Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) Read online

  I wanted to say that Thom was wrong about me—about everyone—but I could still feel the anxiety that just hearing Ryland’s name had given me. I could feel Wyn from where she slept, her body still weak from all that she had gone through. I knew he was right. We were only six and most of us were broken. Fighting was impossible.

  “We cannot attack, My Lord, not now. Our only chance to live is to escape.” Sain’s voice was deeper than it had been before, the tone strangely flat and monotone. My ears perked at the familiarity of the sound of a sight, which weaved his normal words with the deeper tones of his ability. My blood prickled as my own Drak magic heightened, yet his eyes never darkened and his own magic never flared.

  “But what of the sight, Sain?” Ilyan asked, my focus darting back to him as he ran his hand through the short strands of blond hair, his frustrations flowing into me. “The sight clearly showed a battle within the walls of Rioseco.”

  “A battle with you and the Silnỳ only,” Sain said, his calm voice rumbling. “If you think back, it showed no others involved in the last battle.”

  “Then we should get everyone else out in the morning,” Thom said without hesitation, his strong voice blocking out the rebuttal I had been trying so hard to form. “I need to get them out of here. I need to get out of here.” Thom’s patience snapped with his last words, the mad look in his eyes taking over. My nerves unraveled at the insanity behind his eyes. I understood that look because I felt the same need to run, to get everyone away from the danger that surrounded us.

  “Impossible. Joclyn will not be ready to aide in your escape by tomorrow.” Ilyan didn’t even look at Thom as he spoke; he kept his eyes down on the map, his thoughts only on what was ahead of us.

  “She looks ready.”

  I cringed at Thom’s tactless statement, at the thought of being pressed into some form of battle right then. I could already feel my fears push against me, my magic surge so uncontrollably it scared me.

  “No,” I said softly, not sure my voice was loud enough for anyone to hear.

  No one moved.

  Ilyan leaned toward Thom over the table, his eyes hard and threatening as he looked into him. “I pulled her from Cail’s mind three days ago, Thom. Three. For most of that she has slept. She needs time.” Ilyan’s voice was a hammer meant to put Thom in his place, however his hot head only fumed more, his anger growing underneath Ilyan’s displeasure.

  “We don’t have time; Edmund is coming,” Thom snapped, his magic sparking in his fury. It rushed against me and I cringed, the alarm on his face scaring me.

  “You don’t think I know this? I do!” Ilyan roared, his voice so loud the furniture in the room began to shake. “It is my responsibility to keep my subjects safe, and I will do this the way it needs to be done. The way the sight has shown me. You will follow, Thomas.”

  The silence that followed Ilyan’s power shocked through me. I felt the need to bow before him just as Thom and Sain had moved to do with mumbled apologies, the tension in Ilyan’s back leaving as they did.

  Ilyan’s eyes narrowed at the submissive curve of Thom’s back before he turned away from him, his own posture tall and straight. Ilyan’s fingers trailed over the surface of the map in contemplation before his lips turned up in the smirk I had grown to love, his eyes darting over to me.

  “I will fight with Joclyn by my side,” Ilyan said, his focus unwavering from me. The hard lines of before had gone, leaving everything about him soft and warm as he looked into me. His hand covered mine as he promised me of my strength in silence, his thoughts screaming of his confidence in me; his confidence building mine.

  “What if Ovailia attacks before Wyn heals enough to move?” Thom asked in desperate panic that broke the spell Ilyan had wrapped me in. “I will need her help to move Dramin and Ryland. I need to get them out of here alive.”

  “She won’t,” Ilyan said sternly as his focus moved back down to the map.

  “But what—”

  “Ovailia is more talk than action.” Ilyan put a stop to Thom’s insistence quickly, the depth of his voice demanding respect. “She won’t do anything without someone backing her up. She will not attack until our father is here, and I don’t sense him yet.

  “When will Wyn be ready to move?” Ilyan asked, his voice floating over the table toward no one in particular.

  “I don’t know; it’s been hours since Joclyn healed her,” Thom growled.

  “It will be tomorrow,” I said, my magic wrapping around her from across the abbey. I felt the steadiness of her heartbeat along with the continual strengthening of her mind and magic. I didn’t look at anyone as I spoke. I only focused on Wyn and on the last of Talon’s magic that swirled inside of her.

  “Good,” Ilyan sighed. “Then, unless anything else happens, we will move as soon as Joclyn is ready. It will be nice to have Wyn on my side again. I have to admit, I have missed her this past century.”

  My focus shot toward Ilyan at his words, my eyebrows arching in confusion, but he didn’t even seem to notice. I must have misheard. She had been married to his best friend for the last century. I wasn’t sure how that constituted missing someone. I opened my mouth to question him, only to be cut off by Sain, his comments only adding to my bewilderment.

  “You are not the only one, My Lord,” my father said, his voice resonating in a peculiar, happy tone. It filled the room in an incompatible way, the words seeming false against the stress I still felt. “I think she is even glad to be back. A little confused at times, but she is coping well enough,” Sain continued, a deep vein of pride in his voice, like a father to a particularly disobedient child.

  “What do you mean she’s confused?” I asked, my eyes darting toward my father for the first time since I had moved to stand beside him.

  My father, however, only smiled and looked toward his mug, diverting his attention to whatever was happening in the bottom and not in answering my question. I sighed and looked toward Thom, my eyes digging into him. The anger that had fueled him for the last few minutes faded as he looked away from me, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Can we move on, please?” Thom interrupted, unwilling to answer my stare. I pursed my lips at his little outburst, knowing I should be mad, yet his reaction was too much like him for it to matter.

  “We have at least twenty camps, that we know of, and at least a hundred Trpaslíks surrounding us on the east side of the abbey. That does not account for any that we may not have seen on the west or north sides where this camp is.” Thom’s voice was loud as he rattled off the information. He spoke with an authoritative tone that I had never heard from him before. I hadn’t thought Thom had that in him.

  “Thank you for the recap, Thomas,” my father said, the smile on his face evident.

  “Well, if you would stay on track…” Thom’s voice rose more, the command gone, only to be replaced by a somewhat hysterical anger.

  “I stay on track as well as you win at gin rummy,” Sain said, unable to hide his laughter now.

  “Gin rummy is an old man’s game.” I wasn’t sure if Thom was still angry or if the banter was habitual. It seemed so natural, yet I had the feeling that they could still break out into a fight at the tiniest prodding.

  “Remind me how old you are again, son?” All laughter was gone from Sain’s voice now.

  “Don’t call me that, grandpa. I could wipe the floor with you.”

  I took in nothing from their repartee. All I saw were the crimson circles that littered the surface of the map, the glistening numbers right beside.

  I had thought the numbers were wrong before, but I hadn’t questioned it much. Now I could feel it. While thunder rolled over us, shaking the abbey as it grew louder, my magic surged through the darkened grounds and sensed them.

  All of them.

  “Wipe the floor?” Sain asked.

  “You are too old to understand,” Thom said, his own laugh sounding hollow in my ears as my mind remained focused through the miles of forest that s
urrounded us.

  “Enough,” Ilyan interrupted, his voice caught between a laugh and a yell, and I jumped. “I had forgotten how bad you two were together. Even my parents never bickered as much.”

  Everyone laughed around me as I felt the first swells of the Trpaslík hatred and anger, their violent magic surging as they milled around the edges of the protective barrier that Ilyan had placed around the abbey.

  My magic began to paint the image of their camps in my mind, giving me a second sight as I watched them drink and sleep around magical fires. I stretched until the magic of the Trpaslíks changed to one of a different nature—one that I couldn’t place—moving around them. The hatred in this unknown power was even stronger than Edmund’s men. I moved away from the foreign magic, unwilling to feel more of it, and let my mind embrace what I knew, creating my own map inside my head.

  They were everywhere, surrounding us, and what was more, there were much more than had been placed on the map. I gritted my teeth together and kept my eyes closed. I needed to tell him.

  Forty-two camps to the east, totaling two hundred and twenty Trpaslík and a few whose magic I have never felt before. Ovailia is by them, near the back. I looked toward him as I sent the message, his eyes widening as he registered what I was saying.

  He locked eyes with me, a small smirk playing around his lips before he ducked down and began writing on the large map on the table.

  “Forty-two camps?” Thom asked as he read the number Ilyan had written, the confusion clear in his voice. “There cannot be nearly that many, Ilyan. The highest we have counted was twenty-eight.”

  “And to the North?” Ilyan asked as he ignored Thom’s question. He looked up at me in expectation, his eyes dancing as his emotions surged in pride.

  My magic spread away from me again and back into the forest around us as I counted the camps one by one. My heart beat heavily as I realized how much trouble we were in. They hadn’t thought there was anyone on that side of the abbey. It was the way they had hoped we would be able to get away, but there wasn’t any chance of that happening now.

  Twenty-one camps, at least ninety Trpaslík. There is more of that odd magic over there. I am not sure what it is, I replied internally, and Ilyan’s hand moved to add the number to the map.

  “Twenty-one? What in Buddha’s pants are you playing at, brother?” Thom interjected. He was practically yelling now, his confusion increasing.

  “Are you sure, mi lasko?” Ilyan asked, his head still bowed as he ignored Thom’s outburst.

  “Yes,” I whispered, not willing to elaborate to the two men who were now staring openly at me. Sain looked like he was getting ready to sacrifice a calf in my name.

  “Where else are they, Jos?” Ilyan whispered. He raised his head to look at me, his eyes digging into mine. I just stared at him, not quite sure how to tell him all that I felt, not entirely certain how he would react.

  “I need to know where they are, mi lasko. As accurately as you can.” His regality was broken for a moment when everything about him softened as he looked into me.

  I nodded my head once before I scanned over the map, looking at the dozens of red marks that they had carefully drawn to mark each of the Trpaslík camps which they had found. Most of them were very precise, but so many of them were wrong, too far in the wrong direction, not enough members accounted for. I looked from circle to circle until my eyes stopped, focusing on a blank space, the old paper bare and yellowed, but I knew that was wrong.

  I reached my hand forward, unsurprised to see my fingers shake as I crawled them along the smooth paper until I reached the spot I had seen clearly in my mind. I could see them, the stocky men gathered around the fire, the weapons piled to the side, the want of blood that pulsed through their magic.

  Eight are here, I sent to Ilyan, his hand flying forward as he drew a large number eight right where I had indicated.

  The ink dried as I looked over the paper, my magic stretching away from me as it recalled what I had felt only minutes before. I moved from one bare place to another, my fingers crawling over the paper as I pointed out camp after camp. Ilyan followed with me, his pen working fast as I gave him the information they had been so desperately in need of.

  The numbers grew as I worked, the circles increasing until it became clear that Edmund had effectively trapped us inside the ancient, stone walls of the abbey. I didn’t know what battle they had planned, but looking at these numbers now, I didn’t see how we could get away or even survive a fight. I cringed at the thought, pushing the imagery away as Ilyan’s magic flowed through me, soothing my joints that had knit themselves together in anxious fear.

  Twelve, I said as I gave him the last number.

  “We are trapped,” I whispered as Ilyan’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. I could feel the heavy pulse of his heart, the maniacal need to fight conflicting with his need to protect me as well as to keep everyone alive.

  “Not necessarily,” Ilyan announced as he pointed toward a large camp right in front of where Ovailia was currently stationed. “If you and I begin our battle here, we might be able to clear enough Trpaslíks out of this area to give everyone else a chance to escape.”

  “Will that work?” Thom asked, his voice sounding hopeful for the first time.

  “It should.” Ilyan’s small smile played through his eyes. “If Joclyn and I can create enough destruction, then the others won’t be able to stay away.”

  I could see the brilliance of the plan, the simple logic probably just enough that it would be overlooked. The only variable was me.

  “When?” Thom asked eagerly.

  “If we coordinate it right with Edmund’s arrival, we should catch them off guard,” Ilyan said. The tone of his words made this all sound strangely final, as if tomorrow morning we would wake up and stroll into the forest, expecting to come out again in one piece. Ilyan maybe, but the sight had shown me something other than that for myself.

  “Joclyn,” Ilyan whispered, his voice only for me, even though I was sure everyone else could hear him. “I will need your help to track their movements and pinpoint my father’s arrival. Can you do that?”

  I nodded at his question, knowing that even if I wasn’t yet ready to fight, that at least was something I could do.

  “Then I will need you two to continue watching over the abbey from the tower. Thom, I also need you to watch over Wyn and Dramin. I would like to know the second we can move them.” Ilyan’s voice rumbled through me as he spoke.

  “Why don’t I knit you a new Christmas sweater while I am at it?” Thom grumbled under his breath.

  “Thomas.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” Thom relented, nodding once in acceptance, even though I could tell he was upset over having to do so much.

  I had expected to see the same acceptance of the plan on Sain’s face, but instead, he stared right at me, his green eyes as wide as saucers.

  I cringed as the knife of his eyes cut into me, moving closer to Ilyan on habit.

  Why is he looking at me like that? I asked into Ilyan’s mind, my confusion growing.

  I heard Ilyan’s heart rate pick up in my ears before his hand moved to stroke the side of my face. His fingers grazed over the skin as his emotions shifted, his thoughts moving right along with them when his own confusion gave way to a gentle pride.

  “He is amazed by you, as am I.” His voice was a whisper as he spoke to me.

  “It is more than amazement, Ilyan,” Sain said, his tone matching the awe that his face had held before. I almost jumped at his voice, shocked that he had been paying attention at all.

  “What do you mean, Sain?” Ilyan asked, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held me against him protectively, the action flaring my nerves.

  “She has been speaking into your mind,” Sain said as an answer, the words almost sounding like a revered song.

  “Yes,” Ilyan’s deep voice rumbled through his chest, making it clear he didn’t want to elaborate.


  “I had my suspicions before when I saw the burn of the Black Water on your hand, but I thought you were just pacifying an old man…” Sain whispered softly.

  My fingers clung to Ilyan’s shirt as I waited for the news that was sure to come.

  “You have fused your souls.”

  Three

  “F-f-us-sed-d?” The word was out before I could stop it, the stutter worse than right after Ilyan had pulled me from the nightmare, when I huddled against the toilet. I couldn’t help it, though; I couldn’t make sense of the confusing mess my father had just divulged.

  “That is only lore, Sain.” Ilyan’s voice rumbled in disbelief, his emotions moving through me as his thoughts tumbled over each other.

  “Is it?” Sain asked, his awe fading into amusement. “Then tell me, how does my child speak into your mind? There is no magical ability that can accomplish such things. I am sure there are others anomalies that connect you two. Things that cannot be explained.”

  I looked away from Ilyan’s shocked expression to my father, my pulse quickening at being referred to as his child. The surprise at such an intimate title wore off as his words sank in, though.

  There were other things that connected us.

  I had felt them in the way I could feel Ilyan’s emotions, the way I could understand his thoughts before he put words to them. I had thought those were supposed to be normal magical abilities, which had come to me when my full powers had awakened. They felt normal to me. My magic, my mind just knew what to do—how to find Ilyan when he wasn’t near me, how to feel his emotions.

  Then why was it only with Ilyan? Why could I not hear my father’s thoughts or feel Wyn’s emotions from across the abbey? The only time I had felt something similar was with Ryland, but we had been bonded then.

  Is it a Zȇlství? I asked as I turned in Ilyan’s arms, my hands soft against his chest as I looked up to him. I could see my shock looking back at me through him, my silver eyes wide as I tried to understand.