Crowntide by Alex Aster - 85

Grim was chasing her. She could feel his power spilling through this world like a river of impending night.

The labyrinth of Cronan’s mind was in the shape of a skyre. His skyre. After she had carved it into her palm with Lark’s feather, her power rushed back into her, as she became immune to his poison.

She had broken right through her cell’s shademade bars, then through the entire castle, punching hole after hole until she was free. And as she rose higher into the sky and looked behind her, she saw that Cronan had not been leveling indiscriminate parts of this land.

The scars of this world formed the same symbol.

She wrapped herself in energy until she was a star, shooting toward the heavens. She became a beacon. And it didn’t take long to attract a storm.

She had known for a while now that the storms were portals. But she hadn’t truly thought about them as an extension of Cronan’s power—just like her starstick was an extension of Grim’s.

Lightning barreled toward her from the center of the tempest, and when it reached her, she closed her eyes—and focused. Just as she had learned so many years before, when she had first discovered the relic beneath her floorboards, she thought of exactly where she wanted to go . . .

Just like Grim had taught her. And she had taught Oro.

The lightning’s energy met hers, and her body jolted. Together, they produced a loud peal of thunder. But her concentration did not break, and she was sucked through the portal, crashing to the ground a moment later, tearing it up in spurts of dirt and roots.

When she finally came to a stop, she opened her eyes—and saw that it had worked.

She was back in the Forgotten Forest. She remembered what the silver-haired woman had said. This was a place that you had to be invited into to find. It was the perfect place to hide from Cronan.

Grim was already coming after her. Last time, it had taken over a day to find her. Now, she would make it easy for him.

She reached up to the necklace around her throat. And pulled.

Not a moment later, she heard a step sound behind her.

She swallowed. This had to work. If it didn’t . . . then he would truly be lost to her forever. And she couldn’t bear that possibility.

Their world was dying. Oro was barely keeping it safe. Eventually, he would fall. He needed help. He needed them both . Cronan was going to invade. They needed to find a way to stop him.

“Stood me up for our duel?” Grim said. His words were light, but his tone was anything but. He was angry. Of course he was.

“No. I just chose a different arena.” Slowly, she turned to him.

Grim was wrapped in shadows that were sharpened into claws. Against her .

Still, she took a step forward. This was her husband. Just because he didn’t remember making that vow didn’t make it less true.

Now that she had her powers back, she could feel the energy of this forest, buried deep in its roots and bark and leaves.

She could control it.

His shadows lurched, turning into chains to tie her down. Before they could, she shot toward him, breaking right through those shadows with her own. He frowned, like her shadows were a reminder that she was also Nightshade, and they were not so different. Before he could rally his power once more, she pressed her hand to his heart—

And the forest fell away.

They watched as Grim’s castle on Nightshade bloomed around them. There was a line of women in identical clothing. Isla recognized herself as one of them. The scene before them was edged in shadows, blurred. The women’s whispers were slightly muted, as if they were underwater.

Grim from the past walked inside a moment later, and all the sounds quieted.

His eyes went straight to her. There was no hesitation. No break in their gaze. It was as if he had known from the moment he had walked in exactly what she was— his . Some distant part of her head had known that he was hers.

Isla turned to the Grim next to her, and his gaze was glued to the scene. His eyes were narrowed, his hands in fists. Isla wondered how much time she had before he was wielding his shadows against her once again. Still, he watched. It was all she needed. Just a few moments.

The scene shifted as the Grim from the memory took Isla into his room. She was against the wall, her legs around his hips, not so different from how they had been just a few hours prior. Beside her, Grim swallowed.

He flinched as they both watched Isla stab a dagger into his chest.

The memory fell away, breaking into scattering leaves that swirled to make a new scene—

A slice of darkness cut through it, and Isla was thrown back, right through their memories. She landed on the floor of her Wildling room. She watched as past Grim forced the Isla of the memory up the wall with his powers, invisible shadows choking her.

The Grim before her did the same thing now.

Two Grims, of the past and present, stood side by side, and both Islas clawed at their throats, inches apart. Their gasps for air synchronized across time.

No . Grim was fighting this, fighting remembering. But that only meant that it was working .

And Isla was not the same woman she had been back then.

She growled and burst forth in a shot of energy, crashing into Grim. They rolled through the memory, the powers emanating off their clashing skin, until she managed to pull herself away and get to her feet. Grim was right behind her. He wasn’t going to stop and listen. He was resisting this. He wanted a fight.

Isla bared her teeth. One arm rippled in flames, crackling through the forest. The other wrapped in water from the dew of the woods, which she hardened into ice. “Fine. You want to duel? Let’s duel,” she said, as the scene around them shifted to the market.

And they both lurched forward.

Grim’s shadows became blades that shot toward her, and she blocked them with a wall of fire. She pushed the flames toward him, and he just managed to make himself matterless before he was burned. The fire kept going, roaring through the market memory, as they battled through it, surrounded by Nightshade guards as Grim of the past ordered them to take Isla to the prisons.

A wave of obsidian rushed toward her, choking her senses, but Isla raised her hand at the last moment—and those shadows froze. They fell to the ground and shattered in a thousand black pieces.

The scene transformed to the dark and dank prison on Nightshade, and Grim smirked, looking over at past Isla who hung from the ceiling by her wrists. “It seems you make a habit of being imprisoned.”

“And you make a habit of leering at me,” she shot back as they both watched him very noticeably study past Isla’s body in her plum dress.

Her Grim glared at her—then shot forward. But instead of his body crashing into hers, shadows emerged from his skin in the shape of him. One. Two. Then half a dozen, all surrounding her, blocking out the scene. He was using her own powers against her.

His voice echoed through the forest as he said, “This isn’t personal. I need to save my realm.”

Then, he attacked, the six forms closing in.

“And I need to save my husband.” Isla lifted her arms, and the full force of the forest was upon them, cutting those shadows into pieces with vines and thorns and jagged bark until they were no more than ribbons. The moment his shadows were destroyed, Grim was upon her again, a sword made of shadows rippling from his palm. She watched it calcify before her eyes. She flexed her hand and used her Starling energy to create a blade of sparks and stars.

She took her stance. He took his. For a moment, Isla’s heart broke with how familiar this felt—like they were back at the Centennial, during his first demonstration. But these were very different circumstances.

He charged forward, and she blocked his attack, sparks surging from her starsword. They dueled through the blacksmith’s woods, then through Creetan’s Crag. And as they battled through their memories, through their love story, Isla could see subtle changes in Grim’s expression as he watched past Isla dance, on that stage. As his former self pinned her against that wall. As he killed everyone in that room after one of them had hurt her, as he picked the glass out of her hands. Echoes of their past had bled into the present. He must have seen it. He must know that no matter how hard either of them fought it, they were inevitable.

It was working .

But it was only making him angrier. She grunted as he delivered a particularly brutal blow that sent her tumbling through the forest. She landed right next to his own body from the past, on the floorboards of her room. His pale skin was ravaged by dark markings. Injuries from dreks.

“I healed you. And you healed me,” she said as his shadows crashed against the starshield she summoned, propelling her farther across the floor. When she came to a stop, she turned and saw that Grim was studying the scene before him—watching past Isla tend to his past self’s wounds with care.

“We healed together,” she said, rising to her feet, darting toward him, blocking yet another swing from his shadowblade. The colorful leaves of this forest flurried around them, before the scene settled into that cave with dragon fire roaring toward Isla, and the shadows Grim sent to stop it, saving her instead of claiming the sword.

Present Grim stared at the blade, clearly recognizing it as Cronan’s. But after a moment, he was streaking toward her again, weapon raised.

Their swords continued to meet, over and over and over, emitting high pitches of power and sparks every time they touched. Isla remembered what the silver-haired woman said about fated pairs. About souls that were meant to fall in love again and again.

“It never made sense,” she said, as they dueled through Isla’s bedroom, the first time they became one. “This love . . . it went against both our interests . . .” She slashed at his chest before ducking to swipe his legs, but he dodged her. “Yet . . . in the end . . . we chose each other. Over everything else. Every time.”

Her room was replaced by scorched dirt. In the distance sat a village. Grim of the past was just yards away, battling a sea of dreks. His shadows were faltering. He wouldn’t make it much longer.

Grim stopped in his tracks, almost forgetting his opponent next to him. He watched as Isla appeared there, next to the scar. As past Grim realized there was only one way she could have gotten there without her starstick.

Love . She had access to his abilities. Past Grim seemed at peace then, ready to accept his own death. He was about to portal Isla away, to save her.

But then—claws pierced right through his chest.

Past Isla bellowed in pain. And without a moment’s hesitation, she plunged Cronan’s sword into the ground and gave herself over completely, her power spilling out of her like a tidal wave. Uncontrollable and infinite, just like their love.

She collapsed to the ground. Past Grim rushed to catch her.

Current Grim watched, stoic and unmoving, as she died in his arms. As his past self made that same sacrifice for her.

As the scene faded into the next one, Grim did not move. He just stood, his hands trembling at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to strike Isla again or drop his blade.

Isla stepped toward him. His back was tense as the memories shifted from nights in his room, to finding Wraith, to him proposing to her in the glimmering violet field of nightbane.

To their wedding.

Her fingers reached for his. She reached for him . The same way she had reached for him countless times before. The same way she always would.

But inches from his skin, he turned in a flash, and she barely blocked a blow as their blades clashed once more. She gritted her teeth, pushing against him, but he didn’t budge. In the sparks that their swords were producing, she could see his face clearly, through the darkness. His expression was twisted in strain, but something told her it wasn’t just from holding back her sword. He was fighting this. He was fighting himself .

“You loved me,” she said, groaning as she put all her strength behind her blade. They were equally matched. Unmoving. Both unyielding. “Look. Look .”

But he refused. He didn’t take his eyes off his opponent as he bared his teeth and the forest flashed in memory after memory. The scenes were forming quicker now, flickering through all the moments since their marriage, all the times their love was tested and proven. Grim roared as he spun to the side, Isla’s sword shooting forward into the space where he had been. She whirled to block his next advance before his blade could strike her neck.

And as their swords met once more, as they continued to duel in the center of their love story, Isla noticed that their blades, with every crackling clash, were slowly starting to bleed into each other. The shadows of his weapon melted into hers, and her stars merged with his darkness, forming constellations. The space between them was blurring, uniting. Melding .

It was working . No matter what he said. No matter how fiercely he fought her right now.

The memories swirled around them even faster, feeding off Isla’s desperation as she used everything Cronan had taught her, turning the pain into the power to show Grim everything he had forgotten. She gave him every single moment, just as she remembered it—until their past shattered, a thousand leaves spinning around them, blocking the rest of the forest from view. The world fell away. The entire universe vanished. It was just them. The way they had always dreamed.

“We gave our lives for each other,” she said, yelling over the roaring of the wind, her hair whipping wildly around her. “I love you. In the past, and in the present, and in the future, I love you. In this world, and the last, and every one in between, I love you.”

Instead of advancing once more, instead of wielding her blade against him—

She let it flicker out into nothing. Until she was defenseless.

This could be the last mistake she ever made.

Grim still held his sword tightly. But he did not strike. His eyes met hers, and they were blazing with intensity. He was breathing hard.

He could cut her down where she stood, but still, she walked toward him. One step. Another. Until she reached for the hand that still clutched his blade.

“I love you,” she said again, the words so soft, they got lost in the wind, but she knew he heard her. Her fingers gently brushed along his wrist, and he shut his eyes, tightly, as if her touch both burned and healed him. She shifted even closer. “I love you, even if you don’t remember. Even if you never will. Even if you strike me down right now, I love you. This is not the end. There is no end. Our love is infinite, just like you said.”

Infinite . The word was like a key. His eyes snapped open.

And the shadow sword fell away.

Slowly, the hand that just moments ago wielded a weapon against her now reached toward her face.

Isla didn’t dare hope. Didn’t dare breathe. But as his fingers gently slid against her cheek, she finally let herself cry.

“ Grim ,” she said, her voice breaking.

His thumb brushed away her tears. She wanted to fall to her knees in relief at the tenderness of that touch. “You remember,” she said. “You . . . see.”

“I do,” he said, and she thought her heart might burst from happiness. He tilted his head, taking her in, and then there was no doubt. He was gazing at her like he had a thousand times before, like he couldn’t get enough, like he never wanted to look at anything else again. She smiled.

But then—his entire face changed. His grip on her face tightened. “I just don’t care.”

The raging leaves around them fell to the ground, turned to dust.

And Isla’s entire body went cold as she felt that force behind her—that of picked-apart galaxies and upturned worlds and endless death. His approaching footsteps rang through the woods he had already partially destroyed. He carved a path of ruin, and every remaining tree and flower and leaf withered until they were standing in ashes.

Cronan’s laugh echoed through the emptiness.

“You were right, Grimshaw. She took us right to the forest.”

No.

She stumbled out of Grim’s hold, calling to her powers, energy and fire encircling her—but then Cronan said, “Try anything, and he dies.”

That’s when Isla saw the shadow-dagger floating in the air, its blade pressed right against Grim’s heart.

Her husband’s abilities were extraordinary. But he did not wear a crown of broken worlds. If Cronan wanted to plunge that blade into Grim’s heart, both he and Isla would be powerless to stop it.

She stopped fighting. The fire and energy around her died.

“Who knew it was so easy to get you to do my bidding?” Cronan drawled. “Who knew you would be so foolish as to still harbor feelings over a husband who doesn’t want you at all?” He shook his head, stepping over what was left of their memories. “To be broken so easily . . . that love must have never been very strong to begin with.”

Isla’s eyes burned as she watched her husband back away from her—to Cronan’s side. The dagger moved with him, its tip trained at his chest.

With a simple flick of Cronan’s hand, Isla’s body lurched forward, toes of her boots dragging through the dirt, until he held her throat in his fist. Her entire body was under his control as he forced her to raise her arm . . . and reach toward that dagger. Her fingers curled around its hilt.

She swallowed. No. No . This was not how their story ended. Her hand shook, fighting against Cronan’s hold. But even with her powers, she couldn’t stop him from forcing her wrist forward—

And blood began to puddle.

Her blood roared in her ears. Grim wasn’t moving out of the way—was it because he couldn’t? Was Cronan controlling his body too? Or had Grim meant what he said when he told her he couldn’t remember a life worth living?

But before the blade could go any deeper, Cronan made her pause. One move . . . one second . . . and the prophecy would be fulfilled.

Isla trembled with rage as Cronan said, “Now. Take me to the Pool of Possibilities, or you kill your husband.”