“See?” I asked, still bouncing on my toes in excitement. “He remembers, doesn’t he?”
“I am not sure. He could, or it could simply be a desire he had at that age.”
I stopped bouncing immediately, my hope falling to my toes. “What do you mean, a ‘desire’?”
Ilyan shifted his towel and ran his fingers through his wet hair, his tell for when he didn’t want to share something with me. I folded my arms over my chest, refusing to look away from him.
“Ilyan,” I said, “tell me.” He hesitated a moment longer.
“Edmund kept Vilỳ in that cage for hundreds of years. Ryland must have known about their existence from the day he was born. He is not without a heart; he can’t look at a trapped creature and not wish to release them. The drawing could very easily be a projection of his desire to let them go at the time. I didn’t even know it was Ryland who had let the Vilỳ out until you told me last spring, and besides that, who knows how he let them out, or how many, or even what color.” He finished, his eyes never leaving mine.
“But the Vilỳ was blue, just like the Vilỳ who bit me.” I said, my resolve weakening as I clung to my last bit of hope. Even though Ilyan’s irritating logic was drowning it far too fast.
“It could be a coincidence.”
“So, you are saying he doesn’t remember me at all?”
“You know where I stand on this, Joclyn.” Ilyan reached out to put a wet hand on my shoulder, but I moved away from him.
“But, I saw it. He can’t... He has to...” I stumbled around, my chest heaving angrily.
“I am sorry, Silnỳ. I didn’t know you were still holding out hope.” I snapped my head up to him, the magic in my fingers prickling angrily.
“You should be holding out hope, too, Ilyan. Even if you don’t think it could ever happen, you should still believe there is a chance. He’s your brother. You can’t turn your back on that.”
Ilyan opened his mouth to rebut, but said nothing. His lack of response made me more upset.
“Enjoy your shower,” I spat, and with one thought, I sent him flying away from me. He hit the shower curtain and crumpled into the shower as I turned the hot water on over him. I looked at his startled face for a moment before slamming the door between us, my hands still in balls by my sides.
Sixty-Five
Joclyn
I sat with my back against the sliding glass door that led out to the tiny balcony. The balcony I wasn’t allowed to enter, that was filled with fresh air I wasn’t allowed to breathe. I sat this way so I didn’t have to look out onto the city of Santa Fe and be taunted with the possibility of leaving my prison.
My head leaned against the cool glass, my eyes closed in concentration. I leaned my head against the glass, hands on my folded knees, fingers extended as I allowed my magic to pulse and flow into the air and used my mind to control the objects that littered the ground in front of me.
A top spun gracefully on its point, a block changed color in a rainbow of hues, the carpet they sat on grew in length while flexing and bending around the other two objects. All the while, a flurry of conjured snowflakes danced and spun around me as I sat cross-legged against the glass.
It was probably a little excessive, but I needed to keep my mind off of my fight with Ilyan.
Ryland’s drawing had dug up my passionate hope that he was trapped instead of erased. Then Ilyan’s offhand comments had just as quickly dashed them. I was trying so hard not be mad at him, but I was fighting a losing battle.
I closed my eyes tighter as the water from Ilyan’s shower stopped. My anxiety increased the speed of the top, the influxes of color, and the movement of the carpet. Without opening my eyes I could still see the objects moving in front of me. It was just as Ilyan had taught me, my magic served as my second eye, the whole room visible within my mind.
The door to the bathroom creaked open and my mind glanced away from its work to see Ilyan exit. His blonde hair was wet and hanging down to his shoulder blades, soaking the top of his yellow, button-up shirt. I returned my sight back to the objects in front of me, increasing my workload to include the carpet in the color changing cacophony. I accelerated the snowflakes that danced around my head until they were a white blur.
The distorted mass of white and color all became too much and I shut off my internal sight to sit in the blackness, the cool glass pressing against the back of my head, until Ilyan’s soft hands wrapped around my fingers, distracting the flow of my magic.
His touch was gentle against my skin, his hands holding tightly to mine. I felt the top fall to the side and the snowflakes melted back into the air as my magic disconnected from them.
I looked up at him, ready to bicker or battle or whatever he had in mind after I had thrown him into the shower, but instead his eyes were closed. His face was calm as he sat before me, his tall frame folded gently.
“I was thirty-two when Ovailia was born, an old man by human standards at the time. I remember running to Prague to see my parents, leaving the monastery I lived at in the middle of the night. There had been some complications with the birth, but I was told my mother was healing fine. I was still worried, which is why I didn’t wait to go to them. I ran into her room expecting healers and burning oils, but my mother was alone. She looked so fragile in her giant bed, her small frame swallowed up by blankets. She placed this tiny baby in my arms; a girl with hair that looked like sunlight. That’s what Ovailia means, ‘light of the sun’.”
Ilyan looked at me, his face blotchy enough that I knew he had been crying in the shower. His grip tightened on my hands, keeping me close to him. He knew me well enough now that he could tell when I began to shy away from contact, but this time even I was fighting that impulse. I had never heard Ilyan open up before, and I desperately wanted to know more. His voice was so soft that I leaned in to hear him better.
“She had blue eyes, like me, like my father. He was so proud.” It was weird to hear such a normal memory of Edmund; my brain almost fought the image of him as a normal, loving father to Ilyan.
“He clapped me on the back and said soon it would be my turn.” Ilyan smiled, but it was a sad smile. For the first time I wondered why he wasn’t married, why he had never bonded. I opened my mouth to ask, yet thought better of it. It wasn’t my place, and besides, I really wanted to hear what he had to say.
“I held this little baby in my arms and promised to protect her. To keep her safe. I guarded her as she grew, taught her, and played with her. She could beat me in a flying race before she was ten… and then my father turned. Ovailia had always been closer to him than I was. They had gone everywhere together; had secrets I would never understand. I didn’t know what had happened until it was too late. Until I couldn’t protect her anymore. She had seen one hundred and twenty years when she came to the small chapel in France where I lived, covered in blood and begging for help. I wasn’t even sure then that I could trust her. I am still not sure.”
I squeezed his hands, not knowing any other way to comfort him. Without thinking, I reached up to touch his face, but my hand stopped halfway there and fell to my lap. Ilyan dropped my other hand and stood, turning his back to me as he dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“He has done it to all my siblings, Joclyn. Destroyed them. Hurt them. Ovailia was the first of many. He’s destroyed all of them, leaving me only one shattered sister that’s willing to side with me. That’s why I don’t hold out hope. Because I know what he is capable of. But, please, I don’t want to dash your hope. It was never my intention to hurt you; I never wanted to break your heart. If you believe, then I will believe, too. Can you forgive me for dashing your hope before? For being so rude?”
I stared at him for much longer than necessary, my brain still processing this little bit of his past. For the past few months I had gotten to know Ilyan better than I had anyone else. Anyone other than Ryland. I had thought I understood Ilyan, but hearing this part of his history made me realize ho
w little I knew. There were a thousand years of him I did not know.
Even with all of that, I knew the face he had when he was truly sorry. I knew of his goodness. And I saw both of those now.
“Yes, Ilyan, of course.” His face lit up at my words.
“Thank you,” he replied softly before he stood, his eyes gleaming with the maniacal energy I had seen too many times before. I cringed at what I already knew was coming. For the last few months that look had usually accompanied our training sessions. “I have a little proposition for you.”
“Do I need to be worried?” I asked, sliding my hand through the air in front of me to send the block and the top back to their places on the table.
“Perhaps.” Ilyan grinned and lifted his hands. The table and the nightstand moved themselves into the kitchen at the same time that the bed stood on end in order to give us the most space possible. I groaned and leaned my head back against the glass.
“Sparring… really? This is how you make it up to me?” I hated sparring. I hated holding weapons that were hundreds of years old. I hated hitting Ilyan with power and magical attacks, but most of all I hated being hit with them. “This is punishment, not a reward.”
Ilyan seemed to find my response humorous; he laughed and slid his hands down in front of him, a large sword appearing from nothing.
“Swords? You are so archaic.”
“I’m a thousand years old, Joclyn. So, yes, I am.”
I screwed up my face to keep from laughing. He was right, of course, when battling ancients I guess the use of broadswords was a necessary skill to learn.
“I still think this is a punishment.” Magic alone was more effective to use fatally against another magic user and guns were of no use because bullets would be easily disintegrated by a simple shield. He was just being mean.
“Oh, trust me, this is half reward and half punishment for throwing me into the shower.” His eyes twinkled as I moved to stand. I could stubbornly sit on the floor and refuse to participate, but he would attack anyway. I had tried it before and the results were not positive.
“I am sorry about that,” I pleaded, I even jutted out my lower lip comically, even though I knew it was no good. “Can you at least tell me the reward portion of this?”
I slid my hand through the air to produce my own sword for the battle I was about to endure. My weapon was nowhere near the caliber of Ilyan’s. His was engraved with jewels, the metal twisting beautifully. Mine was a boring, solid metal t-shape; the kind they used in theatre class. I needed to work on creating something better, but I wasn’t sure I cared enough. I groaned and swung the sword, the metal feeling awkward in my hands.
“Well, since you have decided that Ryland’s mind might still be intact...”
“We,” I corrected him, rolling my eyes.
“Yes, well if he is in fact ‘there’ I know someone who can help us, but he is a bit too far away at the moment. Which means, we will have to go to him.” Ilyan began swinging his sword around in preparation while mine clattered to the floor.
“We’re leaving the apartment?” I said.
“Yes, but....”
I didn’t let him finish, I squealed and ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck tightly.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I sang as I danced around on his toes.
“You are welcome, but you do need to let me finish.” He pried me away from him and I stepped away, still dancing.
“We will leave the apartment once you can beat me in a sparring match.” Ilyan concluded and my shoulders dropped, my jaw falling open.
“Really? I’m never getting out of this hell hole.” I kicked my sword in frustration, the heavy metal popping my toe out of joint. My magic quickly repaired it and I stomped around a bit, cursing the tiny apartment and its lack of space. I gave up after a minute and pulled my hood down lower over my head.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Ilyan said from behind me, and I turned.
“Weren’t we already making a deal?”
“This is a new one.”
“If it’s anything like your last deal, I don’t think I am interested.” I folded my arms and glared at him. Ilyan took two steps forward and tugged on some of my hair that stuck out of my hood.
“If you can mark me once, right now, I will take you out on a date tonight.”
“A date?” I scoffed, confused.
“Alright, well not a date. A non-committal dinner and movie outing with a friend.” He winked and I felt my insides shift. “It gets you out of here…”
“I just have to mark you once?” I was very skeptical. Marking Ilyan once was usually still the equivalent of winning a match against him, only slightly more attainable.
“Just once,” he assured me. I nodded and reached my hand out, the sword flying into my grasp.
“Just once,” I repeated. “Consider it done.”
I moved my sword in front of me as Ilyan had taught, the point looking him right in the eye. Ilyan did the same, but his face held a curious little smirk, not the terrified expression I was sure I displayed. I held still, clenching my jaw and waiting for him to make the first move. When it became obvious he wouldn’t, I lunged at him. He smoothly moved from one position to another, his sword clanging loudly as it hit mine. The impact sent me off balance and I stumbled to the side, ramming my shoulder into the wall.
“My point.” Ilyan announced. I scowled and turned around to see him shifting his sword from side to side, spinning the blade. I didn’t wait this time, I lunged. Ilyan moved quickly and the clashing of our blades reverberated through the small space as we fought.
I continued to try to mark him, to hit him, or throw him off balance with no success.
“Ugh!” I yelled. I had to be able to do something. Ilyan merely smiled at me in response and continued his attacks.
While I wasn’t bad at this by any means, Ilyan was just that much better. I swung wide and aimed for his blind side only to be pushed away by his swift movements. Then, as he arced wide for another attack, I stumbled again and flailed around in an attempt to block him, my sword barely meeting his.
“Come on, Silnỳ!” he yelled, his accent deep and rumbling. “Play hard, fight hard.”
“Maybe if you’d stop moving so fast...” I growled under my breath.
“I heard that.” He smiled.
I shook my head and came at him again, this time trying for his legs. Ilyan saw my move and jumped away, his sword sweeping out to tap against my shoulder.
“My point,” he announced, his cocky undertone grinding on me.
I jumped up, instantly going for another attack. I almost had him when an invisible barrier blocked my path. I always forgot how quick he was until he used his magic against me.
“Not fair! Foul Play!”
Ilyan smiled at my outburst.
“I didn’t say magic was off limits, Silnỳ. In fact, I ask that you use your power. In battle you will not be constrained to weapons, if you use them at all.” He bowed deeply to me, his sword disappearing back into the air it had come from. I swallowed and let my sword fall to the floor, clanging loudly. Now I was in trouble, our sparring matches always led to this, and I always failed miserably.
‘Attack me with magic.’ he would say.
‘Why don’t I stand still so you can land all your attacks on me without hassle?’ I would rebut.
Well, not really. I wouldn’t dare say that to him. That was how it always went, though. There was no glory in this for me, only pain and more broken toes.
Ilyan spread his hands once in a high arch and the walls shimmered as he trapped us in another protective shield. This one guaranteed that we wouldn’t destroy the tiny prison.
But it wouldn’t be a prison for long. I just had to mark him once and I could leave for the night. Win the match, and I could leave forever. I jumped to my feet, I could do this.
I didn’t hesitate this time. I needed the upper hand if I was going to have any chance of marking him.
I sliced my hand through the air, sending a long chain of magical energy soaring to him like a javelin with the intent to wrap him in it like a vice. Ilyan jumped back as he diminished the flow of my attack, but not before the end of the chain sliced through his shirt.
“Very nice, Silnỳ. But not good enough.” I saw his motion a moment too late and dove to the side as a ripple of energy impacted with the shield that surrounded us, sending a wave of colors vibrating through the protective layer.
“Try harder,” he yelled as he sent a line of freezing water above my head. I winced when it hit the shield above me, showering me with droplets of ice.
I threw my hand out, shooting a pulse of light and fire toward him, which breezed through the bright colors that fluxed around us. I didn’t stop to see if it made contact, instead I scrambled to my feet hoping to gain my bearings. I faced him and instantly threw a handful of conjured metal beads in his direction. The pellets disintegrated against Ilyan’s personal shield as he streamed electricity toward me. I threw a shield up just in time, the powerful magic crashing into my barrier instead.
“Fight back, Joclyn. You would have won in the bathroom. You had it all, emotional force, surprise...”
“The fact that you were only wearing a towel didn’t hurt, either,” I countered, throwing another attack in his direction only to have him dodge it. Ilyan laughed boisterously at me.
“Yes, but how often are you going to be fighting someone in a towel?” He shot another surge in my direction, which I countered, and the two streams collided in the center surrounding us with brightly colored sparks.
“Not often enough,” I said under my breath.
“That is why Ryland will always defeat you. He can play on your emotions, and he knows it.”
“Don’t remind me.” I shoved wind in his direction, smiling when he skidded away from me again.
Ilyan brought this up every day. This time, however, I realized that he had given me a weapon, too. I could play on Ilyan’s emotions.
Imdalind Ruby Collection One: Kiss of Fire | Eyes of Ember | Scorched Treachery Page 45