Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) Page 2

  “Yes, but if we have missed this one, then how many others are out there?” The rough edges of a vaguely familiar voice snapped me out of my revelry, threatening to pull my fears back into my already shredded nerve endings.

  “Did you see any more? Were there any sights of what is to come?” Ilyan asked, his voice a powerful force as he commanded over the others in the room.

  My body calmed at the sound of his voice. I wanted so much to open my eyes and see him standing just across from me—to let his presence take away the last of my agitation—but I was afraid. Afraid of who else was there; of seeing blood-soaked walls instead of smooth stone ones. So I kept my eyes closed, focusing on the pressure of the blanket as I tried to understand what was going on.

  “No, My Lord.” Another voice, this one different from the first, cut through the night. My mind tried to place it while fighting the fear its unfamiliarity caused me.

  “We have to be missing something!” Ilyan’s voice was hard, as a loud bang echoed in my ears, triggering a million memories of clanging pipes and haunting footsteps.

  The nightmare jumped through my nerves and my body crinkled together like balled paper. My hands moved to claw into my shoulders as my knees came into my chest. I fought the panic, pushing away the gasps that tried to snake from my lips as I forced away the anxiety.

  I tried to keep my breathing level as I kept the fears at bay, pleading with myself that I could open my eyes, that I was brave enough to face my fears. I exhaled a stuttered breath and opened my eyes, waiting to see the blood-stained walls, only to be met by darkness.

  My eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, the heavy darkness of night seeping through the open windows and covering the room in shadows that my mind distorted all on its own. The only light came from a small lantern and several small, colorful orbs that had nestled into the ceiling. The colorful rays cut through the long, dark shadows of night. Everything was as it had been for the last few days—the wall of open archways that led to the balcony, the large ornate furnishings. It was just our room, no nightmares.

  Ilyan stood in the dome of dim light, his hands stretched over a table that had been pushed against the wall. He looked intently on the wooden top below him with his hands balled into fists against the wood, making it clear where the loud sound had come from.

  The two other men stood across from him; one with long, dirty blond dreads that hung over a leather jacket in stripes of monochrome. Their backs were to me as they, too, hovered over the large table. The other man hunched next to the first, as if he were about to fall asleep. Everything about this man, from his clothes to his posture, was worn and disheveled, as if he had just been caught shoplifting. Hair the color of pitch tangled around his ears and stuck to the back of his neck, making it look like he hadn’t combed it recently, if ever.

  Thom and Sain.

  Their magic flowed through the air around me, alerting me to the security that the height of my anxiety had hidden.

  It was foolish to have gotten so worked up; it scared me that it took so little to trigger the demons Cail had infected me with. However, it had only been hours since Ilyan had rescued me from that prison. There would be no quick recovery from my insanity.

  I wanted to be patient; I just didn’t know if I could be.

  “One group would not move so far away. Trpaslíks are too cowardly for that.” The lines in Ilyan’s face deepened as he took a few steps around the table, his fingers trailing over the surface as he focused on it.

  I watched him move as I tried to figure out what the three of them were doing in the first place, the strength of Ilyan’s determination almost answering the question for me. The odd connection we now shared sparked. Flashes of his memory, flickers of their arrival, flitted over to me as he focused on the table.

  The two men had arrived at our room minutes before, where Ilyan, in his frustration, had ushered them in. He hadn’t even considered that I had been sleeping in the bed. No surprises there. His mind had been solely focused on what Sain and Thom had come to tell him, his need to solve the problem, and on protecting his people.

  What was left of them, anyway.

  I tried to understand what they were talking about, but it was like they were speaking in code. I could ask the question into Ilyan’s mind, but something about the way he was focused on the table set my hackles up, making me question whether I wanted to know in the first place.

  “Chances are high that there are more between them, My Lord,” Sain said, the unfamiliar voice I had heard before now making sense. Sain shifted toward Ilyan, his body still leaning over the table as if he couldn’t stand straight on his own.

  “Are there any camps here?” Ilyan asked, pointing to a spot on the table as he moved back to his original place.

  “There is one here, My Lord,” my father answered, his fingers pressing into a spot not far from the one Ilyan had indicated.

  “How many?” Thom asked, the familiar agitation in his voice rippling through me.

  “I don’t know,” Sain admitted, his voice somehow dejected, like he had failed.

  I stared at the back of Sain’s head, his hair as unkempt as it had been in that nightmare so long ago. I wanted him to turn around so I could look at him with my own eyes for the first time since I was five. I wanted to see his smile; I wanted to hear him laugh.

  His magic flared abruptly as I looked at him. His signature was so different than the others, deep and calming with an underlying violence and pain that scared me. My desire to reconnect with him vanished as my shoulders tightened.

  “Existují zde?” Ilyan asked in Czech as his finger slid over the table to stop at another point on the flat surface.

  “Unless they are really good at pretending to be trees,” Thom said, his gruff voice low as he leaned over to look at the place on the table Ilyan had indicated.

  Ilyan’s lip twitched at Thom’s comment while his hand moved over the table, one piece of the picture suddenly making sense. They were looking at a map, their attention on the placement of Trpaslík that surrounded us.

  It made me uneasy. I could still feel the angry waves of the Trpaslíks’ magic from where they hid among the trees, waiting for us. Why they were there was something I was already sure I didn’t want to know.

  I shifted in the bed as I watched Ilyan pace before the table. His handsome features deepened in the shadows. He looked powerful, the energy of his magic rippling off him in a wave that shook me. I hadn’t seen him so focused since Santa Fe.

  “What are you playing at, sister?” Ilyan growled. “You do not lead without a stronger force behind you.” He spoke like he was talking directly to her, his voice a groan of disappointment through the tense silence of the room.

  “You don’t think he is here already?” Thom asked, the deep scoff of his irritation almost completely swallowed by his panic.

  “No,” Ilyan rumbled, his head tilting up toward his brother. “I would feel him if he were. Besides, enough time has not yet passed. I only sent Ovailia away from the abbey last night. She will wait for him.”

  I cringed at the thought of the night before; it felt like so long ago. The terror as Ryland had barged into my room, and the screams as Ovailia had tried to kill Wyn. I reached my hand up to my face, my fingers gentle as I pressed them into my cheek where Ryland had struck me. Although I was aware that my magic had healed me, I still expected the pain from a new bruise; I expected the sting. Nothing came, however, except the flash in my memory of his black eyes as he had hit me. I cringed at the reflection of the pain, pulling the blanket into me as I blocked it out.

  “So that gives us what? Eight hours?” Thom asked, his panic heightening into anger, leaving his voice hard and derogatory as he questioned Ilyan.

  “I am hoping it will be closer to forty,” Ilyan replied sternly, his eyes digging into his brother as he tried to control Thom’s impending outburst. “He needs to place his pawns after all, and we are beginning to see the early stages of that.”

>   “Forty hours until Edmund arrives and the final battle begins. Sounds reasonable to me. I am sure we will be ready in time.” Thom’s simple statement put everything into place.

  I couldn’t stop the panic that rolled over me as true understanding hit me. As much as I tried to fight it, the awful truth triggered the horrors that I was beginning to think I would never be free of.

  “Can I leave now? I would love to get back to Wyn,” Thom said, but I barely heard him.

  The realization of what they had been talking about stabbed through me, my muscles seizing in anxiety as my breathing picked up. I had known they were talking about the Trpaslíks, about whatever attack they had planned, but it was so much more than that.

  Edmund was coming; Edmund was attacking.

  They were getting ready to start a battle.

  The last battle.

  The battle that I had seen in the sight Ilyan had received of me, the sight my father had given. The battle I was expected to defeat Edmund in. The battle that had been prophesized about all those years ago. The battle I could not stop.

  The thought ran through me like a flame, blazing into every inch of me. I didn’t know if I was ready to face Edmund. I had seen the sight and knew what was expected of me, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be able to defeat him. Not after everything Edmund and Cail had done to me. Not after what Ryland had done to me.

  The thoughts swirled as my anxiety reached a peak I hadn’t felt since before Ilyan had released me from Cail’s prison.

  My body shook as the sound of my breathing grew into sobs and screams that pushed away the frantic voices I heard shouting through the air. Fear gripped me, flinging Ilyan’s magic away as it flared in an attempt to calm me.

  “You are stronger than the demons, Joclyn,” Ilyan whispered as he pressed his hand against my cheek. I jumped at the touch until I registered the familiarity of his warmth, my eyes flashing open to see him kneeling right in front of me.

  “You can fight it,” he whispered. “Focus on the good.”

  I stared wide-eyed at him as I focused on the color of his eyes, the golden light pulling me away from the edge of insanity as the soft tones of our song began to fill his mind. I heard them as they trailed from him in silence, where only I could hear. The calm the melody brought wrapped me in warmth. My voice was no more than a whisper amid the silence of the room as I began to sing along, as I let the words give me the strength I had somehow lost along the way.

  Ilyan smiled as I sang, the song ending as my breathing slowed, my hand unwinding from the comforter I had clenched.

  “Good, mi lasko, good,” he soothed as his hand moved to run through the long strands of my hair. I focused on the gentle feel of his touch as everything melted away.

  I wanted the calm I felt to stay forever, but I knew it couldn’t—because I had to ask. I had to hear it from Ilyan and know exactly what I was facing.

  I bit my lips as I looked at him, knowing I couldn’t wait. Is Edmund coming?

  My heart rate sped up at the thought, the icy steel of his eyes clouding the blue as he nodded.

  “Yes.” That one word pounded through me, threatening to collapse the fragile calm that I had found.

  For the final battle? For what was in our sight? I asked, even though there was no need. I had heard what had been said, and my blood heated as it promised me the truth of what was racing forward.

  “Yes,” he said again, his voice strong, even though I could see the sadness in his eyes, hear his worry over how it would end.

  Not like there was anything we could do about it. We already knew.

  You will protect her, but you will fail. The one bred to change the world of magic, the one bred to die.

  Die.

  I could hear the words of the sight run through me. The image of Ilyan holding my blood-covered body was sharp against my heart.

  “I’m n-not read-dy,” I gasped out, my voice quaking through me.

  “You are stronger than any, my love. I know you will overcome what has been done to you. I promise you, I will help you to see it happen,” he whispered low enough that only I could hear.

  I let out a shaky breath as my stomach tightened. I was scared. I felt weak, but I knew that wasn’t who I was. If I wanted to find who I was again, I knew what I needed to do.

  I needed to face it.

  I pushed away the agitation as I reached through the blankets to wind my hand around his neck, the soft pads of my fingers pressing against his skin as I pulled him closer, pressing his cheek against mine.

  “I need to see,” I whispered to him, a calm rush moving through me at the clarity of my words.

  Ilyan nodded once against my cheek before he pulled away, his hands moving to pull the warm blankets off me.

  “St-stay with me,” I whispered to him, grateful when only a small stutter found its way into my voice.

  “Always.”

  I shivered as the cold air hit my skin, wishing we had found something thicker than Ilyan’s lounge pants to use as pajamas. I sat on the side of the bed as I slid my feet into the small, red leather shoes Ilyan had made for me.

  Ilyan wrapped his hands around mine as he pulled me up and right into him, molding me against him. The warm pressure of his hands pressed into me as we walked toward Thom and Sain, who watched us with wide eyes. I cringed at the look they gave me at the same time that the steady beating of Ilyan’s heart echoed through me, calming my own frantic beat while the harmony of the sounds rang in my ears.

  My father moved toward me in eager anticipation, his wide, green eyes staring at me in wonder. I couldn’t stop myself; I stared into him, desperate to see the father who had become more of a myth to me.

  His gaze saw through me, even more than when Dramin looked at me.

  When Dramin looked at me, I felt naked, my life and soul x-rayed and open to view. When my father looked at me, I felt like I had been cut open with a blunt knife, and even the secrets I tried to hide were open game.

  I could barely see the shadow of the man I’d held on to behind the unkempt hair and the shallow scars on his face. I could see the man that still lived in my memories, the man who had knelt before me in the middle of the clearing during the nightmare Cail had controlled.

  Even though I could see him, there was something else I couldn’t see. My father.

  I didn’t know who this man was. I’d had an entire life without him; he had centuries of one without me. I didn’t know where he fit, where I fit, and with the way his gaze made me feel I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

  I wanted to tell him to look away, to leave me alone, although part of me—the part that had clung so desperately to that tiny,black backpack all those months ago—couldn’t help screaming that this was my father. That he hadn’t abandoned me after all.

  “You are stronger than it,” Ilyan reminded me as we stopped before the table. His hands ran over my arm before they were gone, leaving me standing alone while Sain and Thom stared at me. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to look up again, so instead I kept my focus on the massive map that covered the top of the table.

  The map was huge, much bigger than I had originally thought it to be. The large abbey that we were hidden in was the size of a matchbook in the center; the forest that we were surrounded by stretched out on the yellowing parchment with small cartoon circles randomly popping up as if to remind us of the trees.

  I didn’t need Ilyan to tell me what the red circles that littered the surface of the map were. The black chicken-scratch numbers written next to each one had made it obvious. It was the army that Edmund had sent after us. I could easily add the numbers up to well over two hundred, but I knew deep down inside that something was wrong with that number. Yesterday, the hostile magic around us had throbbed in a violent wall that felt like more than only two hundred men.

  “We will wait until Edmund arrives, and then I believe we should start the attack here,” Ilyan said as he placed his finger against the map near a large circle o
f camps.

  My whole body jumped at the word “attack,” bringing my focus off the map and back to Ilyan, whose deep voice rumbled as he instructed the two other men. “We can flush them out from this side while Wyn and Thom pick off the second wave from the middle—”

  “I’m sorry,” Thom interrupted, his voice somewhat hysterical. “Attack? Wyn… fighting? Ilyan, you can’t be serious.”

  “It is what the sight has shown, Thom, and we must stand by that. It is not our way to disregard the sights of the Drak’s,” Ilyan practically snapped.

  Sain nodded in agreement, even though he didn’t seem to be able to look away from me yet. I caught a glimpse of his intense stare before I looked away, the glaze in his eyes making me feel as though I was food, not his long-lost daughter.

  “And who, exactly, do you think will be able to aide in this attack, brother?” Thom snapped back angrily as he leaned over the table toward Ilyan, his dreads swinging over his face and darkening the already angered expression.

  Ilyan turned toward Thom at his challenge, his face hard. I cringed the same way Thom wilted under the look in his eyes.

  “We may only be six, but I know how to lead us in battle,” Ilyan said, his voice deep and menacing as he looked into Thom.

  I had never seen this side of Ilyan before, this imposing presence that demanded respect. It was different than when his voice had told of his place and power, when by just looking at him you knew who he was. This was Ilyan when his power—his regality—ruled him. It was awe-inspiring.

  “Yes, if we were six whole-bodied individuals, but we are not,” Thom countered, his voice light and mocking with his usual irritation as he defied Ilyan’s reprimand. “Wyn has only just been removed from the zánik curse; she hasn’t been awake for more than a few minutes from when the Silnỳ healed her six hours ago. Ryland is locked in Sain’s bathroom as we speak, rocking back and forth, mumbling about death and traitors. The Silnỳ is cowering, right in front of me, scared of her own shadows. And Dramin…” Thom’s voice faded and broke at the mention of Dramin’s situation.