was uniquely wicked.

Wildlings’ was twofold. They were cursed to kill anyone they fell in love with—and to live exclusively on human hearts. They turned into terrifyingly beautiful monsters with the wicked power to seduce with a single look.

“Open your eyes,” a voice said, dark and striking as midnight.

The face belonging to the man looking down at her was amused. And familiar, somehow. He was so tall Isla had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes, black as coals. His hair spilled ink across his pale forehead. Nightshade, no question. Which meant . . .

“Thank you, Grimshaw,”

A knowing grin overtook Grim’s sharply cut face as he studied her right back. His black hair was smooth down his pale forehead, ink across a page. “Deciding if I’m a villain?”

She was light as a dandelion on her feet but strong as the steel of her blade with every advance.

He looked shamelessly, eagerly, like it was important to commit every inch to memory. She had never been studied so thoroughly.

His dark eyes seemed to get even darker as they met hers, and he said, “I’m not sure what I enjoy more. Seeing the way you grip a sword . . . or the way your dress grips you.”

“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.”

They would absorb the energy the enchanted Starling mirror had taken from all the rulers, to be used later.

“Have you decided to change realms, Heart-eater?” he said, reaching up and taking a strand of her colored hair between his fingers. “If so, you might consider Nightshade. We can’t compete with Skyling when it comes to sweets or inventive drinks, but if debauchery is what you’re after . . .” His dark gaze gleamed in amusement. “We are most famed for our thorough exploration of pleasure.”

“you ask a great deal of questions, Hearteater.” He studied her from head to toe before frowning at her arm, as if he could sense the pain it still gave her. “For someone with so many secrets of her own.”

Cleo studied her. Too carefully. “How do Wildlings take their tea?” she asked, sharp eyes gleaming. “With a splash of blood?”

“And we drink it from the skulls of our conquests,” she said steadily, smiling good-naturedly, like the Moonling’s words were a joke from a friend and not a barb from a now certain enemy.

“What are the Nightshade lands like?” she asked, not really knowing why.

Grim looked at her for a long time. “One day,” he said, “I’ll show you.”

He reached toward her, and she went still—but his hands simply went to her crown. His fingers gently, carefully, pulled at the strands of her hair wrapped around the metal, unknotting it from her head.

He pulled a little too hard on one piece, and she made a sound that made Grim immediately meet her gaze. Something wicked danced within his eyes, something that made the bottom of Isla’s spine curl.

Grim grinned. “Oh,” he said, eyes trained to hers, as if he wanted to make sure she heard every word, “what I’m feeling can’t be said in a place like this.”

“Tell me how I’m feeling,” she whispered. She could try her best to control her thoughts, her actions—but if the Nightshade had taught her anything, it was that her emotions were far more difficult to bridle. Rain fell from his hair and onto her cheeks. He swallowed, reading her. “You’re feeling . . . intrigued.”

Red dress against black, a rose dipped in midnight.

“What about staying away from me?” His lips were right above hers now, his words practically pressed against the corner of her mouth. “I gave it an honest effort,” he said. “But it turns out . . . I’m not that honest.”

He took in her every inch and grinned. “Now you look satisfyingly terrifying, don’t you?”

“Then why bother going visible again?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Grim took a step toward her. Took her hand into his with such brazen possession that she nearly took it back. “To dance with you, of course.”

Oro’s smile was pure mirth. “I’ll let you in on a secret that might explain my decision,” he said loudly, for all to hear. He turned to look straight at her. “Isla Crown doesn’t have powers.”

Grim took her hand and they were gone.

“Because we’re monsters, Hearteater,” he said. “Or, at least, that’s what they think.” His grin widened. “And monsters stick together.”

“Grim . . .” she said, voice unsteady. “What’s wrong with me?”

Grim’s eyes flashed with anger. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, is wrong with you, heart,” he said.

He surprised her by smiling. He placed his hand carefully against her cheek. “If anyone makes a move to harm you, I will ruin them and their entire realm.”

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.”

“Late at night, I ache for you. I ache for you all the time,” he said, face truly looking tortured. As if he had waited a long while to say those words. As if she had been a curse worse than all others.

“Hearteater.” His voice broke on the word. She faced him. “I thought you were dead.” I did too, she thought. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “I’m alive. Because of you.”

“Your heart,” he said, frowning. He shook his head. “It does not only belong to you.”

Grim shook his head. Frowned. “You asked me, just minutes ago, if I trusted you. When you should have asked if you could trust me.”

Isla turned to face Celeste. Her friend’s eyes had changed. They were darker, a deep silver instead of gray. She grinned wickedly.

“I might be a fool. But at least I have honor,” she spat.