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“And spitting starflowers are just that. Star-shaped flowers that spit poisonous nectar.”
“Good thing we know some krakens…” I tease, but I’m intrigued.
I wonder if any of Isolde’s books explain which flora and fauna to avoid. Or which of those things will, without a doubt, kill a person? I really hope there are pictures somewhere to help me identify what I shouldn’t touch… Although, now I have questions only Madigan, Isolde, and I can answer.
Connak chuckles as he checks behind us. “Anything but the krakens.”
“Which direction did the beast go in?” I inquire, peeking around him to glance at the forest.
“It’s heading toward the Shade’s mountain range. I’ll let Lyell know when we—”
“Great,” I interrupt. “Show me these poison-spitting flowers.”
“I should have known that would be your response.” Connak groans as he drops his head back. “You can look but don’t touch. Then summon Indigo so we can get closer to the village.”
14
ADELAIDE
DAY SIXTY-FOUR
Connak slid out of my bed as the sun peeked through the window, setting off for another day of hunting. He seems calmer after a successful chase, even if that was by design. The missing warmth at my back keeps me from falling asleep again, and a thick book on the table catches my attention, glowing like the bright beacon of a lighthouse.
It feels invasive to read Isolde’s ancient diary, but it was left in the stack of books weeks ago. For a moment, I wonder if she knew, though the thought is laughable. That woman knows exactly what she’s doing, and this leather bound memory bank didn’t end up in my hands for no reason.
Spiran’s forced knowledge has allowed me to finally read the pages. The language has changed twice, though Isolde’s handwriting doesn’t deviate throughout the centuries. There’s maybe one entry every year or two until they fade to every five years, then every ten... Until she stopped a little over two decades ago.
But her struggles are there, each stroke of ink a triumph and failure wrapping into one.
No matter how successful she was as the Mongrel’s queen, she longed for a child. Like the one she’d lost before she arrived on the island.
It’s one of the few memories she constantly writes about, almost as if she’s reminding herself it was real and still okay to miss her child, her family, her life.
She always signs her entries with the same line.
Be brave.
The further into her diary I get, the less she writes of Earth. The world of Spiran keeps her attention, dividing it in too many directions, but her loss holds her heart hostage. She spins beautiful lines about the Mongrels in her bed, how they aspire to make all her dreams come true, but even they can’t give their queen the one thing she wants.
I don’t know how long I read Isolde’s most private thoughts before I become her biggest fan, rooting for her to receive her every desire... But as I get to the end, my eyes are puffy, and my nose is stopped up. My cheeks are raw from wiping the tears away, and I have a new love for my mentor.
I also have questions.
I tuck the diary under my arm and quickly hunt down Isolde. The first place I look is in the sewing room; it’s the only place she would be waiting for me.
Because she knows. I don’t know how... But the glossy gaze she gives me says she’s ready to talk about it.
“I haven’t seen that book in weeks,” she comments as I set it on the table. “I haven’t opened it in—”
“Twenty-five years?” I guess. “Give or take a couple of months. The last entry, Ecaeris has just been born.”
“I used to write every day,” she admits, like it’s a secret. “But every so often, I would read through my entries and sum up the important things, in case I ever lost them. They all went into that book, which I kept hidden until you arrived.”
“Why did you put it in the stack you gave me to read?”
She raises a brow. “So you would read it.”
“Why?” I ask. “It’s intrusive of me—”
