Lightlark (Lightlark, #1)

by Alex Aster

For Rron. I couldn’t write our love story if I tried.

Only joined can the curses be undone Only after one of six has won, When the original offense Has been committed again And a ruling line has come to an end Only then can history amend.

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.

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.

Wildlings wielded nature in life and joined it in death.

Terra repeated her question, dark-green eyes the same color as the leaves and ivy that wrapped around the Wildling palace, a skin over everything. The same color as Isla’s. “Are you ready?”

Wildlings had always been proud of their bodies, beauty, and ability. They had always loved wildly, lived freely, and fought fiercely.

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.

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,” Isla said firmly.

There was something grim beneath that grin, a faint shadow that might become monstrous in the dark.

A pale-blue cloak cracked with wind before settling against bare, very dark shoulders and muscled arms. The man had eyebrows larger than his eyes, a sculpted chin, and perfectly coiffed stubble that framed his pink mouth. Azul, ruler of Skyling.

The rest of the realms viewed the women warriors as savage temptresses, predators that lured lovers, then feasted on their hearts.

Cleo was the oldest among them, even older than the king of Lightlark, who also ruled over all Sunlings. Her age was at odds with her perfectly smooth, youthful face. Though most of the rulers were hundreds of years older, it was almost difficult to tell the difference between them and Isla. Almost.

She was the silver of stars, from her long, straight sheet of hair to her twinkling dress to her gloves, which reached her elbows. She smiled sheepishly at them, heart-shaped face going wide, then stood tall.

Lightlark was a shining, cliffy thing. Its bluffs were white as bone, and sunlight rained down in sheets of misted gold.

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.

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.

Oro, king of Lightlark, ruler of Sunlings. He had hair like woven gold, eyes as amber and hollow as honeycomb. Mean eyes that pinned her in place.

“The first rule. A ruler may not assassinate or attempt to assassinate another ruler until after the fiftieth day.” The rule was a relief to Isla. For at least half of the Centennial, powerless or not, she would be safe. Which was why she and Celeste planned to be off the island before the ball on the fiftieth day even took place. “And, when pairs are decided on the twenty-fifth day, a ruler may not assassinate their partner.”

Cleo’s blood hardened into ice before being seared by the fire. Grim’s blood became dark as ink. Azul’s blood suspended in the air, separating into parts, before finally falling. Celeste’s blood burst into a mess of sparks. Oro’s blood burned brightly before even reaching the flames.

It was tradition to wear the color of one’s power source. Starlings wore silver, Sunlings wore gold, Skylings wore light blue, Nightshades wore black, and Moonlings wore white.

You take the pain like medicine, Terra had said in response to her tears. You swallow it down with a smile.

“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.”

A Sunling and a Starling finding love, despite their differences. It was the only time her guardian hadn’t spoken about love as a cautionary tale.

“Some ancient creatures on the island, the ones that still live in the deepest pockets of Lightlark, believe Wildlings abandoned them five hundred years ago. If they sense you, or hear rumors that you are near their lands, they will attack. Which would only end in spilled blood and too much attention to our efforts.”

Starlings, the stars looked brighter than they did to everyone else, like millions of moons, or shining fruits ripe for the picking. Only they could see how brightly they truly glowed.

“Hearteater,” he said into her ear. “You’re killing me.” Isla didn’t breathe. His breath was against her cheek. He smelled like stone and storms and something spiced, like cinnamon.

“There’s this secluded stretch of beach on Sun Isle, along a cliff . . . with giant coals in the water that sizzle when the sea hits them.” He lifted his gaze, eyes on the ceiling. “The sea is a strange shade there . . . dark green. The color of your eyes.”

It smelled like honey and mint leaves, deliciously soft against her skin.

“If anyone makes a move to harm you, I will ruin them and their entire realm.”

The heart had been keeping her alive. She knew that for certain when she dropped it, and the world had gone dark. And then she was falling through an endless puddle of stars. The realms were just spokes on a wheel, turning, turning, turning. She was somewhere in between them, drowning, gasping, fading. Mom. Would she finally get to meet her? Dad. And the man who had been worth death, worth bearing a cursed child? Death was not quiet, and it was not quick.

she leaned her head back, it rested against his chest. Her feet kicked air, high above the churning sea. She looked up at him. “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.