Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)

by Rebecca Ethington

  “Wynifred,” Ilyan said, his voice shifting into the deep, commanding tone he usually kept hidden. “What are you doing in my chamber?”

  “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  “By invading my quarters before dawn? You should know better. We have a meeting scheduled for noon; it can wait until then, I am sure.” Ilyan’s voice was hard, the disappointment startling me. I had never heard him speak to someone so harshly before.

  Ilyan sat up swiftly, his arms still tight around me as he kept me in his lap, obviously intent to keep me there. “I had no idea you and I were already back on such loose terms.”

  “You know you missed me, My Lord,” she cooed, the honey in her voice increasing, if that was possible. “You can blame Jos for letting me in.”

  I looked up at her and narrowed my eyes at her, thoroughly lost now. I had thought it weird before, but this behavior was downright alarming. I held onto Ilyan tighter, hating how her voice made me feel almost possessive of him. My eyes narrowed at her as I demanded an explanation in silence. Her eyes met mine, and she wilted, her face changing as our eyes met, the lines softening as she looked at me with the same fear she had a minute before.

  The Wyn I knew came to life before me, just as I felt Talon’s magic flare inside of her. My heart clenched at the realization, the understanding of what was going on. She was talking to Ilyan, her mate’s best friend, someone who must be reminding her of what she had lost. I could understand that pain; perhaps not to that extent, but I understood. The heartbreak was fueling her frustrations, her pain.

  “It is not Joclyn that I am speaking to; it is you, and you would do well to remember the respect that I demand.” His voice was stiff as his arms tightened around me. His grip was firm, as if he was afraid I was going to leave, and judging by the amount of embarrassment in my body, it was a good presumption.

  “Yes, My Lord,” Wyn said, her voice stiff and uncomfortable as she curtseyed.

  “Good, but for now, why don’t you wait outside for me.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Wyn said, the sass that had lined her voice before vanishing into a deep desperation, “I think Edmund has arrived.”

  Before, I could tell she wasn’t being honest with me, and now I knew why. The simple admission was like a slap to the face. The air left my chest as the fear that I had been ignoring engulfed me in a painful pressure that fought its way out. Ilyan became rigid beneath me, the tension in his arms growing as he reacted to the news of his father’s possible arrival.

  Ilyan’s sudden tension over Edmund shocked me. I had watched Ilyan mock his father as well as fight him in Santa Fe, yet the feeling that moved from him to me now was anything but eagerness to continue that fight.

  It wasn’t because he was scared of fighting him, however. It was because he was scared of losing me.

  I didn’t need the flash of Ilyan’s memory to see that heart-breaking moment of the sight, my limp body in Ilyan’s arms. I pushed it away as he did, his muscles tightening.

  “How do you know?” Ilyan’s voice was a tight line, his eyes narrowing toward her. Even though I had felt his fear, I saw no sign of it, only the powerful determination he always had.

  “The magic has changed, My Lord; the strength of it has grown. Although, I can't pinpoint why.”

  Ilyan pressed me against him once, his lips moving against my hair—unseen by Wyn—before he stood, the strength of our connection slipping as our skin lost contact.

  “Where?” His voice rumbled as he pulled a shirt out of the bureau next to the bed, the muscles in his back rippling as he pulled it on, the tension in his body growing.

  “To the east, mostly, but it's spreading,” Wyn said, her voice confident until Ilyan turned around to face her, her usual apprehension around him returning.

  “How fast?” Ilyan took a step forward as he spoke, his tall frame towering over Wyn's small one, and she recoiled, stepping back a bit.

  “Fast.”

  Ilyan left Wyn cowering in the middle of the room as he moved toward the large map that still sat on the table near the window. He glanced at it briefly before looking up to me, his eyes seeming to glow as his thoughts flowed through the weak connection between us. I cringed as they hurtled into my mind, the distorted worries and fears mixing together until they came through.

  You want me to find Cail? Cail is dead. Isn’t he? I almost screamed the words into his mind, my agitation almost blinding me.

  That thought had sent my emotions tumbling into the deep abyss, my fingers clenched into the bed. My body began to shake as I stared at him, trying to focus on him, but it didn’t help. The walls that surrounded Ilyan had already begun to bleed red, and my breathing picked up as it clouded my vision.

  “Yes, he is passed,” Ilyan said softly, his eyes still intently focused on me as he watched me battle my demons. “But the magic will be similar; someone will be stronger than everyone else. That is who we are looking for.”

  I swallowed at the idea, my throat constricting and making it hard to breathe. I gasped as I tried to push the fear away, to bring the song and the memories to my mind and stay in the here and now. It wasn’t helping, just the idea of feeling Cail’s magic against me again was crippling.

  “You are bigger than it,” Ilyan soothed, his voice soft and familiar. I turned from the bleeding walls to look at him, my eyes wide as I tried to fight the feeling, as my magic pushed the fear away.

  “You can do it, Joclyn,” he whispered as he moved to kneel before me in his attempt to soothe me. “You can do it,” he whispered, his voice wearing down the edges of the fear that plagued me.

  Ilyan reached up with his free hand and placed it against my cheek, the skin warm as he looked into me, his mind filled with a kiss he couldn’t give me right now. The thought pushed the last of the fear away, and my body relaxed as I looked at him, blocking out the blood-covered walls, stopping my fear.

  I could do this.

  I nodded once before I closed my eyes, my magic flying away from me as I searched the forest that surrounded us. I felt my way through trees and the anger of the camps that were closest, pushing harder and faster until I was surrounded, the anger almost painful to me. My face squished together as I focused. Ilyan’s hand was a warm pressure around mine as his magic plunged into me, his power strengthening mine. I pulled at his magic, brought it into me and used it, allowing myself to search wider, faster.

  I searched through the hordes of Trpaslíks, my magic skimming over more of that weird, un-definable magic I had felt before. My heart clenched at the uncomfortable feeling it gave me—the knowledge that I couldn’t place it disheartening—but I moved on, my desperate need to find what Ilyan sought only growing.

  I gasped when I found it, pure anger pulsing through the air, stronger than all the others. It was ice and hot and acid all at the same time, the feeling so much like what I had felt inside of Cail’s mind.

  It felt just like him, but it wasn’t Cail.

  And there wasn’t just one.

  I stifled the fear that tried to incapacitate me and let my magic jump from Trpaslík to Trpaslík as I registered the pulse, each one connected. What was more, the magic that I was feeling didn't belong to them, either.

  My eyes flashed open at the realization, Ilyan’s stony face greeting me as his worries washed over me.

  “There are six of them.”

  “And their magic is all the same?” Ilyan asked, his magic pulsing in excitement. I cringed at the feeling, the way his mind relished the idea of the coming battle, and I pressed my hand further into his.

  Yes.

  “It is the forward guard,” Ilyan said as he stood to face Wyn, her jaw tensing at his words.

  I didn't quite understand why the tension grew; after all, it wasn’t Edmund himself. On the other hand, Cail had been the forward guard. It was just like when I was trapped in Cail's mind; Cail always came first. Except this time, Cail was dead, and Edmund had sent others to clear
the way.

  “If he has sent six, then he will be here soon. If I can get closer,I could tell who it is, what their attack plan is—”

  “You are not strong enough to fight yet, Wynifred,” Ilyan interrupted her wild excitement, his order heavy as he moved back to the map. “I will not allow you to take that risk.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” she said in obvious irritation, her hands writhing against the dark wash of her jeans.

  “I need you to wake everyone, Wynifred,” Ilyan said, the deep base of his imposing voice rumbling over the room as he kept his focus on the large paper. “Tell them to strengthen their portion of the shield and inform them that we will be meeting in the dining hall at ten.”

  “Ten? Why so late? If he is coming, we don't have time…” Wyn began as she hastily moved toward Ilyan. Her movement was stopped by one sharp glare from him. His eyes were like ice as he stared into her, the message clear. Do not defy him. I swallowed heavily at the cold steel in his eyes, the heartless color unfamiliar to me.

  “I need everyone there, Wynifred, and I will need to prepare Joclyn to meet Ryland face to face. Please tell Sain to do the same.” Ilyan’s frosty eyes bored into her, his tone making it clear that there would be no more discussion.

  “Yes, My Lord.” Wyn nodded once before she curtsied, her eyes still downcast when she turned to leave the room. She only looked back at me when she turned to close the door, a wide smile on her face. It was the first sign in the last few minutes that she was still my best friend.

  I just stared at her, unsure of what to say, until the door closed, and I could feel her magic scurry away as she ran to do what Ilyan had demanded.

  I watched the door long after she had left, trying to ignore the discomfort that was winding up my spine. I didn’t belong here. I only felt out of place.

  Lately, I had always felt comfortable with Ilyan; everything between us felt so natural. However, hearing him command Wyn in atone so different from any other time, the look in his eyes—a defiant glare that had almost sacred me—I felt like a lowly servant who had stolen kisses from the king.

  Which was essentially what had happened.

  I looked toward the bathroom, seeing nothing as I listened to Ilyan work behind me. I was content to look anywhere other than at Ilyan until I could figure out what had just occurred.

  “My love,” Ilyan said from behind me, the tenderness in his voice almost catching me off guard. “I need you to show me where they are.”

  I sat still for a minute before sliding off the bed, knowing I couldn’t ignore him for long while truly dreading being ordered to do anything by someone I had viewed so tenderly.

  The stones were cold on my bare toes as I walked toward him, my eyes focused on my feet as my heart pounded in my chest. I walked right up to the map, my eyes scanning over the surface before I pointed to the spot way off to the east where I had felt the guard.

  “Here.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

  I kept my focus on the map, even though I knew Ilyan was no longer looking at it. I could feel his eyes on me—feel him move closer to me—but I held still, my head hanging low.

  He came up right beside me, the soft pads of his fingers trailing over my jaw as his magic surged into me, mine swirling comfortably in greeting. I closed my eyes at the touch, happy when he didn’t try to calm me, leaving me only with the comfort of his magic, like a hot water bottle against a chill.

  With the softest of touch, he pulled my chin up to face him. I opened my eyes, unsure of what I would see, only to be met with eyes different from what I had seen before, the color almost calming.

  “What is wrong, my love?” he asked, his concern taking my breath away.

  I bit my lip at his question, knowing he would need an answer, though I didn’t feel even remotely able to give him one. I wasn’t even sure how to explain the odd cyclone of discomfort and pleasure I was feeling.

  “Ilyan… I mean…” I stopped abruptly and looked away from him, my throat feeling swollen and uncomfortable with what I was about to say.

  You are the King. I sent the words to him as I swallowed, my eyes still focused away from him.

  “It took you this long to realize that? I thought I told you months ago,” he laughed as he spoke, his words obviously meant to break the tension, but instead they made me more uncomfortable.

  Yes, I had known he was King. I had seen him dispense orders, and I had seen him with a crown on his head. I knew he was King. Though, somehow, over the past few months I had forgotten what that meant. I had forgotten that I was kissing a king; that I lay next to a king when I slept. Seeing him with Wyn right then had been a devastating reminder, something that had made me feel lowly and unworthy to be around him. I shouldn’t be here.

  Ilyan’s hand trailed over my skin as he cupped my jaw, the rough pad of his thumb gliding over my cheek as he caressed me. His magic flowed into me as the strength of his love surged. I sighed at the feeling, the hot water bottle sensation growing as my eyes drifted back to meet with the soft blue of his, the expressive orbs an inch away from me.

  I could feel his breath against my lips as he spoke, the warmth of his body so close, somehow taking away the worries that I had let infest me.

  “I may be King to Wynifred, to Sain, to Thom, but to you, I am your Protector first. I could never rule over you,” he whispered, his voice soft as his fingers moved over the skin surrounding my mark, the touch a stark reminder of what would happen if he touched the raised brand, of what he really meant to me. That he was more than my Protector.

  The touch was meant as a reminder of how different I was to him; a promise of what I meant to him, and why I didn’t need to worry. While my stomach still knit together in embarrassment, the nerves didn’t seem quite so important anymore. Because they weren’t. Even though the touch of his fingers against me set me on fire, Ilyan meant more to me than that. And I to him.

  “I just want you to be Ilyan,” I whispered, sure I had stopped breathing.

  “Always. For you, my love, I will always be that.”

  Fourteen

  “I need you to focus, Joclyn,” Ilyan said, his voice a cross between humor and that strict tone he always had when he was training me, which was essentially what he was doing—training me to keep the anxiety out of my mind even when I came face to face with my horrors.

  Or in this case, Ryland.

  We had about an hour until everyone was to gather in the kitchen and make the final plans for escape; for battle. Ilyan needed everyone to be there, which meant Ryland and I would be in the same room. Face to face. While last night had gone fairly well, Ilyan had essentially been controlling both of our emotions, and with a battle coming, my emotions couldn’t be numbed all the time. I needed to be able to move beyond the fear and anger and try not to kill him every time we saw each other.

  Which meant I needed to be able to control my emotions more quickly. Which meant training.

  I tried to remind myself that it was only training.

  Except this felt like anything other than training.

  When he calmed me from the nightmares or held me while I slept, he had never held me this way. This was different.

  I stood still on the stone floor of our room, a lightweight blanket wrapped around me while Ilyan’s arm enveloped me, his wide hand fanned out on my stomach as he pressed me against him. I couldn’t feel the touch from his skin through the thin blanket he had wrapped me in, however, I could feel his warmth radiating through the thin fabric as it tried to reach me.

  I rested my head back against his chest as he had instructed, my ear pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt as the sound of his heartbeat echoed into me. I focused on the sound as he ran his fingers over the skin of my face, down my neck, and across the lines of my collar bone. The touch felt slow and steady, the burn on his fingers comforting against my skin. Everywhere he touched left fire behind, igniting me even though he kept his magic restrained within him.

  He ran his
fingers over my lips again and my heart rate jumpstarted, the pulse heavy against my chest.

  “Joclyn,” he scolded again, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “It’s really hard for me to focus when you are doing that,” I whispered, not trusting my voice to get louder than that without faltering.

  “That is good, my love, because I want you to focus on me and what I am doing.” He continued to run his fingers over my face as he whispered, his accent deepening his voice.

  “Mmmhmm,” I moaned as I looked out on the Spanish countryside that stretched beyond the windows in front of us, the low thunderheads kissing the tops of the trees as the lightning fired off in the distance. My breath caught again at Ilyan’s soft touch, my magic flaring in time with a bolt of lightning.

  “Keep your eyes closed.”

  I didn’t dare question him. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, letting the beat of his heart fill me. I focused on it, focused on the feel of his touch, the flow of his thoughts. I shuddered as I felt the need he tried to keep hidden, his joy so overpowering that my knees wobbled underneath me. Ilyan’s grip against me increased as my legs shook. He held me against him until I calmed myself, and stood still. His fingers ran down my jawbone as my breath caught the smallest bit of his thoughts that were pouring through me.

  “Salsa dancing,” I whispered, my words sticking to his fingers as he ran them over my lips.

  “Good,” he whispered so low it was more air than sound, his breathing faltering before returning to the heavy rhythm that he wanted me to focus on. “Focus on the memory, Joclyn. On the way we danced, on the sound of the music. Focus on the bridge that moment has between us. Focus on the beat of my heart.”

  I didn’t answer; I just held still against him as his fingers trailed down my neck, the tip of his index finger pressing into my mark like a button. With the touch, my magic shot through me like a live wire and I gasped, Ilyan’s magic erupting right alongside mine. Together they grew into a torrent of power, the twinkling stars of our combined magic filling the air around us in a thousand lights. Our magic danced and swirled as the lights sparked, surrounding us with our own brand of fireworks.