Flare of Villainy: The Imdalind Series, Book 10

by Ethington, Rebecca

  Joclyn responded with a knowing smile and a chuckle inside of my head. “With an attitude like that, it should only take one, then.”

  It took some time, but I was able to get dressed for the first time in years, pajamas having been my uniform since returning home. Pants, shirt, shoes, jacket, they all fit. The slender attire matched the braid Joclyn had put in my hair. The plait, the outfit, they filled me with an odd pride I hadn’t expected.

  It looked as though no time had passed.

  Just as though I had a bad dream… nothing more.

  “We are going to need to pick up a few magazines,” Jos said with a wink, her hands soft as they straightened the jacket. “You look a little out of date.”

  Except for that.

  I cringed. Jos gave me a soft smile that perfectly echoed what was on my mind, her eyes sad as she lifted onto her tiptoes and pulled me down into a kiss.

  Her lips were soft as they pressed into mine, the pressure an intense power as our magic sparked. Warmth rushed through me, the lights of a million different hues breaking through the air. I saw them for just a moment, the colors fading as her kiss did, although she did not move away from me.

  “But you still look like my Ilyan,” she whispered, her breath gentle and warm against my lips. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  “You are my everything, my mate.”

  “And you are mine,” she whispered right into my mind, the words beautiful as she sang them in my native tongue.

  “Even though we may be a little outdated,” I whispered the words in Czech and she giggled, the sound light as she finally pulled away, grabbing the paper from where I had placed it on the dresser and turned to me.

  “Well, what do you say we go get the person who gave us the opportunity to be just that?”

  Her smile expanded as I put my hand in hers, and with one swell of her magic she pulled us through the darkness of the world under ours, and right to that quaint little intersection in Sweden, right where my magic and memories guided her.

  Everything about the place was different. While some of the buildings looked similar, not one was the same. The streets were paved and the crowded sidewalks looked strangely out of place against the hundred-year-old buildings.

  But there was one thing they couldn’t change, the smell of the fish against the salty sea air. I smelled it with a delight I hadn’t experienced in over two hundred years. Joclyn, however, crinkled her nose in disgust and exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the pungent smell.

  The look on her face was one that gave me more of a desire

  to laugh.

  “Now who is outdated,” I teased and grabbed the paper from her, took one glance and began to lead her down the street to our left.

  Old homes and businesses were set against modern conveniences. I had seen this juxtaposition in cities for centuries, perhaps it hadn’t bothered me because I had watched the change happen. But seeing this beautiful little village like this was jarring.

  Two left turns, a right, and a quick trip down an alley brought us to a street lined with trees, backed up against a massive field. Between the street and field was a line of tiny cottage houses, the thatched roofs and sloped windows exactly what I had expected to see from this ancient village.

  I breathed deep, a surreal feeling of home hitting against my chest as we walked past the first two, and turned to face the third.

  It was a tiny thing. With white shutters and porcelain blue stucco, it looked like it was right out of a storybook. It was beautiful.

  But mostly, it was safe. It looked like a home.

  I could tell at once why she had chosen it.

  “Are you ready?” Joclyn asked from beside me, her hand a tight vice around my own.

  I could only nod as together, we walked up to the door. Joclyn rapped on the door so fast I wasn’t sure if it was a knock or the sound of my heart in my ears.

  I had been in situations like this before. While the anxiety I felt now was nothing near the moment that I had seen Joclyn for the first time, sitting at a battered old desk in school, it was at least in the top twenty.

  “I like that memory too,” Joclyn whispered, running her thumb over my hand just as the door opened and the nut brown eyes of the girl who had given everything to save me looked into me for the first time in years.

  I could see the confusion there for only a moment before her hand flew to her mouth, soft sounds of emotion bleeding through her fingers.

  “Kaye?” I whispered, my voice broken from tears. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ilyan Krul, and this is my wife, Joclyn.

  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  31

  Joclyn

  Sixty Years Later

  "I don't care what anyone says, I will never, ever tire of watching them take their shirts off. I mean, look at the display of muscle. Yum."

  Wyn leaned forward in the padded seats of our usual box, bracelets jangling, chin in her hands as she looked out at the pristine green field. I had seen a lot of Rugby games, but this shirts vs skins situation was adding a whole new level to the game. If only because of who was playing skins.

  Wyn was even licking her lips. Too bad we weren't the only ones who had come to watch the game from our designated "royal box". Ugh. Whoever started calling it that should be given a stern talking to. Although knowing my luck it was Ry. And a ‘stern talking to’ wasn’t going to do much more than his rolling his eyes at me and walking away.

  "God, Mom, stop. That's beyond gross. I'm going to throw up." Cail leaned around me, the dark eyes he had inherited from Wyn flashing with a touch of blue.

  Wyn didn't even turn to him, she was too busy staring at the "skins" team and smacking her lips obnoxiously. I, however, leaned back, pretending to be interested in the game and covering my mouth to hide my smile. Not that I wasn't interested in the game, I had just seen a lot of Rugby in my arguably short life.

  Wyn and Cail were just better entertainment.

  She always chose something to torment him with, today it happened to be Wyn's obsession with muscle. Whatever gave her the ability to pester her middle-aged son who whines like a child.

  "I'm looking at your father, Cail, get a grip." She waved him off and scooted closer, licking her lips again.

  "Did you just tell me to ‘get a grip’? That phrase is a couple hundred years old, mom. God, you are so weird," Cail scoffed, throwing the ratted old book he was reading back into his backpack. "You do realize that Uncle Ryland and Ilyan are out there don't you? And they aren't wearing shirts either."

  "I do, but I am looking at your father. Look at those rippling pectorals. Firm buttocks. MmmMmm." Cail's jaw dropped, and the smile I had been trying to hide peeked out.

  Fine, I’ll play.

  "You better not be looking at the King's firms buttocks, Cail, because I have dibs." I gave him a smile, twisting the long golden ribbon between my fingers, as though he needed the reminder.

  "No," Cail snapped, throwing the busted laptop he always carted around in after his book. I was having serious trouble keeping a straight face now. "I'm not going to listen to this again. I refuse."

  "You could always go play with them, Cail." I smiled at him, earning myself a glare. "You are almost fifty years old now, honey. You can keep up. Míra's playing."

  "Not interested." He looked between the two of us. He may whine like a child at times, but we had done this enough that he knew exactly what was going on.

  "Aww come on, even your sister is out there! Be among your people." Wyn gestured wildly to the field, mass amounts of bracelets jangling and pulling the focus of the Chosen who had clustered in the bleachers around us as they had done for decades. Anything to be closer to the royals. Ugh.

  They couldn't hear us thanks to the shield I always put around our box after being eavesdropped on by one too many reporters, but the wild bracelet jangling must have snuck through somehow. I twitched my finger, tightening up the shield and causing the rest of them to
turn back to the field where they all were stoically pretending not to be paying attention to everything we were doing.

  Yes, being Queen still sucked sometimes.

  "After what I just heard, I would rather check myself into one of those mortal retirement homes. Live among people who are more sane than you lot. I can't believe I am stuck with you all for eternity!"

  “You could always get married, honey, give me some grandkids. Be stuck with more people for eternity.”

  “I… can you… ugh!” Cail stormed off, bag over his shoulder as he made his way out of the box and down through the bleachers that were filled with Chosen and the few mortals who had braved their way in here to watch the match. Heads followed him as he grumbled and waved and kept glancing back at us with his dark brooding eyes.

  Wyn and I, however, were reduced to giggles. Well, until both Thom and Ilyan turned to give us "the look" and Ryland started laughing. He had to pause the game thanks to a still stubborn Cail who was rushing into the middle of the field and ripping his shirt off. I would be worried that he was going to do something dangerous, but it was Cail.

  Instead, he pranced into the middle of the field, displaying his own set of muscles and doing a weird shimmy dance as he yelled up to us. "MmmMmm Muscles! Look mom! Sexy, sexy, muscles!"

  Wyn and I collapsed into each other with belly-aching laughter. Even Thom was trying not to laugh. The Chosen however, were looking at us like we had lost it.

  Okay, maybe Cail had a point.

  By the end of it we were all laughing, Cail included, even though he was being shuffled to the side of the field. He already had his nose buried in his book before Ryland could get control of the situation.

  ‘Exactly what have you and Wyn done now?' Ilyan's voice rattled through my mind, his blue eyes smiling at me from down on the field.

  ‘It had to do with buttocks and you shouldn't dig through the last few minutes,' I warned him, fully aware that he was already doing just that. Judging by the massive grin that was overtaking his already gorgeous face I would say he had watched the whole thing.

  ‘Warned you.'

  ‘You and Wyn really ought to find something else to do with your time,' he said as Ryland blew the whistle and tried to get everything back on track.

  'What? Like watch your perfect back muscles as you run, everything rippling and stretching and...' He almost fell on his face, giving me another heartbreaking smile before he closed our connection and went back to the game. Without a war to focus on anymore, Ilyan had thrown himself into Ryland's little experiment wholeheartedly. Sports to help connect what was left of the world. Chosen, Immortals, and Mortals as equals. It had been good for everyone for a while. But lately there had been a chasm opening up between those with magic, and those who were never bitten by the twisted Vilỳ Edmund had made.

  I don't think any of us were fooling ourselves about how bad it was getting. Even here none of the mortals or Chosen were sitting together. The number of mortals here had even been cut in half from last year’s attendance.

  "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" Wyn said. The crowd cheered for a goal that we had both missed, everyone standing and cheering around us.

  "It's hard not to think about. It’s a real problem, Wyn." I gestured to the obvious gaps in seating and even the few Chosen who were openly mocking a terrified mortal. Wyn rolled her eyes.

  "Spoken like the Queen you are," Wyn sighed, patting my shoulder exaggeratingly. "I am a firm believer that this will sort itself out."

  "You do know you are full of shit, right?" I asked, and Wyn actually flinched as though I had punched her, the saucy assassin pursing her lips at me.

  "We literally just came out of a thousand-year war--"

  "Sixty years is ‘just came out of’?" Wyn interrupted me, stealing my thunder.

  "No, but we caught the last of the Vilỳ only a few months ago, we are safe for the first time in centuries. And that war we came out of was built on the backs of class disparity."

  "Oh god, what library did you find and is that why Cail always has his nose in a book again?" She rambled, genuinely concerned. I gave her a simpering smile, she had totally caught me. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

  "We can't let the same thing happen again, Wyn. This whole class system and people thinking they are better than others because they have magic."

  "If you are talking about letting those Vilỳ bite everyone from here to the former Republic of China then let me slap that smug smile off your face right now," Wyn snapped. No slapping necessary, the smile was gone. I sighed and leaned back in my chair. I had clearly inadvertently activated Wyn's sassy mode. I could be here a while.

  "Giving everyone power only makes things worse," she hissed as the crowd erupted in a scream again, the packed stands rolling into one of those wave things. "Remember the Kyō? And that damn bitch who tortured your husband? Power everywhere puts power in the wrong places and that's how thousand-year wars get started. Nu-uh. All the Vilỳ are caught, we know the Chosen bitten by the diseased Vilỳ don't have an extended life, and they can’t pass on their powers. In another 50 years they will all be gone. And then magic will be nice and controlled again."

  She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back, smug, content, and staring at half naked men.

  "So, you want us to be the only ones with power and to rule over the weak, pathetic, mortals like dictators?"

  "When you put it that way it sounds awful," Wyn said, shifting in her seat. "But you know we wouldn't be like iron fist, take all your rights away bastards. More like equality managers. And without the Chosen we would have nothing to manage. Everything would be equal."

  "Except us."

  "Yes. Because we would be like gods. Sexy shirtless gods who are running balls places that we are missing because you are rambling on about diversity trust funds or something."

  She was no longer listening to me. Although she did stand and cheer in some weird dance when Thom tackled someone else. No points or score or anything, just Wyn cheering for her husband. Meanwhile, a Chosen man threw a whole cup of soda at a mortal who was quickly getting up to leave.

  Holy freaking turtle airplanes. This has to stop.

  I was up and ready to charge down there when Wyn put her hand around my firearm, forcing me back into my seat and gesturing toward the guard who was already making his way over there.

  "You worry too much."

  "Isn't that what Gods are supposed to do? Or are we equality managers?" I asked, my heart keeping pace with Ilyan's steps as he ran across the field. There was something amazing that happened to skin when it was covered with sweat. "Either way it sounds like we would be working in one of those department stores that sells both pudding and dynamite."

  "I love those stores," Wyn sighed and sat back. "If you are so worried about it, why don't you reach into your sight and see what we are supposed to do."

  "You know it doesn't work like that."

  "I do.” She folded her legs underneath her, sitting cross legged on her padded chair as she faced me. "But I also know you well enough to know you tried anyway. What did you see?"

  "More Chosen." I spoke barely above a whisper, Wyn crinkling her face at me. Yes, I knew I wasn't making any sense. "But they weren't like these guys. They were trained."

  "Like an army?" I hadn't thought of it that way, and that was so much worse.

  I shook my head. "No, like a school."

  "So, you want to start a school? I think the library you and Cail found has gone to your head." She rolled her eyes and turned away from me. "Well, if you do, make sure you make Cail headmaster or something. That kid needs some direction. And a wife. Or a husband."

  "That's not a bad idea."

  "Wait, you are actually going to do this?" Her eyes were saucers, the dark black irises looking even darker against the whites of her eyes.

  "There is power in the world, but it shouldn't be for the few, or those who were lucky enough to get bit. Everyone should
have a chance. And if they learn about it, and know how to wield it, maybe we won't get any little Edmunds running around. And maybe we won't get this mess." I gestured toward the stands, hoping to draw my point home, but Wyn was still staring at me with her mouth sagging down to her belly button.

  'It really is a good idea, my love,' Ilyan whispered into my mind, giving me a slight smile from the field before his loss of focus ended up getting him tackled to the ground.

  'And that's why you should stay out of my head during games.'

  'Touché.’

  "Besides Wyn," I said slowly, knowing that Ilyan was still listening. "Would you want your kids to grow up in a world where magic is available to everyone, where strength and power didn't require equality managers or gods or whatever?"

  "Well, yeah, but my kids are grown--"

  "Mine aren't..." I interrupted her, hand on my stomach as I looked at Ilyan. He stopped in place, his eyes right on me. I only saw the glistening shock in the blue orbs and felt his unrequited joy for a second before he was tackled to the ground, two of the Chosen taking him down as easily as a child.

  I winced as the pain of the impact echoed through me, Wyn's Ping-Pong focus between us growing more frantic out of the corner of my eye. Ilyan didn't even fight against the burly men who had taken him down, he lay there, staring at me from the ground, tears dripping onto the grass.

  'I'm going to be a daddy?'

  "Yes," I said aloud, my own tears falling while Wyn cackled like a maniac beside me.

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