“I will rip him apart, limb by limb, until there is no more blood to shed, until his soul has given up.” Edmund continued as he stepped forward, his words a hot poker against my soul. “And then I will take his soul, Wynifred, and I will use it the way I use Rosaline’s. I will keep it in a place you will never find it. Not that you will be alive much longer than he is.”
“NO!” I fought against Sain, his weak body using up the last of his energy in an attempt to keep me at bay.
“I would do the same to Talon… if he was still alive.”
I could hear Sain mumble behind me. I could hear him gasp as my magic surged under my skin, burning him on contact. He didn’t budge. He endured the pain as he attempted to keep me safe.
Stay safe, Wynny.
My fight left me as Talon’s voice echoed through my head, his words joining Sain’s in a jumbled mess that pulled the fight out of me.
I stopped struggling against Sain’s hold. I looked down to the stone floor of the catacombs, my eyes scanning over the tombs that littered the floor before I raised my head to Edmund.
Edmund smiled at the look in my eye, at the way my lips pursed. He believed he had won, that I would fight him now and he would win.
I wasn’t who he still thought me to be.
I was Wyn.
My eyes locked with his as I sent my magic surging through the floor of the tomb, the ancient magic in the stone connecting with mine to supercharge the pulse, which hit in a surge that shot him straight into the air.
Edmund yelled as he impacted with the roof of the tombs, my magic still burning through him. I pulled Sain with me as I turned, the lid of Ilyan’s coffin lifting just enough to allow us passage inside.
Edmund’s screams died as we slipped ourselves through the opening, the magical barrier of Ilyan’s protection washing over me as I moved through it.
There was no way Edmund could follow us here. For the moment, we were safe.
“Wynifred!” Edmund yelled and I turned, peering at him through the gap in the lid. “I will make him pay.”
“I will retrieve both of their souls, Edmund, right before I rip your heart from your body. You will pay.”
He balked at my statement, his face going white before the lid to the coffin dropped, enclosing us in the dark space.
I listened to Sain’s breathing equalize alongside mine as we waited for a sign that Edmund was trying to follow us, as we waited for his attempt to break through the barrier Ilyan had placed around the tomb.
But none came.
A deep green light flared in Sain’s hand, giving just enough light for us to see. We just looked at each other, neither of us having the words for what had just happened.
Sain turned toward the tunnel that opened up behind him, the long, dark abyss that would lead us safely underground and right into Italy. His light flickered along the walls of dirt and stone until the tunnel faded into an endless stretch of claustrophobic black.
In any other situation, I would have been scared at seeing an endless enclosed space. Instead, my heart relaxed at the promise of safety it held for us.
“We’d better hurry,” Sain whispered as he stepped into the tunnel, the first step of a long journey.
I rushed to catch up with him, his words sending ice down my spine.
“What do you mean?” I asked, dearly hoping he hadn’t seen anything else.
“We don’t have a lot of time.” Sain didn’t look at me as he spoke; he simply continued walking, his slow pace taking us straight forward.
“Is he coming?” My voice slithered over my tongue, the fear rushing right back to the surface.
“No,” Sain answered as he turned to face me, “but you have less time than I originally thought.”
Sain reached forward and grabbed my left hand, lifting my arm to eye level. I looked at him in confusion, trying to make sense of his words. But he was focused on my arm.
“Edmund has plans for your brother. We must get you to Joclyn before it is too late.”
One Hundred Twenty-Eight
Ilyan
The large map of the grounds that surrounded the abbey took up the majority of the expansive table that we had set up in the middle of the long kitchen. I stood over it, facing the crumbling stone ovens and fireplaces that had once been used by the monks of Rioseco for food preparation.
It had been seven days since the first eight camps appeared. Now we could see twenty-two. Each one was marked by a small, red dot on the map, the number of how many we assumed to be in each camp marked in quill pen beside it. The camps kept coming, and still no Ovailia.
Joclyn had been trapped in the Tȍuha for almost two weeks—three months for her. For three months, Edmund had been torturing her. I had healed her after every attack, but the injuries kept coming. Last night, they plagued her over and over until, in the end, I had to restart her heart, my magic manually pumping it in an attempt to keep her alive. Futile, that was how it felt.
My only hope for her now was Ryland.
I scanned the map, trying to find a rhyme or reason to the pattern, but once again finding nothing. That didn’t necessarily mean anything though. It could simply mean that the Trpaslíks did not follow instructions, which was common.
I snatched a strawberry out of one of the bowls that held down the massive paper, moving around to the other side of the table, hoping another angle would help.
“One new camp last night,” I said as Dramin walked in, his energy slow and lagging from having just woken up. He came up beside me, and I pointed to the newest red dot, the ink on the number six still drying.
“One is better than ten,” he chuckled, his reference to yesterday’s surge making me cringe.
Yes, one was better than ten, and after they had come so steadily, it only left me worrying about what was still coming. I stretched my hands out to hover above the map, trying another view, but nothing jumped out at me.
“Do we have a plan yet?” Dramin asked, but I only laughed humorlessly at him.
At this point, if Joclyn didn’t wake, it would be me against upwards of a hundred Trpaslíks with a little help from Thom. While I had defeated that number before, it was not without grave injury, something that would take time to recover from. Even then, I had been alone at the time. This time I had people to protect.
“Does the battle happen before or after Joclyn wakes?” I asked.
“Does it matter?”
“It might,” I prompted, careful to keep my voice light. “When does she wake?”
“Soon.” Dramin grunted as he sat down beside me, his hands already wrapped around a full mug of Black Water. I stared at the water as if it had offended me. We had given Joclyn the water for the past four days and nothing had happened. No waking, no more sights. She stayed still every time, laid out on the wide couch that had been placed in one of my side rooms years ago.
I sat down heavily next to Dramin, my eyes still focused on the poison in his hands.
“Myslíš, žeif,” I began, careful to keep my voice level. I didn’t need to set Dramin on his guard. “Do you suppose we could give her another sight, she might wake? We could pour the water over my skin first.”
I cringed internally at the idea, the pain from my last burn still hadn’t fully left. Most of the time it was just a dull hum of an ache, but sometimes it would flare up in agony, especially when anything touched it, much like the scars on my chest. Those still ached, so I didn’t see these going away any time soon.
“I’m not sure what that much Black Water inside of anyone other than a Drak would do,” Dramin said simply, but his words set me on high alert.
“Uvnitř?” Inside? My voice must have sounded much deeper than I thought because Dramin chuckled, his youthful face turning toward me.
“Yes, Ilyan, inside. Why do you think it still burns? It will burn until your magic has changed it enough to let it flow comfortably through your veins. Even then, it is still Black Water. It’s just more you than Imdalind at that p
oint.”
I stared at him wide-eyed. I was raised to be King, raised with all the knowledge of our kind so as to be able to lead them. But this? I had never heard of this before.
“I just entrusted you with our only secret, Ilyan. You better keep it that way.” Dramin smiled at me, but it was sad, his eyes were shaded by something... Regret? I couldn’t see Dramin ever regretting anything, but then, he had just released a secret the Drak had seen fit to keep from everyone since the beginning of time.
“So what does that mean for me?” I asked, my eyes narrowing at him. Dramin only laughed at me, his usual joyful timber coming back into his voice.
“You have had Black Water flowing through your veins for eight hundred years and now you worry? Nebojte se,” he said as he patted my hand in a grandfatherly way, an action that did not match his appearance. “You will be fine. All I said was that I did not know what would happen. If there was a threat of an additional head sprouting on your shoulders, we would have never consented to give you, or anyone else, access to sight.”
He laughed and everything relaxed inside of me. He was right. I had feared the possibility of a greater ability. I did not need more power. I already feared the strength of the magic that flowed through my veins.
“Well,” Dramin began before draining the last of his mug, “I’ll go get Joclyn ready. Come to her after you finish with Thom.”
“Thom?” I questioned, not understanding.
Dramin nodded once before standing, the sound of Thom’s excited yell echoed around the stone hallways.
“Ilyan!”
“I guess I’ll go see what he wants, shall I?” I laughed alongside Dramin as we both left the kitchen; Dramin leaving toward my suite where Joclyn slept, and I toward Thom’s frantic yells.
Thom’s voice ricocheted around the stone hallways. To anyone else, the bounce of his voice would have made it impossible to know where he was, but I could sense his magic. His deep earth energy was strong with excitement as he moved closer to me, the excitement mixing with panic the closer he got.
I had almost reached him when his odd mix of emotions hit me hard, setting me on high alert. I moved faster. Curiosity and panic mingled inside of me with each step.
Thom turned the corner at a dead heat, his feet sliding as he caught sight of me. His face was wide and alert in excitement, but I could hear the rapid rate of his breath in my ears, the pace too quick to be purely excited.
My curiosity left as fear took its place, a million possibilities leapt to mind, but deep down I knew—they were attacking. My heart pulsed once in desperation, begging me to simply take Joclyn and fly away—to save her. The thought was only a breeze from a bird’s wing before it was gone, before inheritance and responsibility took its place.
“Come, Ilyan!” I picked up my pace, following him as he turned back the way he had come. It wasn’t until he turned toward the large garden on the west side of the chapel that the fear in me shifted.
The camps were arranged on the north side. Had we missed something? Something new, bigger?
Everything thumped in time with my footsteps, my heart beating in my ears and my breath moving in time with my steps.
Without thinking about it, I moved my magic to check on Joclyn, shielding her as much as I dared.
We turned one more corner before Thom stopped, my feet halting right behind him before I collided with him.
This was not what I had expected, it was worse.
Ovailia stood in the middle of the hall, her hair down to her waist and a smug smile in place, as if she expected me to praise her for a job well done. However, it wasn’t a job well done. It was a nightmare.
Ryland stood right next to her. Stood. His eyes were bright blue. His hair was damp with sweat, making the dark curls longer than usual. He looked at me with understanding, with knowledge, and with eager anticipation. He was awake, and he remembered me.
“Where is Joclyn?” Ryland’s voice was eager, panicked. I could feel his need and longing as it settled deeply into his voice.
I would have gladly taken him to her right then, except that Joclyn was still asleep, trapped in a Tȍuha that she supposedly shared with Ryland.
But Ryland wasn’t in the Tȍuha.
“You’re awake.” I couldn’t help the panic that edged into my voice. As much as I needed to be the royal leader right then, I just couldn’t. I saw Ovailia’s brow furrow, but she said nothing.
“Yeah.” He took a step toward me, ready to plead his case, ready to see her.
“But, the Tȍuha?”
“Dad broke our bond... last week... I...” Ryland’s voice trailed off as my soul turned to ice.
I said nothing as I turned and ran down the hall. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to explain. How could I when I had no idea what was wrong?
Footsteps echoed behind me, I barely heard their worried questions, Ovailia’s snarky shouts as she raced behind. I could only hear my panicked breathing. I could only feel my heart clunk against the frail bones in my chest. Everything was falling apart inside of me.
I passed the ancient architecture, passed the ornate window I helped set. I passed it all without seeing. I ran without knowing. I followed the beat of my heart, the pull of my soul. My magic had already gone to her; it filled her completely, checking for something I might have missed. She couldn’t just be a shell, she couldn’t.
I slammed the door into my suite open, not bothering to close it, not bothering to say anything before moving into the small side room. Joclyn’s body was still and small on the large bed. She didn’t move, didn’t turn. Could she not hear my heart beat for her? Could she not feel my terror?
When I entered, the room was empty except for Joclyn. Dramin had obviously gone for something, leaving the large mug of Black Water on the table beside her. I grabbed it without thinking, my fear and worry taking over my better judgment.
“Mi lasko!” My voice was loud. The panic in me, scared me. I had never felt this afraid.
I moved to sit over her, my legs on either side as I lifted her head. My hand moved to her face, my finger tracing her lips for only a moment before I opened her jaw, her mouth sagging. I placed my fingers just inside, cupping my hand before her mouth, like a bowl, a bowl for poison. I tilted the mug, focusing on the determination in my soul and the steady beat of her heart before I poured the water into my hand, the slope of my skin forming a ramp into her mouth.
I screamed with a howl of agony and misery. The sound hit stone and glass before bouncing back to me, but I barely heard. I kept pouring, the burn on my palm growing into a blister. I continued to howl at the agony that was threatening to incapacitate me.
This pain was worse than the brands on my chest, worse than the accidental drip on my arm. This was torture. I howled as I collapsed onto her, my body tensing as it attempted to manage the pain. I held her to me as every muscle seized, as my throat burned with the howls that escaped from me.
The water tugged at me, pulling something out of me and took it into her. The heavy strand of magic moved the pain through me and centered it over the Štít, over our connection. I could feel her more acutely than I had ever done before, her heartbeat bounced in my ears, her breathing moved over my chest. I felt her inside of me as well as alongside me, my mind aware of her as if I was her.
The connection pulled stronger and stronger, unlike anything I had ever felt before or anything I had ever heard of. It was all I could focus on; her body, her soul, the thin thread of her consciousness that trailed far away, and next to that... the thin thread that connected her to the Tȍuha.
“Mi lasko! Snap out of it! Get out of there!” I could feel her, somewhere deep inside. I could still feel that thread, the clarity of it shining at me like a golden ribbon.
Joclyn’s heartbeat increased inside of me, the sound of my voice increasing the tempo for only a moment before she relaxed again. At least, I hoped it was my voice she was reacting to. Please let her hear me. I said the words to
myself, a silent prayer to a silent deity.
“Joclyn! Come back to me!” My tears flowed as I looked at her still body and felt the slow ache when her heartbeat did not respond. “Joclyn!”
I could feel the bridge that the water had created between us leaving, the strength of the connection moving away from me. No! I couldn’t lose her! I pressed my hands to her face, the angry burn on my hand pressing itself against the soft skin of her cheek.
The strong pulse of her magic surged through the raw skin. It rocked through me and my spine straightened, the power rough and violent.
I could feel the warmth of her body, the silky texture of her skin, but more than that, I could feel her again. I could feel her inside of me. Somehow the water had bridged me to her, connected my body with hers.
“Dramin!” I yelled his name, knowing he wouldn’t know what this was, or how to keep it, but he would have water, and perhaps the water could strengthen the connection again. The water had brought the clarity; I needed the water to keep the clarity strong. “Dramin! Bring the water!”
Dramin ran into the room before I could even finish talking, his face calm before he saw me kneeling over Joclyn and the tears on my face. I could only imagine how I must have looked, how desperate I must have seemed because I felt it inside me. I could feel the pain, the anguish, the desperation.
“What in land’s name is going on here?”
I looked at him with all of my weaknesses on my face, no façade, just me. He looked at me for one minute before the realization hit him and his own panic took over.
“Ovailia has returned. It was just as Joclyn said… Ryland’s here.” I tried to keep the emotion out of my voice, tried to regain my composure, but it didn’t want to take. “He’s awake.”
“What do you mean he is awake?” Confusion was clear in his voice, and it made sense. Joclyn was sleeping, so Ryland should be, too.
“Joclyn!” I yelled. “Ovailia brought him. He is fine. But the bond is gone. Edmund broke it weeks ago.”
My voice bounced around the room before I looked back at Dramin, hoping that he would understand me by the desperation in my eyes. He only stared at me, his heart breaking. I didn’t want to think about what that look could mean, what that pain was for.
Imdalind Ruby Collection One: Kiss of Fire | Eyes of Ember | Scorched Treachery Page 96