Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)

by Rebecca Ethington

  She had already lost so much.

  “I—” I tried again, part of me grateful when she interrupted me.

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Jos.” She said it with the obvious intention to put me out of my misery. I didn’t mean it that way, though; not in the way that she had taken it. Not in the way that her voice cried toward me.

  I looked away from her to the green wall, to the garbage can by the door overflowing with things that had made Wyn who she was: band t-shirts, feather earrings, posters. I stared at the pieces of her broken heart, crumpled and tossed away, my heart breaking right alongside her.

  A deep rumble of thunder vibrated through the abbey, this one bigger than the others had been, and my focus pulled from what I had been saying to what I needed to say. What I needed to help her with.

  “I know,” I said, my voice soft as my heart rumbled painfully with what I was about to say.

  I breathed in and closed my eyes, my magic stretching away to make sure I still had time before Ilyan and Thom arrived, only to sense them stalled a few feet before the door. I needed to make this quick.

  “When Ilyan kisses me, I feel like my whole soul is going to fly away into Heaven. His touch is like a numbing fire; his passion is so encompassing that I don’t feel like anything could drag him away from me, that even death couldn’t take away the way I feel for him.”

  I had begun with the intention of speaking very fast—of giving in to her request in the hopes that she would give in to mine—but the moment I opened my mouth, the memory of Ilyan’s touch, the feel of his lips on mine, pushed through the embarrassment and my voice slowed, my eyes lost in the depth of my memories.

  “Wow,” Wyn said as dead-panned as she could possibly manage, her glass perched in her hand as she stared at me. “Thanks for sharing.”

  “Wyn,” I practically whined as I stared into her, trying my hardest not to stomp my foot in indignation.

  I wasn’t going to let her get away from me that easily. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew exactly why I had said what I had.

  I scowled at her as she stared at me, her eyes softening bit by bit until she groaned and set her glass down on the table. Her fingers remained pressed against the condensed surface as she looked into it and her breathing slowed.

  I wanted to help her, but I was suddenly beginning to wonder if, instead, I had only caused her more pain.

  “I felt the same way. I feel the same way,” she said softly, her focus still on the glass that the tips of her fingers ran over, the soft touch leaving glistening trails on the glass. “But it’s half. One half gone and the other half confused as to whether I ever felt that way in the first place. As to which love was real, or if either of them were.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes, I think it possible to love too much, to hurt too much. To live too many lives. I thought I was all right, but Thom has only confused me more.”

  “Wyn?” I stood still as I watched her fingers on the glass, waiting for her to continue, to make sense of the small insight she had granted me.

  She never did. She just looked down, her magic ebbing until I couldn’t feel it in the air around me like before. She brought it into her as she broke apart, a feeling I knew all too well.

  “Is that why you tore apart your room?” I asked, my soft voice sounding strangely loud in the broken pieces of her heart that the room had trapped around us.

  “I don’t know where I fit anymore.”

  “Without Talon?” I asked, my tongue tripping over his name, fully aware he had been the elephant in the room until I let it slip from my tongue.

  Sure enough, her body tensed, her eyes darting to look away from me to the door on the other side of the room, almost as if she expected Thom and Ilyan to burst through, but they hadn’t moved since I had last felt them.

  I could see the pain she still held from her loss in the way she held her body, the sadness and confusion that hid behind her eyes. I wished I could take that loss away; I wished I could make her feel like she wasn’t alone.

  The hardest part was that I knew I could. I could take away her pain. I wanted to.

  I just wished that she hadn’t hated what I had to say.

  “I can still feel his magic inside of you, you know,” I said, careful to speak slowly as I tested the waters for what I had to tell her. “Deep down.”

  “You can?” she asked, her eyes widening with a deep desperation that rocked through me.

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on hers, begging her to understand; to know I was telling the truth. “You do fit.”

  “I don’t,” she said, her focus dropping back down to the glass again. She grabbed it, bringing the foul-smelling liquid to her mouth before she drained it in one gulp, a soft bang echoing through the room as she slammed the cup back down to the table. “It’s complicated.”

  “You can tell me. I can get some ice cream.” I plastered a wide smile on my face, even though it felt out of place. I wanted her to smile; I wanted her to feel comfortable enough to tell me. To let me help.

  It did the trick; she smiled, and a small laugh escaped her as I repeated the words she had given me. She laughed as I did, the sound of our artificial joy evaporating much faster than I would have liked.

  “You’re one of the first friends I have ever had, Jos.” The last of her laugh faded into nothing as she reached forward, wrapping her hand around mine. I held onto her hand tightly, my heart clenching at her words, at the memory of that first day, and of every day since.

  “Mine, too.”

  “I know,” she whispered, her grip on my hand tightening, “so do me a favor. If you really feel that way about Ilyan, don’t let him get away, even if you both are going to die tomorrow. One day of promise would be worth it. It’s better than having none. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  The smile that had lingered on my face faded as ice washed over me. I knew what she was talking about. I didn’t need it spelled out because I had heard my heart plead the same words to me. I had held them safe, not really trusting myself to agree.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, even though I knew. Even though I could feel my heart rate increase, even though I could feel each push of blood through my body. I knew.

  The earth seemed to spin faster as I looked at her right as the door swung open soundlessly behind her, and Thom and Ilyan walked in. Ilyan’s face smoothed at seeing me, his eyes lighting up. My heart rate relaxed as unabashed joy spread through my joints. I felt it rock through me in a pleasant ocean of happiness.

  That was, until Wyn spoke, and the words that came out of her mouth sent my joy into a wave of nerves and embarrassment.

  “Bond yourself to Ilyan, Jos,” she said, oblivious to the boys behind her. The blood drained from my face, the look of shock and embarrassment mirrored in Ilyan’s face as my vision focused on him—my nerves unable to respond—even though I begged them to look away.

  “Don’t wait,” Wyn continued.

  My eyes widened as her hands gripped around my forearms, bringing my attention back to her and away from the way all the blood had drained from Ilyan’s face.

  “If I had known I only had a day, only an hour. If I had known everything when I had made the choice,” Wyn’s voice broke as she looked into me, her eyes shining with the emotion she had tried so hard to keep away, “I would still do it again in a heartbeat.”

  “That is awfully deep for you, Wynifred,” Thom barked as he strode into the room, his deep voice only increasing the uncomfortable, smothering blanket that had covered me. He laughed as his hand slid over Wyn’s shoulder, causing her to freeze in place, her eyes widening in as much fearful embarrassment that had been raging through me for the past few minutes.

  Her jaw dropped slightly before she recovered, her mouth shutting with a snap as she turned to glare at Thom.

  “Yes, well, what can I say? I am a shallow pool of misery, Thom.” Wyn dropped my arms as she spoke, her body quic
k to turn and grab one of the other glasses she had filled minutes before.

  She said nothing else as she drained the glass in one gulp, slamming it on the table as she had with the last one before she walked toward Ilyan, her face screwing itself up into a mischievous grin.

  “Do yourself a favor, Ilyan. Think of yourself every once in a while. It’s what Talon always said. He worked so hard for you because he wanted you to have something for yourself. You can’t think of everyone else all the time. Find your own happiness.” Wyn said it all very quickly, her sass seeping out like some sort of poison as her words slurred together.

  I stiffened at her bluntness, the way she spoke to Ilyan more shocking than what she had said. I swallowed as I forced myself to look away from the rebuttal that I was sure Ilyan was going to dish out.

  Nothing came.

  “Thank you, Wynifred.”

  I would have expected Wyn to shy away from the acid in his voice, yet she stood still, her body swaying slightly as the over-potent alcohol began to take effect.

  Ilyan looked down at her briefly before he moved away, walking right up to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He said nothing as he held me against him before his hand slid down my arm, his fingers intertwining with mine.

  I could feel that his body was somehow warmer than it had been before. Everything felt heavier just knowing he had heard what Wyn had said. At his touch, my heart rate sped to match the quick drum that lay in Ilyan’s chest. I almost cringed at the nervous pressure that had built up inside of him, a shadow of it moving into me as his skin slid against mine. I let my magic flow into him, desperate to hear even a shadow of what he had heard—what he had thought—only to be met by a dark wall of Ilyan’s magic.

  He had blocked me out.

  I could feel his mind, his emotion. I knew they were there, but what he was thinking—what he was guarding—was kept from me.

  Ilyan? I sent to him in my panic. He didn’t so much as look at me. He only leaned down and grabbed the last full glass, his eyes focused on the blood-colored liquid in his hands.

  “Where did you find the Slivovica?” he asked as his hand tightened around mine. “I had thought we had used the last before we burned the manor in Brno.”

  I kept my eyes on him as he spoke, waiting for him to look down at me as he always did, but he stayed straight and tall, his frame elongated against me until I felt shorter than I knew I actually was.

  Ilyan? I tried again, my heart rate picking up when he once again ignored me. I almost wondered if he could hear me, but I felt his heartbeat pick up as I said his name, his nerves almost setting me on edge. Ilyan was nervous. The simplicity of the thought piqued my own nerves and I shivered, trying not to let my worry take over.

  “I found this bottle when I was going through some stuff,” Wyn said as she moved to refill the other two glasses that she had already drained. “It’s the last one.”

  Her tone was soft and sad as she overfilled the glasses, causing the liquid to pour down the side and onto the table.

  Don’t block me out, I pleaded, careful to use the same words he had used with me before. This time I knew he had heard me. His lips turned up ever so slightly as he turned to look at me, the hungry look in his eyes catching me on fire.

  My breath caught in my chest as I gazed at him, his smile increasing until he leaned toward me, his lips pressing against the hollow of my ear. I stifled a gasp at the warmth of his lips against my skin, his hand tightening around mine as he pulled me into him.

  “I need to speak to you,” he whispered, my spine tingling as his breath ran over my skin.

  Then talk, I pleaded, not trusting my voice to form cognitive words.

  “Not here,” he whispered before he pulled away, the grip on my hand loosening until he was gone.

  His body was still close enough that I could feel the heat of him; it would only take one short movement to reach out and touch him. Still, that distance could have been a football field. I don’t know why, but those two words had somehow closed me off from him. My worry about what was on his mind increased until it was a tight, little ball in my chest.

  “The timing couldn’t be better.” Thom leaned down and grabbed one of the now-filled glasses, his voice pulling me out of the revelry Ilyan had trapped me in.

  I stepped toward the table cautiously, not sure where I fit.

  “Na zdraví,” Ilyan announced, his voice deep and regal as he lifted his glass toward the ceiling.

  “Na zdraví,” Thom and Wyn repeated in unison as they followed suit, all of the glasses held above their head before they lowered them, draining the contents in one swallow.

  The room filled with the thump of the glasses against the table, the sound sending a jolt through me. They stood in silence, their eyes closing as each of their faces turned down in a solemn reverence that I did not quite understand. Watching them—watching a tradition that reached back before much of what I had retained in history class—was awe inspiring.

  And lonely.

  I felt like I was intruding on something beautiful, something I wasn’t quite sure I would ever understand. Wyn silently moved to refill the glasses, none of them speaking before they raised their glasses again.

  “To Talon,” Ilyan said, his voice breaking on the word, the name of the friend he had lost.

  That everyone had lost.

  “To Talon,” Thom’s voice rang clear, but Wyn’s stuck in her throat. Even though I saw her mouth move, no sound escaped.

  Their hands stayed above their heads before they again drained their glasses, dropping them back to the table. Once again they looked down, their faces masked in pain and regret before Wyn moved to refill her empty cup.

  “For my brother, who gave up everything,” she said as she filled the one she had just drained, the liquid pouring over the side as her hand began to shake.

  She handed the bottle to Ilyan who took it steadily and filled his glass right to the brim.

  “For Talon. Goodbye, my friend,” he said, his eyes still focused on the glass on the table below him.

  I couldn’t help it; even though the tight knot of nerves still sat in my heart, I heard the pain in his voice, and my heart reacted. I closed the football-field-sized gap and wrapped my arm around his waist, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I came to stand next to him. I heard his breath catch as his arm moved over my shoulders, his lips pressing against the top of my head.

  Ilyan passed the bottle to me, the glass heavy and uncomfortable in my hands. I looked up to Ilyan, sure he had made a mistake, but he only looked at me, a single nod of his head prompting me to continue.

  A shaky breath fled from my chest as I looked at the bottle. I knew what I was supposed to do; I knew who I had lost, who my heart still longed for.

  “For my mom,” I said as I partially filled the glass, the pressure in my chest growing as wet tears began to cloud my vision. Ilyan’s arm tightened around me in support as I passed the bottle to Thom, his hand already shaking as he took it from me.

  “For Rosaline. Your life was not in vain, my child.” Thom’s voice broke as he poured, the glass overfilling before the bottle came clattering to the ground. Wyn gasped at the sound, tears falling in rivers down her cheeks as she moved to wrap her arms around Thom, their bodies pressed close together as they cried into each other.

  My heart clenched as his words sunk in, the admission of what each of them had lost in the war sounding louder than a million battle cries. It echoed through my soul, louder than a million cannon booms. I stood still as I watched their faces, the way that Wyn and Thom clung to each other, and my heart broke.

  I loved the people in this room, and to see their loss, feel their pain…

  I didn’t want that to happen, not anymore.

  We had all lost someone—someone precious—all at the hands of a man who had built an army, who had declared our end.

  I wouldn’t let him take anything more from us.

  I might st
ill be plagued by the demons Cail had infected me with; I might fear the sights I had been given, the prophecy of my death.

  But I was also infected with strength, and with power, and with a reason to fight.

  “To happiness,” Ilyan said loudly before he pulled me toward the door, leaving the full glasses on Wyn’s table.

  Leaving them in hopes that our own names wouldn’t join them.

  Nineteen

  Ilyan’s arm was tight around me as we walked down the hall, and even with the awkwardness of our position, we still walked smoothly, his hand steadying me as he held me against him. The way he held me, so soft and gentle, calmed the knot in my chest. Almost. I continued to feel it, the fear of what he wanted to talk about still strong. It was numbed by the calm that being next to him gave me, though.

  He hadn’t spoken a word since we left Wyn’s room. I wanted to know what I had just witnessed—know if he was all right after walking in on Wyn’s strange proclamation—but he stayed silent. His face was an expressionless mask as we walked through the dim light from the dilapidated torches that lined the halls, each one casting odd, flickering shadows of light and dark over the stones.

  The brightness of the magical light covered the smooth lines of Ilyan’s face, giving him dark valleys that made him more intense, more desirable. I refused to look away from him as he led me down the halls, my heart caught between fear and expectation. Even though I was sure he knew I was staring at him, he didn’t seem fazed. He just continued to move us forward, staring straight ahead.

  “Can we talk now?” I whispered when I couldn’t wait anymore, my soft voice pulling him out of a trance as he looked down at me and pulled us to a stop.

  I followed his lead, unable to make any other choice as his eyes held me captive. His hand reached up to caress the skin of my jawline as I looked at him, my breath catching at the look in his eyes, the way his touch sent fire and lightning into my spine, the jagged jolts of electricity rushing through me.

  I could tell right then that something was different—his gaze was different, his touch was different. Something had changed. I searched him as he held me, his face giving no more clues than the undying love that I already knew he felt. The eternity behind his eyes opened into me as a million words and hopes and memories passed through the depths of our connection before he leaned toward me, his eyes holding mine as his breath blew warm against my face while his nose ran the length of mine. The touch pulsed through me as his ragged breathing flowed over my lips, making me forget how to breathe. The warmth of his touch ravaged any hope of logical sense I had.