Crown of Cinders Page 2

  “King,” I said aloud, pulling my focus away from the wall and to the twisted charred corpse that Ovailia stood beside, her back straight and lips pursed as though she were guarding him.

  Foolish girl, guarding the man she had killed.

  Sending an irritated glance at the woman in question, I walked right past her, bee-lining for the body of the former. I almost expected her to step between me and my prey, but she remained still, her arms folded, lips pursed, and one long finger tapping against her forearm like a metronome.

  “Is that what you wanted?” she asked, her voice filled with the same false sugar she had never quite mastered.

  My face twisted into a scowl at the deceptive quality in it.

  “To be king?”

  Nostrils flaring in an effort to control my temper, I turned toward her. Ice ran down my spine as anger shook inside me due to her ignorance while she stood frozen over the body of her father, the smell of smoke surrounding us.

  “I was king, Ovailia. I was the leader of these people. I should have never been removed from that role.” I scowled, but she didn’t so much as flinch at the anger.

  “With the first four holders of magic, you mean?” She remained still, that finger still tapping, her eyes widening in some kind of disbelief.

  My anger erupted at her ignorance. A loud laugh broke past the chill in the room as my magic surged, bright and powerful. Long, winding ribbons of yellow and gold trailed from me, dancing through the air before falling to the ground and wrapping around the remains of Edmund. Smoke and ash filled the air as I shifted him, his dead weight sagging and rolling around as I removed the bathrobe he still wore. The white cotton was stained with his blood, singed from the same flames that had devoured him.

  “The four were the true rulers of these people. We were the kings and queens of this land.” I chuckled at the memory, the sound haunting as the bathrobe came free from the charred remains. The body fell to the ground in a plume of black ash that fell over us like snow.

  Disgust filled Ovailia’s face as I felt her magic trill across the air, a shield keeping the ashes of her father off her.

  I, however, let them fall. I let them cover me as I snagged the robe gently from the air, the fabric wet and crusty as the blood began to dry.

  “You mean my grandmother.” It was a statement, a forgotten connection hitting me full in the face.

  Her grandmother.

  The same power of the first that I had worked to destroy was flowing through her veins, as it was Ilyan’s. The addition of Edmund’s Chosen blood made them powerhouses that had hindered my accomplishments for far too long. Powerhouses were too big of a liability.

  “Yes, your grandmother,” I mused, holding the robe gently in my hands as I took a step toward her, ash falling from my hair and shoulders with the movement. “How unfortunate.”

  “And why is that unfortunate?” she snapped, her voice strong, though I could sense the tiniest shake behind it.

  “No reason,” I said with a smile, the icy look making her flinch for the first time.

  Oh, well. I supposed I would have to add her to my list. Not that I hadn’t already intended to kill her after I had gotten my use of her. Now, it would have to be a bit sooner than expected.

  Ilyan, Joclyn, Wyn, Ryland, and Ovailia. Thank all that I had already disposed of Edmund’s little puppet Míra in the pile of corpses, leaving Ilyan to set her aflame. The child had still borne Edmund’s Štít, which would not have died with his death.

  The last of his magic, now I had to dispose of the last remains.

  “All the other four are dead now,” I hissed, moving the robe from my arms and letting the blood drip across the air as I threw it over my shoulders, the damp fabric heavy. “I am the only one left, the only one fit to sit in this role.”

  “The role of the blood-soaked king?”

  “Yes.” My smile grew, the title fitting. “With a robe of blood and a crown of cinders, I leave death in my wake.”

  “And hell before.” Ovailia stepped toward me, the tap of her heels against the ash sounding like bells. “You are the devil this world needs.”

  A flash of the sight I’d had in the cathedral in Prague caused me to flinch: the white room, the voice of the woman. It blinded me, the pressure of her voice splitting my head.

  Pushing the imagery and memory aside, I attempted to ignore the sudden boom of my heart that had exploded in my chest.

  “No, darling,” I growled, pressing down on the sudden and despicable emotion, letting my anger and power smother it. “I am hell. It is the devil who searches for me.”

  I expected her to flinch from the confession, flinch from the smile I fixed her with, but she persisted, her trademark glare in place as she casually brushed her hair behind her ear, her lithe fingers delicate in the motion.

  Beautiful.

  Intoxicating.

  Lustful.

  I swallowed, feeling my magic swell with the motion, trying to push itself beyond my skin to reach out to hers, to find hers.

  I held it back, not wanting to feel the sweet need of her magic, not wanting to lose control. Not with her, not now.

  I had a feeling, with the smile she now had, she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Maybe I am the devil.”

  “Then I will destroy you, Ovailia. Just like all the others.”

  It was a threat, but she smiled, her breasts heaving as she moved closer, as though she couldn’t keep herself away from the danger that was dripping from my skin.

  “Try.”

  I hadn’t expected the word. I hadn’t expected the weight behind it. My perfectly planned rebuttal stalled on my tongue, my magic tangling with hers in a heightened lust the threat gave me.

  I swallowed, and she smiled, obviously sensing the control she had over me.

  Perhaps she was the devil.

  I would have to turn her skin as red as her father’s. And soon.

  The imagery of that simple thought was beautiful.

  “You killed them, too.” She already knew the answer. Not that it was that difficult to piece together after everything she had seen. Of course, she wasn’t completely right, and I wouldn’t let her know that.

  Yes, I had killed two of them, but the third, that repulsive Vilỳ, had been dealt with by Edmund before I could. Imprisoning him, using him to infect himself and to infect his son, that idiotic boy who had released it, leaving him to infect my own daughter.

  That little piece of information was too important to get out. If Ovailia knew how much power flowed within my dratted child, I was convinced I would lose her allegiance. She was too valuable of a weapon to lose.

  I needed her … for now.

  “You killed them all,” she whispered, moving closer as the flutter of her words moved over my skin.

  “I did,” I admitted openly.

  Her smile grew as mine did, the room silent and still as we faced each other.

  The pulse of my magic was becoming unsteady. I needed to put a stop to it.

  “I killed your grandmother,” I whispered back, my voice soft, while the words were hostile. “I stopped her heart. I devoured her magic like I did to your darling daddy.”

  Her eyes clouded over as she flinched at my verbal assault, stepping back as I stepped closer, a wicked grin now stretching my lips, letting my teeth gleam in the dimly lit room.

  Her chest heaved from either the proximity or with the words; I wasn’t sure which. She could either kiss me or attack me. I would gladly accept either.

  “Are you sure you want to be the devil?” I prodded, taking yet another step toward her, expecting her to step away again.

  She held her ground, her blue eyes hardening into the emotionless steel that was so common for her.

  “I have already killed many who thought they could rule the hell that I am.”

  Her lips pulled into a tight line, her nostrils flaring as she attempted to control her breathing, to control her anger. The rage of her mag
ic was strong as it flew through the air, obviously moments away from attacking. I wished she would.

  The imagery of her blood flowing over my hands to join her father’s was as delicious as it was frightening.

  I couldn’t kill her yet, though. This emotional warfare would have to suffice for now.

  “Will you be the devil, or will you help me harness hell?” My chest swelled, my heart pounding delicately from the excitement of the game I had entangled her in. The trap was so perfectly placed that, no matter which step she took, she would be trapped.

  She knew it, too, judging by the hatred that started to creep into the beautiful blue of her eyes.

  It made me want to kiss her more.

  To kill her as I did.

  Love, lust, and death traveled hand in hand.

  “Do you serve me?”

  “I do serve you, Sain,” she whispered, her voice strong, yet I could hear the work it took to disguise the shake behind it.

  “Don’t forget that, my beautiful creature.” I wrapped my hand around her waist, pulling her to me, my hand strong as I let my magic press against her skin.

  The anger in her eyes dissipated with the contact.

  My own desire for her death faded right alongside.

  She melted into me, lust taking control and firmly securing my control over her. This game of cat and mouse had begun.

  Or rather, a game of heaven and hell.

  It would be a matter of time before she showed me the devil she truly was.

  It was then I would destroy her.

  JOCLYN

  2

  “Twins?” I couldn’t get the sound of disbelief out of my voice. The loud scoff was clear, echoing in the alley where we had all congregated. The damp walls and shadows attempted to swallow it whole, but the disbelief was that loud.

  “Twins? Really? Congrats! I’m planning your baby shower, Jos,” Wyn said, jumping up and down like a spastic teen. “I’ve always wanted a niece … or two. I could show them the world and entertain them for hours with the hole in my hand.” She pulled the glove off, wiggling her finger through the open space the Soul’s Blade had left behind after her impalement, a mad grin on her face. “They’ll love it,” she said as she looked at me through the large, circular hole.

  “Shut up, Wyn,” I snapped, attempting to throw her arm off me, beating away the bright red blush I was cursed with simultaneously. “And put your glove back on while you’re at it,” I added, knowing she loved to show that off every chance she got. I wished it didn’t make my stomach turn. Leave it to her to find pure joy in random mutilation.

  Ilyan’s lips twitched into what I knew was a hidden smile. Meanwhile, Wyn dissolved into a fit of giggles, leaning over a large fern that was nestled up against the tall stone wall of the alley Ilyan had pulled us all into. I could hear Risha reprimand her, but I tuned them out. I was already the shade of a tomato. I didn’t need to make that any worse.

  “What do you mean the kids are twins?” I asked again, the scoff now resorting to a squeak of embarrassment. At least Ilyan did better to disguise his smile this time.

  “I mean that Jaromir is claiming Míra is his twin, and she is saying the same thing,” Ilyan said.

  Wyn’s giggles finally subsided, and Risha looked up from the distraction, thoroughly annoyed. Ryland, on the other hand, looked as red as I did and possibly like he had forgotten how to breathe.

  I stepped closer to Ilyan. “And we know they are telling the truth because …” I prompted.

  “Seeing as they both have identical stories about upbringing and are currently reminiscing about a St. Bernard named Bruno, I would think the consensus is that they are not lying. Have you ever heard him speak of a sister, Ryland?” Ilyan asked his brother, hoping for backup.

  “No.” Ry’s curls bounced with a shake of his head. “Then again, he wouldn’t talk about his family. He always closed up like a clam when family was mentioned.”

  “So we have no way of knowing other than what we are witnessing right now,” Ilyan spoke clinically, like he was a doctor delivering unfortunate news about a growth on the bottom of my foot.

  I do not sound like a doctor, and you do not have a growth on your foot. Ilyan’s voice filled my mind without a trace of amusement. He looked at me with a lifted brow, his bright blue eyes a bit wider than normal.

  His reaction was out of place enough that I knew something was up, something more than what he was telling me.

  “All you need is a lab coat,” I prodded, waiting for the knot in his expression to calm from the joke. His scowl, however, increased.

  What is going on, Ilyan? I asked, the warning lights in my mind going off as I pressed my magic into his, expecting the onslaught of thoughts and emotions, but I only came face to face with a buzzing, the fear and panic that had gripped him blending together into violent noise.

  Nothing serious, he replied. The anxiety in his voice didn’t exactly spell relief.

  I tensed further, fixing him with a sidelong glance as Wyn pulled at my attention.

  “The peanut gallery is going to have a field day with this, Jos,” Wyn began as she threw her arm around me, careful not to make any skin-to-skin contact, the unspoken rule since we had somehow imploded part of the cathedral.

  I knew the move was meant to calm me—what with the subject matter and all—but the tension of Ilyan’s secrecy was increasing. The weight of Wyn’s arm on my shoulders wasn’t helping with that. I already felt a need to attack her. At least in jest.

  “The king and his crazy bride having twins.”

  Okay, maybe merely for the sake of attacking her.

  “I am not crazy,” I grumbled, the jab about twins not affecting me for once. Of course, I hated being reminded of the whole mess that Sain had left for me. It wasn’t exactly fun being thought of as disturbed by the people you were somehow supposed to lead.

  “Well, not in the way any of them seem to believe, anyway.” Wyn’s giggles returned with triumph as she jumped from me to Risha and Ryland. Bouncing between us like a ten year old, she threw her arms around them like some goony best friend, arms over both their shoulders. She pushed them apart, oblivious of the magnetic dance those two were always practicing, even though she wasn’t. She never missed anything. I wished she wouldn’t bring this one up quite so much.

  Was I happy for Ryland? Yes.

  It didn’t mean I wanted to deduce the number of children they would have or dissect the nature of their bonding ceremony. The whole thing made me a tad uncomfortable.

  Shaking my head like Bruno the St. Bernard, I pushed the thoughts from my mind, squishing my face together in an attempt to get myself—and everyone else, for that matter—back on track.

  “Is no one else concerned with the ridiculousness of these claims?” I stepped forward, the sound of rocks crunching against stones echoing oddly around the enclosed space.

  “You mean about the twins?” Wyn began. With one look, I shut her up, and the playful best friend vanished, replaced by the cold-hearted assassin in less than a second. “You mean that the girl we pulled out of a pile of dead corpses Sain created just so happens to be the twin sister to the boy you and Ilyan saved when Edmund’s damn rats were flying around the city, destroying everyone and poisoning my boyfriend slash fiancé slash baby’s daddy slash love of my life?”

  “Yeah, that.” Now it was my turn to restrain the giggles. Who knew Wyn could talk so fast?

  “Nope,” she continued, dropping her arms from Ryland and Risha, both of which had looked uncomfortable and now grateful for the escape. “Weirder things have happened, like having Edmund’s son’s best friend slash the Silnỳ also being Sain’s daughter slash the one everyone was looking for, for like, five hundred years or something.”

  “Why is everything slashed?” Ryland chuckled from behind her, running his hand through his curls in obvious confusion. “I, for one, think my former best friend slash sister-in-law has a point.”

  Wyn snickered at the res
ponse, smashing her fist into his in triumph. “Bones.”

  “Why is it former?” I questioned, exasperated, and pursed my lips, grateful when Ilyan wrapped his arm around my waist before I could do anything more juvenile. I could already feel my magic prickle in irritation. A foot stomp wasn’t that far away.

  “If we could get back to the children.”

  “I think the children have already taken over the conversation, Ilyan,” Risha snarled, folding her arms over her waist as she attempted to help Ilyan take control of the conversation.

  Unfortunately, she had picked the wrong way to do this.

  “Harsh, Risha.” The playful joy was gone from Wyn. “I’m several hundred years older than you, and I don’t think you want to be referring to your queen or your boyfriend as kids.”

  If I had been drinking, I was convinced the liquid would have covered Risha in a glorious shower. As it was, I coughed, all air sucked from my lungs in a very un-queenly fashion.

  Ryland turned a brighter shade of red than I had, his jaw snapping open and shut.

  “We have much bigger problems,” Ilyan interrupted, his voice a powerful bolt of energy as he spoke in Czech. It crashed off the stone in the tiny alleyway, the infirmary that Jaromir and Míra were closeted up in echoing the sound. “Whether those children are twins or not.”

  “Problems?” The single word left my chest in a gasp as the weight of Ilyan’s emotions finally left the buzzing hive of panic and pressed against my mind in a rush, the intensity painful.

  Ilyan! I spat into his mind, fixing him with a look of concern I knew wouldn’t go unnoticed by those around us. What is it?

  Sadness crossed his eyes before the memory flashed into mine. One of the healers had told him about what he had found inside the girl’s chest, about what they thought it was, unable to tell for certain.

  Even with that little bit of information, I already knew.

  The reality was ice and fear, winding up my spine.

  “No,” I gasped, my mind running the gambit of what this could mean. The same worries and concerns I could feel in Ilyan echoed inside me.