I stopped in my tracks, remembering all of Ryland’s warnings to stay away from him, to leave him alone. He was still trying to protect me, and here I was, preparing to stroll into the lion’s den to save him. It was ridiculous.
Worth it. But ridiculous.
Ilyan noticed I was no longer walking beside him and trotted back to get me, now dragging me by the shoulder beside him. My feet stumbled before I caught up to his pace again.
“Don’t sulk like a child; we are still going in to get him.”
“We are?” My spirits soared.
“Yes, I need you two together.”
“Why?” I knew I needed him with me, but it seemed odd that Ilyan felt the same way.
Ilyan grunted and stopped walking right at the edge of the forest. I could see the door to the motel through the break in the trees. He pulled me around to face him.
“I saw the video, Silnỳ. He risked everything to talk to you, to tell you how much he loved you. And I know you love him, no matter how hard you try to keep it hidden.” He smiled sadly, his hand reaching up to cup the side of my face.
“Your bond is strong and I am becoming worried that if he dies, you may not be far behind. And I can’t let that happen. Because I need you, too.”
“You need me? Why?”
“I just do.” Ilyan leaned forward and kissed my forehead softly. We both stepped back far too quickly.
“Wynifred is waiting for you in your room. We leave in the morning.” He left me standing in the trees. I stared after him for a minute before I wiped my forehead off and stormed toward my room.
Forty-Nine
Joclyn
It was official; I hated the smell of hair dye. It burned my eyes and nose, the ammonia smell making me sick. I shook my head to get the smell out of my nose, but it was no use. It was burning off my nostril hair, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Hold still or I am going to dye your face pretty colors, too.”
I said nothing, but let her move my head to where she wanted it. When Ilyan had told me Wyn was going to help me get ready, this was not what I had in mind.
I had arrived in my room to a very excited Wyn who was armed with a pair of scissors and a bottle of hair dye. Even though they could alter my appearance magically, it would be easily seen through by Edmund and his men, which meant they had to alter my appearance physically. I had tried to convince Wyn to do something simple, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said that I needed to stand out enough that no one would guess it was me. It didn’t make much sense, but I didn’t want to argue.
I had been sitting dutifully in the chair since Wyn placed me here, my eyes closed as I refused to see what she was doing. I bit my lip until it bled when she cut off all my hair. My head felt instantly lighter. I only felt a bit of it fall around my face and on my neck before she began to coat it with the thick, sticky stuff I was now being tortured with.
I huffed angrily in the hopes of showing my frustration, but regretted it instantly; my throat was now coated with the burn of the fumes.
“Oh, calm down, Jos. I am almost done.”
“You better not have made me look terrible.”
“No one will recognize you. That’s for sure,” she laughed.
“What does that mean?” Now I was worried.
“Nothing. Stop freaking out. You can open your eyes now. You have to wait twenty minutes for it to develop and you’re going to look like a loon sitting still with your eyes closed for that long.”
I opened them, letting my eyes get used to the sharp chemical burn. Wyn stood in the middle of my bathroom with a huge grin on her face as she began to remove her gloves that were covered with cherry-red hair dye. She had told me she was dying my hair red, but for some reason, I had pictured an auburn color like hers.
“Red? Wyn! That’s red!” Wyn grinned at me evilly, flexing her one hand of still gloved fingers at me.
“And black,” she provided happily. “It’s kind of all blended and fun! You’re going to love it!”
“Wyn! My hair was already black! Why did you dye it more black?”
“Really, Jos. Calm down. You’re going to look so good,” she squealed and went back to cleaning up, dancing to the Styx music she had playing on the stereo.
“I don’t feel like I am going to look so good.”
Wyn just sighed at me and cranked up the radio in an effort to tune out my complaints.
“Wyn!” I attempted to yell above the music.
She turned down the radio and looked at me skeptically. “You’re not going to keep complaining, are you?”
“No,” I said. “I was just wondering what you could tell me about Edmund’s other children.”
She stopped dead in her attempts at cleaning up, her arms falling to her sides. “I am not sure I am supposed to tell you about that.”
“It’s okay, Wyn. Ilyan told me.”
“What did he tell you?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
“What Edmund makes his children do. He let it slip that Ovailia was one of them.”
She waited before nodding and leaned against the sink to face me.
“Edmund wasn’t always like that, you know. Ilyan’s father and mother were bonded about twelve hundred years before Ilyan was born; Ovailia was born about thirty years after that. About two hundred years after that, Edmund began to change. They have legends and songs and beautiful paintings of the love shared by Edmund—the bearer of the first mark—and Filare—the Skȓítek he shared his life with.”
“What happened? I mean, if he loved her so much, why did he leave her?” The eager light that had filled Wyn’s dark eyes vanished at my question.
“Edmund saw a woman in a town called Farcina. He lusted after her. Timothy…” she spat the word with venom, “my father, convinced Edmund to take her, convinced him that he should be the only one to bear the mark. He left everyone. Broke all magical beings apart. Edmund planted the seeds of distrust and started a civil war that almost killed all of the magic. And while everyone fought among themselves, Edmund massacred the Drak in secret.”
“The Drak?” I swear I had heard that name before.
“The Drak were a people who were bred from the mud to be the Keepers of the Waters of Foresight. They were the only ones who could look into the black waters and see the past, present and future. There were stories that they saw a Chosen who would destroy Edmund, and stop the madness that he had created. I think that’s why he killed them.”
“You mean, like a prophecy?” I tried to keep the disbelief out of my voice.
“I guess you could say that, but they were really anything but. Ilyan was there to witness it. He told Ovailia, not knowing that she was being used as a spy. Because of what Ovailia told Edmund, he ordered the extermination of the Chosen.”
“And Ilyan still trusts her?” I was appalled. The bubbling turmoil in my stomach at what I was hearing was making me sick.
“Yes. It’s been several hundred years, so he must have a reason. After all, Edmund did almost destroy Ovailia.”
“Does Edmund… Does he really make all his children do... terrible things... or he...”
“Kills them, yeah.” Wyn moved over and sat down next to me softly.
“After Ilyan and Ovailia, there were Markus, Zetta, Drayven, Sylas, Gielle, Mym, Thom and then Ryland. After Ovailia, each one had a different mother, each one forced to do different things. Markus was murdered in 1480, Zetta has been missing since she was 130, Drayven and Mym fought with Ilyan for a while, but you can’t always escape the shadows of your past. They eventually turned against Ilyan, and he had to fight against his own siblings.
“Edmund found and probably killed Thom, about thirty years ago. He was hiding as a college student somewhere in the US. One day, his letters stopped coming. We all ran out to find him, but we never did. Not even a body. That was when Ilyan commanded that everyone stay together at all times. I never met him, but the way Ilyan talks about him, he was very brave. They all
are, or were.”
My stomach clenched.
“He made Ryland kill his mother.”
Wyn turned to me with her mouth open in shock. It took her a second to recover.
“I am not surprised,” she said darkly. “Edmund made Ryland torture Ilyan, too.”
“What?” I asked, the memory of Ilyan’s scarred chest filling my mind.
Wyn looked at me guiltily for a minute, thinking she may have said something she shouldn’t have.
“About three years ago, Ilyan was captured in Greece. Edmund could have killed him then, but he made Ryland do it instead, or rather try to; Ilyan is exceptionally powerful...” she faded out and I looked away, not really wanting to hear anymore.
Ryland was about thirteen in the Tȍuha. Only years before that, he had been forced to kill his mother. About the same time, the bright red hand print had appeared on his face and we had fled to the mountain for the first time. Three years ago would have made him about fifteen, about the time we started breaking into hospitals and defying his father even more. Ryland had gone through all that, and through it all, he had smiled and never said a word. I felt the bile rise in my throat.
“I need a shower.”
“You still have five minutes,” Wyn protested, but I just waved her off. I doubted five minutes would make that much difference.
I was grateful it took so long to get all of the hair dye out. The bright red and dark black streams of color swirled around each other as they slid across the floor of the tub on their way down the drain. I watched the water as I thought about all the people Edmund had hurt, all the people he was still hurting. Strangely, I didn’t feel like I wanted to cry; I just felt sick and angry. I fought the anger; I didn’t like the way it consumed me.
The swirls of red against the tub began to fade as I thought of my mother, even though the pain of her loss was still an open wound. I thought of how Ryland had hugged her the last time I had seen her alive. I thought of our happy smiles and of painting our fingernails ridiculous colors. I thought of Ryland when we got lost in the cemetery, when we played in the fountain at the park near his house. Also, strangely enough, I thought of my father.
He had, in his own way, tried to save me, too. I thought of the good memories from my childhood, part of me wondering where he had disappeared to since giving me the stone. Even Ilyan had said he didn’t know where he was. Before long, I was smiling. While the anger at what Edmund had done was still there, it no longer dominated me.
As I continued to rinse the dye out of my hair, it became apparent exactly how much Wyn had cut off. I wasn’t even sure I had any hair left. The hair on the back of my head was all but gone; only short hairs, about an inch long, were left. The front half was longer, one side more than the other. I guess I needed some hair to cover the kiss.
I stepped out of the shower reluctantly, not really wanting to look in the mirror yet. I threw on my pajamas and went to find Wyn, a towel wrapped around my head, even though there was no point. I walked into the bedroom to find not only Wyn, but Talon, Ovailia, Ilyan and about seven other Skȓíteks as well. I wished I could run back into the bathroom, but the sight of Ilyan made me stop short.
He was dressed in one of the many perfectly laundered tunics I had seen in his closet that first day. The shirt was long and white, with simple trim in deep gold and purple. A large gold medallion hung around his neck, reaching down his chest halfway. The shirt was cinched to him with a dark leather belt that matched the boots that came to his knees. The worst part was the intricate, jewel-encrusted gold crown he wore on his head. He looked like he was going to a masquerade party. I fought the urge to laugh, instead opting to stare at him, open-mouthed.
“Manners, Joclyn, mrȁvy,” Ilyan scolded roughly.
I looked around me confused and then did the only thing that made sense, given the situation; I curtseyed.
“My Lord.”
“Let me see it, Joclyn,” Ilyan commanded sternly, his eyes glancing toward my hair line. I removed the towel obediently, feeling uncomfortable. I felt the two remaining clumps of hair swing forward, a chilled breeze tickling my neck.
Ilyan came forward and ran his fingers through my wet hair as he dutifully inspected Wyn’s work. My hair was now so short, I could feel his fingers rub against my scalp. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, and my shoulders jerked up toward my ears. Ilyan just smiled at me.
“Good, Wyn. The darker, the better on the face, I think.” He moved away from me, his small entourage following him to the door.
“We leave tomorrow at nine. Sleep well, Joclyn.” His voice softened just enough to take away the tension that had formed in my neck. He motioned the others out and closed the door behind him, leaving Wyn and me alone.
“Tomorrow,” I repeated.
My nerves and butterflies came back instantly; twenty-four hours and Ryland would be here. Safe.
I could do this.
Fifty
Wyn
“Do you think she’s ready?” I stifled a yawn as I threw myself back on our squishy purple bed. Even the sexy smiles of Styx that I had taped to the ceiling couldn’t calm me tonight.
“Ready for what?” Talon asked, no sign of his usual chuckle in his voice. “To fight?”
I shook my head. “To not get her or anyone else killed.”
“Ilyan seems to think so. Ovailia on the other hand.”
I sat straight up. “What happened in council?”
I had been busy dying Jos’ hair and keeping her company while everyone else was in the meeting.
“The same thing that usually happens in council,” Talon sighed, stripping off his shirt and replacing it with the white tank he usually wore to bed.
“You mean Ovailia interrupting and trying to undermine Ilyan?” And I was back to laying on the bed. “Or were they full out yelling this time?”
“I would say it is somewhere in the middle. Ovailia still doubts she’s the one.”
I turned on the bed to face Talon, both of us wiggling ourselves under the covers. I gave him a look of question, but his brow just furrowed. Guy was dead serious.
“How can she doubt? Didn’t Ilyan see her in the sight that Sain gave?” I had lowered my voice, this part of the whole ‘vision of the girl who would save us’ legend wasn’t exactly public information.
“He did. But he can’t admit that. Not yet.”
I knew what that meant. “You mean, not until he tells Joclyn what she really is.” We’d had this conversation before. “And he won’t do that until after we get Ryland.”
“He doesn’t want her to lose focus.”
I knew he was quoting his best friend, and I knew Ilyan had a point. But something was gnawing at me about the whole thing. If Ilyan didn’t tell her what was up after this whole thing then I would. Granted, I didn’t know everything, but I knew more than she did.
“Which brings us back to the question at hand,” I said through another yawn, curling into Talon as his large arms wrapped around me, pulling me into him. “Is she ready?”
“You’ve been with her more, Wynny.” He yawned himself and kissed my hairline. “You tell me.”
“I think she can escape well, but she wants to do more. She’s a wild card, and you know how I feel about wild cards.”
He just chuckled and kissed me again.
“Pretty sure you are going to make an exception for this one.” Another kiss. “If only because you like her.”
“Well, yes, there is that.” This time I kissed him.
“Besides, if you kill her, Ilyan would never forgive you.”
I pulled back, giving him a smirk. “He forgave me for marrying you.”
“Are you equating marrying me to killing someone?” He couldn’t quite restrain his laugh.
“Not entirely… maybe…”
We both knew that wasn’t one-hundred percent accurate. I was always testing Ilyan’s patience, but we had always gotten along fine. He was the one to save me from Cail and Timothy’s
attempt to kill me after all. Talon had been the one to nurse me back to health.
Ilyan had always felt responsible for what had happened to me, seeing as I was spying for him at the time. But I didn’t remember much of what happened before the marks were on my body. Another side effect of the curse. Loss of memory.
“Ilyan was more surprised that we did. You used to hate me—”
“I know.” I rolled my eyes and kissed him again, if only to shut him up. He had told me the story for years.
Enemies to lovers.
As much as he wanted me to be shocked about it, I was more just entertained. Silly guy, he just didn’t see how romantic it was.
“But I love you now,” I finished in a whisper against his jaw, kissing him deeper and letting my tongue slide over his bottom lip. I would never get tired of the way he tasted.
“As I love you.”
His hand was firm against my lower back as he pressed me into him, his lips peppering mine again and again. I could feel his heartbeat, feel the pulse of longing between us.
“Meet me in our Tȍuha?” I asked breathlessly, not even pulling away to look at him.
“Please.” I could already feel the tug of his magic against mine, feel him pull me into our own sanctuary.
The place that would always be ours.
The place where all of those kisses would turn into fireworks.
Fifty-One
Joclyn
After Wyn had finished with my makeup the next morning, I didn’t even recognize myself. My eyes looked like pools of black on a pale face. Every time I opened them, the glittering silver of my irises flashed menacingly, the shimmering color surprisingly bright against the black. My lips were dark, too; the dark burgundy setting off the vibrant red that saturated the front of my hair. The severe cut was nothing near what I would have chosen for myself. It was almost like a reverse mullet; a short, boy-cut in the back and stark, straight, longer lengths plastered to my head near my face. The back was dark black that faded into the bright red that framed my face.
Imdalind Ruby Collection One: Kiss of Fire | Eyes of Ember | Scorched Treachery Page 34