Imdalind Ruby Collection One: Kiss of Fire | Eyes of Ember | Scorched Treachery

by Ethington, Rebecca

  “No!” I stood in alarm, but my legs almost instantly gave out and I tumbled back down to the chair. Ilyan was at my side in a moment, his warm magic plunging into me.

  “It’s all right, Joclyn. We are not going to hurt Ryland.”

  “But, Wyn said—”

  “I think I have found a way around that,” Ilyan interrupted me.

  “How?” Wyn demanded angrily.

  “We will use the drevo.”

  “Again?” Wyn exclaimed. “So soon? What if the magic rejects her?”

  “I don’t think it will.”

  “But what if it does?”

  “Wynifred.” Ilyan ended their conversation with one word. “Please go draw a bath.”

  “I can’t use the tub in her room, Ilyan; it hasn’t been cleaned. I—”

  “You can use mine, Wynifred.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” Wyn curtseyed and exited. Talon followed her, but not without clapping Ilyan hard on the back. Ilyan flinched before turning back to me.

  “A bath? The same as before?” I asked once the door closed behind them.

  “Yes, so please, try not to fight us this time.”

  Ilyan helped me to stand and guided me out the door and down the hall, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other holding tightly to my hand. I was grateful for the extra help, no matter how uncomfortable his proximity made me. The small amount of walking to and from Wyn’s room had winded me, and I wasn’t sure I could walk without his help.

  We turned into the cream-colored hallway, Ilyan nodding to what I now assumed to be a guard.

  “You will be staying with me in my corridor for the time being. I would like to have you close, just in case anything happens.” He smiled at me. I tried to return it, but couldn’t. Being so close, and having someone want me so close, was weird.

  “This room is yours.” He nodded solemnly to the door to the left. “And don’t worry; we will strip it of brown and orange by morning. This room here,” he nodded to the door directly across the hall, “is Ovailia’s. I would say to stay out of her way, but you will find that to be an impossibility soon enough.” I got the distinct impression that his sister was more of a bother than I had originally thought. We came to the end of the hall, which housed three different doors; one directly in front of us and two at either side.

  “These doors here all belong to me, irritatingly enough, and you are welcome any time.” His hand fanned across my back as he led me through the door directly in front of us. I drew into myself at his touch; I don’t know why it made me so uncomfortable. Ilyan had found me, saved my life; but in some weird way, it felt disrespectful to Ryland to even let him touch me.

  The room had been decorated in much the same way as the hall, with cream walls and cream carpet. Tucked into the corner, next to a window, was a giant bed with a white bedstead and white comforters, a large squishy divan nestled up against it. The room was so white and airy that even with the dark light of evening, it still felt comforting.

  I could hear the sound of water running from one of the side rooms, the burning wood and mint smell stronger than I remembered. My body tensed, the memory of being held underwater still strong and terrifying.

  Ilyan rubbed my back comfortingly as he led me to the bathroom, which was only just smaller than the entire brown and orange room. The walls and floor were covered in a white tile that brilliantly reflected the light from a large crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling.

  Wyn was swirling dark blue water around in a huge, claw foot tub, the color fading the more she moved the water. A small hand carved wooden box sat open on a marble sink top, revealing the contents of what looked like chunks of dirt, weeds and bark.

  “What is that?” I asked, my mouth going dry.

  “It is the drevo. It is a mixture of bark of the Pristỳat tree, dirt that comes from the standing stones in Scotland, and the leaves of a Vzkrí,” Ilyan explained.

  I nodded. “I am just going to pretend I understood what you just said.”

  “The combination, along with the water, creates an amazing healing property. It can heal and repair anything.”

  “Even broken backs?” I asked with a smile.

  “Even broken backs. But, it does more than that; it also cleanses your soul.”

  “Why...?” I tried again, “How is this going to work?”

  “The hope,” Ilyan began, “is that the healing magic, the drevo, will bypass you and pass directly to Ryland so that we can center your magic without harming him. And, if we are extraordinarily lucky, it will heal him as well; which may make the difference in how strong we find him to be in a week.”

  I nodded and stared between the now crystal clear water and the box of mud. I had to do this; it would be gross, but I had to—for Ryland. It was becoming my mantra.

  Ilyan left and allowed me some time to undress and wrap up in a towel. I felt odd standing in the middle of this gorgeous bathroom in only a towel. I took a deep breath and moved my head forward, allowing my hair to fall around my face.

  “I can do this,” I sighed to myself.

  “Yes, Jos, you can. You ready?” Wyn said.

  She stood by the tub, offering me a hand. I took it shakily and stepped into the incredibly warm water. The towel glued itself to me as I sank down into the warmth, thankfully giving me some semblance of modesty.

  The water felt just as thick as I vaguely remembered, like stepping into a vat of warm hair gel, but without the stick. I sighed and closed my eyes as I leaned against the side of the tub, feeling the warmth move into me. A moment later, Ilyan returned.

  “How is it going?”

  “The water seems to have accepted her; so far, so good.”

  “Joclyn.” I opened my eyes to look at him. “I don’t know how this is going to work, but if it opens up another connection, another Tȍuha, between you and Ryland, you can’t let him touch you, okay?”

  “Why not?” I asked, suddenly worried.

  “If his father breaks in when you are in contact during a shared consciousness, he could use your magical connection to track you down. He could follow the pull of your newly-awakened powers to find you. A connection like that could put everything in danger. Do you understand?”

  I nodded my head before leaning against the tub and closing my eyes.

  “Open your mouth.”

  I obeyed, but didn’t look as Wyn placed the bitter, gritty drevo on my tongue again. I closed my jaw around it tightly, fighting against the reflex to spit it out.

  “Ready?”

  “MmmmHmmm.”

  Ilyan’s wide hand lay flat against my collar bone, the warmth of his magic swimming into me. The heat stretched to every corner of my body. It stayed there comfortably before his hand moved me under the water. I fought the temptation to gulp in air as he pushed me under. The warmth of his magic gained in intensity as I lay there, under the water, my lungs beginning to protest the lack of oxygen.

  Ilyan’s magic continued to increase until it grew into a pain, my lungs adding their own throbbing in their panic for air. My eyes snapped open again, just as I was about to pass out. I didn’t see Ilyan and Wyn.

  I saw Ryland’s bedroom, I saw Edmund sharpening a knife, and I saw a lot of blood.

  Thirty-Seven

  Joclyn

  I saw only a flash of the bedroom before I was dragged into the white space again. I stood frozen, in the middle of the large room, not daring to move. My hands flexed at my sides, every part of me on high alert. I heard a scuffle and a whimper, followed by a pained sob. I spun around at the sound, my heart plunging to see Ryland curled up in a ball on the floor, his body naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. His hands gripped his curly hair tightly, his knees pulled up to his chest. He sobbed as his body writhed.

  I ran to him, but as I got closer I couldn’t help but think that something was off about him. Just seeing him curled in a ball on the ground, he looked smaller, leaner and less muscular. I had almost reached him when I s
topped short, remembering that I couldn’t touch him. He cried out in agony again before reverting to his tortured ball.

  “Ryland!” I called out, lifting my voice above his screams.

  “Stay away!” he yelled, his voice panicked and high pitched. “Don’t hurt me! I can’t take any more.”

  I gaped at him, his body looked completely fine. Everything was smooth and perfect. Except for his boxers. I looked at what were obviously blood stains, some of the pools of red still wet and glistening.

  Edmund, sharpening a knife.

  My heart caught and sputtered, my stomach threatening to turn out its contents. What had Edmund done to his son? Ovailia had said I could see how he really looked by seeing with my mind and not my heart, but when looking at the wet pools of blood, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.

  “Ryland,” I kept my voice even.

  “Don’t hurt me!” He curled himself into an even tighter ball, his joints turning white from the tension.

  “I am not going to hurt you, I promise.”

  “You will hurt me! Everyone always hurts me!”

  “I won’t hurt you. I want to keep you safe.”

  His whimpering and terror lessened, but his body remained wrapped in a ball.

  “Everyone hurts me,” he repeated, but his voice wasn’t as terrified.

  “I won’t; I promise.”

  His body unwound from within itself, and he moved his hands from in front of his face to peek out at me. His blue eyes pierced me from behind dark lashes as he removed his hands all the way, looking at me from the ground where he lay.

  I tried my best to stifle a sob. The boy that lay on the ground was definitely Ryland, but not the Ryland I had shared a cheeseburger with just days before, not the Ryland I had almost kissed. I looked into the face of a much younger Ryland; a Ryland who I stole cars with and snuck into his parent’s pool in the middle of the night. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He looked at me in confusion, the lack of recognition evident on his face. My heart plummeted.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice catching in between tears.

  “Joclyn,” I answered honestly. “Don’t you remember me?”

  “Joclyn?” His face screwed up in fear. “You’re too old to be Joclyn.”

  I guess he was right; if he was sixteen, he’d remember me at about fifteen. Fourteen maybe.

  “It’s me, Ryland. I promise. I just look a little different.” I gave him a little smile and his body relaxed a little more.

  “How do I know it’s you?”

  “Do you remember when I was ten and we stole the car? Or when I was eleven and we snuck into the swimming pool, and you tried to do a flip and split your head open on the diving board?” His body began to relax with each memory I shared, so I kept going. “Or how about when we first met and you said that my eyes—”

  “Looked like diamonds,” he finished for me.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, it’s really you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not going to hurt me?”

  “Never.”

  He unwound himself from off the white floor and sat up, looking around with wide eyes.

  “Where are we?”

  I followed his gaze, wondering how to answer him; I wasn’t sure what to say or how to handle this. Ilyan hadn’t mentioned anything about lost age to me.

  “A special place only we can be—”

  “Where no one can hurt me?”

  “You’re safe with me.” I sat down near him, but far enough away I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. He looked at me skeptically for a minute before sliding his legs around and bringing his knees to his chest; the movement left a giant smear of blood behind on the ground. I couldn’t take my eyes from it.

  “Why do you look so old?”

  I forced myself to look away from the blood and focus on his face.

  “Magic,” I stated simply. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, trying to figure out what to say. Although, at sixteen he would know everything, so much more than I even knew now.

  “Magic? What magic?” His voice gave him away. I knew him far too well to know when he was covering something up.

  “You told me about the magic, Ryland. You told me about your kiss.” I had apparently chosen to say the wrong thing because he instantly began to panic, his arm flinging around to cover the mark on his shoulder.

  “What kiss? I have no kiss; he took it away from me!” His voice was high and screechy again, the panic ricocheted off the white walls.

  “The kiss, Ryland. The mark on your shoulder. You showed it to me...” I tried in vain to keep my voice even, but I knew it didn’t work.

  “He took it away from me!” Ryland screamed again like he hadn’t even heard me. “He called me unworthy! I’m unworthy to bare the kiss. See. See! It’s gone. All Gone!”

  Ryland removed his hand from his back and shoved it toward me, the fingers stretched out in manic desperation. I looked at the hand, at first seeing nothing but white calloused skin, until it began to fade and change. I felt the change in me as my heart rate increased, and my vision shifted. The fingers were no longer white and beautiful; they were covered in blood. My mouth dropped in a panic as I looked at the smears of dark red.

  I couldn’t stop the part of me that wanted to see the real Ryland. I couldn’t stop the desperate need to see him as he really was, and so my eyes lifted to his face.

  Ryland sat on the floor in front of me, his dripping hand still extended toward me. The bruises from the press conference were darker and stood out vividly on his face and neck, many appearing where there were none before. The gash that ran down his face was wider and swollen in an angry red. Blood and sweat had matted his hair, causing the curls I loved so much to droop. Bruises and cuts covered his torso and chest, some oozing green fluid, and even more of them, a deep shade of blue. His right arm hung lifelessly to his side, trails of red flowing freely down the limb, over his fingers, and onto the floor.

  I screamed and scrambled away from him. My hand flew to my mouth in an effort to cover the sound, but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Ryland screamed at the same time, and flung his younger body down to the ground, back into his ball. The action revealed his back to me, and I futilely fought the scream that rose in my throat. The shoulder where his kiss once lay faced me, revealing an ugly red hole where Edmund had dug the mark out.

  Ryland’s cries filled my ears and pierced my soul in a way I couldn’t ignore. Through my tears, through my shaking body, I crawled across the white space to him. My hands hovered uselessly over his body as Ilyan’s words echoed in my ears. At that moment though, I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around him as he had me so many times before, and I gathered him onto my lap. His frame was so small; it only caused my tears to flow more. It took a moment for his body to relax and his arms to wrap around me. I slid my arms over his back, the warm wetness of his blood spreading over my skin.

  I just sat there, holding him and shushing him. We sat like that, the smell of blood and tears swirling around us. Eventually, he untwined his body from mine and moved away, lifting his red hands to cup my face. I looked into his young eyes, my heart breaking with the reality of what was happening to him.

  “I love you, Joclyn.”

  I balked. His face was young, but his voice was mature. My tears turned to sobs as I lifted my hand to his face, his own blood leaving my handprint against his cheek.

  “Ryland?”

  “I love you, Joclyn, but I can’t stay here. I have to protect you.” His hand slid over my skin to cover my eyes, and I knew when I opened my eyes again he would be gone. So I didn’t open them.

  “I love you, Ryland.” I spoke the words to no one. My voice caught and I repeated it to myself over and over as I sank to the ground and savored the memory of his touch, his voice, no matter how brief the contact had been. I sobbed and moaned until the blackness took me and the connection gratefully ended.

  Thi
rty-Eight

  Wyn

  Joclyn’s eyes went white as she screamed, the sound dampened by the water.

  “Do you have her?” I asked Ilyan, his brows pulling together as he watched her scream, his hands still on her collarbone.

  “I do.”

  “How close are you?”

  “This is going to take some time, her magic is everywhere. It’s strong.” There was something in his voice that I couldn’t quite place. Almost like, awe, which coming from him was saying something.

  “Well, then you are just going to have to be stuck there. I need to finish this.”

  “Do what you need, Wynifred,” Ilyan whispered, his hands caressing Joclyn’s skin as her screaming began to lessen. “As long as this works.”

  “Well, that I can’t promise you,” I said, pulling my hands from the thick water and tapping the surface with my fingers. A blue flame smothered the surface, hardening the water as though it was glass; trapping Joclyn underneath, and Ilyan’s arms inside.

  “We will know if it works when the water breaks. Well, and if Ryland is still alive after this.” I still had a bad feeling about this, but I knew better than to argue with Ilyan.

  “He will be alive.” He was much more confident than I felt.

  I could feel the intensity of his magic surge in the air as he closed his eyes. Focusing on the girl below the water and leaving me in silence to clean up.

  Drevo’s were rare, and now we had used two of them on the same girl in a matter of days. I should be happy that we had some way to help her, but the herbal magic was an ancient Trpaslík skill. It was hard enough for me to get to ingredients for it, and now that we had Joclyn… Let’s just hope we didn’t need to do any more quick healing anytime soon, the chance of me getting into Trpaslík territory was slim to none.

  “How is it going?” I jumped at his voice. I had been so focused on cleaning up that I hadn’t noticed Talon come in, his massive frame blocking the door.