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

by Ethington, Rebecca

  She shrugged. “I would. Especially if he was the one running away from Imdalind.”

  “Wait.” Talon snapped and that time we both turned. “You saw Timothy in the city, running away from Imdalind?”

  I nodded, “I first felt his magic near the entrance. I tracked it, found him. He’s the one that’s been in Imdalind.”

  “You expect us to believe that Timothy, Edmund’s right hand man, has somehow broken into Imdalind and is torturing women?”

  “Yes. Your daddy sent my daddy into Prague. Stop trying to pretend your blood is innocent in all of this.” I let the snide flow, but Ovailia just laughed, her eyes harsh before she turned to Talon.

  “I knew you said she was slipping, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad.”

  Talon sputtered at that, a weird clicking noise coming from the back of his throat as he looked between me and Ovailia. He looked as bewildered as I felt.

  “What is she talking about, Talon?” My voice was a squeak, a weird pain in my chest growing as I looked at Talon’s growing fury, and Ovailia’s growing victory. Their expressions weren’t giving me much confidence. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be angry or not, but I could feel the emotion growing.

  “What hasn’t he told you?” Ovailia’s words were like an iron poker, boiling all of that anger to the surface.

  “Ovailia, I think we have had quite enough from you!” Talon roared and Ovailia sunk back into her chair.

  “Fine, then you can leave, this is my office after all. But I suggest you not tell Ilyan of Wyn’s delusions. Unless you want him to take action.” Ovailia’s prodding followed us out, Talon’s hand firm around my bicep as he guided me down the hall.

  He didn’t make it very far before I yanked my arm free and turned on him.

  “What was she talking about, Talon?” I was trying so hard not to yell that my voice came out in more of a hiss.

  “She is trying to goad you, as she always does.”

  “No. That was not her goading me. Either that, or you were horrified over the stabbing possibilities in her ridiculous shoes.” I jabbed my finger in his chest, pressing into him until he shifted back. “Talk.”

  “I’m telling you, Wynny, she is just pestering you.” His voice was soft, that soft rumble calming me like it always did.

  “Fine. But I am about ready to demand Ilyan remove the block on my memory. I’m so tired of this. There can’t have been anything so bad that I would want to forget thirty years of my life.”

  “I wouldn’t know, I can’t remember either. But sometimes things are better left in the past. Don’t let Ovailia get in your head.” His eyes were soft as he reached up and grabbed my hand off his chest. He tried to weave his fingers with mine, but found that there was a rock in the way.

  A twisted, tangle of rock that form fitted to the palm of my hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “I guess whatever is going on with my magic also means I can melt rocks now. That’s why I lost Timothy. I should have just attacked him... Wait.” I paused, all of that anger and horror growing with the way Talon was looking at the rock. Eyes so wide I could have sworn that they were shaking. “This is what she was talking about, isn’t it?”

  I kept my voice low, not that it mattered. No one ever came over here. This hallway was for the royal family, and seeing as Ovailia was the only one here, everyone avoided it at all costs.

  “Yes.” At least he didn’t fight me, not that his reaction made me any calmer.

  “What? Why? Talk.” I poked his chest again.

  “Ilyan thinks it’s a Trpaslík thing. But he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t think it’s anything to worry about. You know, as do I, that if your power gets stronger it just makes you more of a bad ass.”

  “He’s not worried that I can suddenly melt rock and turn it to water?” I lifted an eyebrow at him, even saying it out loud was a little freaky. Talon seemed way too calm and confident; all things considered.

  “No.” Talon leaned closer, his breath filtering over my lips. “Because we both know that you will harness it. Besides, what’s wrong with a little strength?”

  It was something I had said before, and I nodded. I had no problem with strength and power. Accidentally burning rocks and collapsing caves on the other hand…

  Something about this didn’t seem to be about just strength. Not with the way Talon was looking at me.

  You would think I had died.

  Seventy-One

  Ryland

  “This still isn’t working.” The voice was just an echo as the black hell that Cail trapped me in every night began to fade away and I was left in a heap on the cold floor. Gasping. Crying. Shivering.

  The cold never left now. It just got worse.

  “It’s not my fault master, he is still fighting me.” Cail was actually heaving. I would have felt victorious for having accomplished something, if everything didn’t ache.

  ‘You have accomplished nothing.’

  “Why do you still fight?” Edmund’s voice was in my ear and I jerked, hands flying to my hair protectively as I looked up into the snarling face of my father. The rest of the world faded back into focus as my heart rate picked up.

  “I’ll always fight.” I could barely get the words above the sound of a gasp.

  “Foolish child!” My father’s voice rattled the bars as he rose, his fist thundering down on me like a hundred pound weight. The world shook and buzzed as his fist made contact, shoving my head back into the bars. Everything was ringing.

  “Cail. You should have weakened him. Destroyed him. Yet you continue to make excuses.” The darkness still shook and rang and Edmund whirled on Cail, the masochistic demon standing tall.

  “His magic is strong.”

  “Love.” I whimpered the word and regretted it immediately.

  They both turned to me, dark eyes dripping with greed and malice. Except this time it wasn’t in anger. My father actually looked happy.

  “Yes, of course, why didn’t I think of it before.” Edmunds hungry gaze turned from me to Cail. “Love, Cail.”

  ‘You really thought that love would be enough.’

  They both laughed, the sound echoing painfully in my still ringing head.

  “I have followed that connection master, he has fortified it.”

  “So you need something stronger to bypass it?” The slimy sounds of his supposed victory pulling even Sain’s focus. I could hear him shift behind me, although I did not dare turn.

  “You can’t Edmund,” Sain’s voice was a moan in my ear, his body pressed against the bars that divided us. He was close I could feel the scraggly hairs of his beard on my arm. “It is too vile; you would only be feeding into the sight.”

  Edmund rushed forward, hands jutting towards the bars and I flinched, afraid he was going to hit me again, but he only grabbed the bars above our heads and shook. Unfortunately, my flinch did not go unnoticed by Cail who was smiling. I grabbed my hair again, tugging as though I could hide. As though I could transport myself back to when this all began and simply run with Joclyn.

  “You said that last time, but if we had just severed the bond all of this would be over.” Edmunds' voice rattled above me and I flinched more. “Do not play me Sain. You know what I am capable of.”

  “I do. I do.” Sain mumbled and I could hear him shift away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Good” My stomach was a tangle of nerves as Edmund stepped back, the fear of what was coming smothering my determination.

  I looked up to the man, his face more victorious than I had ever seen. Cail’s expression nearly matched, except that his eyes were focused on me. I jutted out my chin, attempting to sit taller and face him. No matter how useless it was.

  ‘Useless. Just like you. Stop trying, Ryland, you are an embarrassment.’

  “Cail,” my father began, focus darting back to me. “I want you to fetch the mug for the Drak. And then I want you to go fetch dear old Rosaline.”

  Even Cail se
emed surprised at that, a shadow of something like pain or anger crossing his face before it faded back to his usual scorn.

  “Yes, master.” Cail nodded once before he stepped out of my cell, returning seconds later with the mug before he ran up the stairs. The sound of his retreating footsteps would have been a saving grace if we hadn’t been left with Edmund.

  He squatted before us, his eyes like ice as he looked between us, fondling the mug in his hands.

  “Do you want a drink, Sain?” Edmund whispered, holding the mug out to the old man. I shifted, trying to get as far away from my father and that mug as I could. All my life, I had been told that Draks were nasty liars, and the water they produce in those mugs little more than poison. I had no desire to get too close.

  The little movement, however, sent pains through my body and I winced, sure one or two of my bones were still broken.

  Neither man looked at me, Sain was too focused on the mug, his hands reaching forward greedily.

  “You can have it, if you can tell me where they are.”

  ‘Or you can tell me. Make all of this end, Ryland. Just give up.’

  Sain’s hand dropped, “You know it doesn’t work that way, Edmund. Besides, isn’t that where you sent Timothy?”

  Edmunds smile faltered, I just watched, not daring to ask, not daring to pull focus.

  “Then see the fight. Tell me the landscape. Tell me of our victory.” He held the mug out, and Sain took it with a quick swipe over the rim, refilling it with some unknown magic before he drank. The sound of his swallows were the only sound in the underground prison.

  He had barely finished before his eyes went black, his focus fading to a nothing far in the distance. Not that I was entirely sure he could see with eyes swathed in black as they were.

  “The night is warm when the magic swarms,” he began in that same deep monotone and I shifted away, all of my nerves twisting into knots of fear and disgust. Perhaps it was because he was the first Drak I had ever come across, but nothing about this was natural. It made me uncomfortable. “The child will be guided like a puppet on a string, taking you into victory. The chance to win, will only be won, after the golden bird has sung. Make your way, and silent chase, there is only one way to win this race.”

  I had no idea what Sain was mumbling about, but he was back to drinking from the mug in the corner, sucking from it like a greedy toddler. Edmund’s eyes however, were back on me.

  He clearly understood every word.

  ‘You can never escape me. I will always control you.’

  “Seems I still have use for you. I hope you are ready to kill your little girlfriend for me.”

  “No!” I yelled, all of that rage and pain and fear exploding out of me with that one word. My head rattled with the sound, my bones aching as I tried to stand to face him, only to fall back down to my knees. “No, I won’t.”

  “Oh Ryland,” he soothed in false mockery, kneeling before me as he lifted my chin to look at him. His palms wrapped around my face. I could feel his magic through his skin, feel the danger.

  I could feel the power of a thousand years of control, of training, of pushing his magic to be something unnatural. I could feel the power that I could never face.

  “You say that like you have a choice.”

  Seventy-Two

  Ryland

  Rosaline was not a person.

  When Cail returned, he held a square of crushed velvet fabric in his palms as though it was the royal jewels of some long forgotten reign. He actually looked scared for what he held, holding it away from him as though it was going to slither up his arms and infect him.

  “Ah, finally,” Edmund rushed toward him, his face beaming. He took the square of cloth from Cail greedily, Cail’s face relaxing as Sain made one of his weird whimpering noises behind me.

  Their reactions were making me scared. I pushed myself against the bars as my father turned to me, his hands and the package now stretched toward me as though I was supposed to take it.

  “I don’t want it,” I hissed in half paranoia.

  ‘You don’t have a choice.’ My father’s voice echoed in my head as he kneeled before me, holding the velvet square out to me now.

  “You don’t even know what it is,” he said aloud, balancing the package on one hand as he began to unwrap it. “Don’t you want to meet her.”

  “No.” I gasped, unable to look away from the fabric as he lifted the scarlet material to reveal a twisted shard of what looked like stone.

  It was dark red, the shade of blood. The crystallized shard was twisted and jagged with a bit of leather wrapped around one side so that it looked like a blade. The leather was old and worn, and looked to be hundreds of years old.

  “Do you know what this is?” Edmunds voice was revered, I was still pressed against the bars trying to get away from it.

  “No,” I wheezed, still shifting away.

  ‘It’s for you.’

  It wasn’t just the look of the thing that was freaking me out, there was something about it that was pulling at my magic, at me. As though it was begging for help. As though it was trying to devour me. The longer I looked at it, the worse the feeling got.

  “Get it away.” He only moved it closer to me, taunting me.

  “Now, now, you aren’t scared of a little piece of stone are you?”

  “It’s not stone.” I said the words without thinking, it may look like stone. But stone does not pull at you as though it was pulled out of hell itself.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what it is? What I am going to use against you?’

  I didn’t ask. I didn’t rise to the voice. I just pressed myself against the bars, aware that both Sain and Cail had moved themselves as far away from it as they could.

  “It’s the soul's blade.”

  All of that fear turned to jagged edges that sliced against me and I was suddenly panicked, pressing against the bars in an attempt to get out. To escape.

  A soul’s blade was the most wicked of magic. A blade made of blood and soul. To make one, you had to torture a person until their soul released from the flesh. Until they were in so much pain that the release of a soul is the only option for peace. But not just any soul could create such a thing. It had to be a pure soul. An innocent soul.

  I didn’t have any siblings with the name Rosaline, so I had no idea who this could be. Somehow, that made it worse.

  “No!” He just smiled at my outburst, reaching out to grip the leather hilt on the demonic thing.

  “Oh yes, I made this beauty hundreds of years ago. Syphoned the soul off a creature of pure love. You are barricading your connection with Joclyn with love? I will break it with love. Rosaline will give me a direct line. And you will help me, won’t you Rosaline?” He spoke to the knife as though it was a lover, bringing it close to his face as though he was going to kiss it.

  I could have sworn I heard it scream.

  Although, that might have been me as he raised the knife toward me, ready to sink the blade into me. Ready to connect it to my soul. Ready to slice it in two.

  ‘I have warned you, Ryland. Now there is no escape.’

  Sain yelled as he swung the blade down, Cail caught between horror and amusement as he watched and smiled. The blade never made contact.

  “Master!” The voice echoed not from Cail, but from down the staircase. Edmund turned, quickly placing the cloth back over the blade as Timothy entered.

  “What is it, you fool!” Edmund turned, but I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t look away from the blade.

  “Master,” Timothy finally emerged on the stairs, beaming and unaware of what he had just walked in on. “I have done it. I’ve found them.”

  Edmund stood, pocketing the blade as he faced Timothy. I still couldn’t relax. I was too tightly wound, too aware of what had almost happened.

  “It seems your sight will come to fruition quicker than you anticipated. Turn him off, Cail,” Edmund gave Cail a nod before he turned to leave, Timothy following b
ehind him. “We will continue this later… if we need to. I have a good feeling about this. It’s time to end Ilyan’s reign.”

  Cail approached me, his magic already winding his way through my mind as he took control. As he ‘turned me off’.

  “Everything is going to plan.” The words were a hiss as the world faded away. The rough edge of the voice was unfamiliar. I had no way of knowing who spoke, but I didn’t care, because Joclyn was already standing in front of me. Those silver eyes cutting through my soul as much as the soul’s blade would.

  Seventy-Three

  Joclyn

  The city of Santa Fe was full of life. From what I had seen from the confines of my tiny prison, I never would have thought that city streets could have so much energy.

  Ilyan had walked me out of the apartment and into the boiling heat of the city, his hand wrapped firmly around mine with his shield protecting me, keeping me hidden.

  I had not been very happy with the idea of holding his hand, but the skin connection was needed to keep the shield in place. Besides, Ilyan had promised me it would only be for an hour, and then he would release me, taking the shield with him. I wasn’t practiced enough to hold my own shield yet.

  The idea of being unshielded in the middle of the city scared me. The thought of Ryland finding me—scratch that, hunting me—sent an uncomfortable mix of jitters and nerves through my already bristling stomach. I tried to settle it with the knowledge that Ilyan would be there. No matter how much this ‘Protector’ nonsense gave me the heebie-jeebies, I knew Ilyan would in fact protect me, and that made me feel more comfortable. I felt safe with him around.

  Ilyan took me out of the apartment and onto the street where a green taxi was already waiting for us. He held my hand tightly as he helped me into the car then slid in to sit right up against me even though there was plenty of room in the backseat.