Ilyan

by Rebecca Ethington

  It was the only thing that made the letters so terrifying.

  I was putting her name onto paper, and including suggestions on how to find her. In the wrong hands, the results could be disastrous.

  Although I was certain she could handle whatever came her way, it was a risk that weighed heavily on my soul. It had been years since I had seen her, years without her. I did not know what dangers the world presented. I was still her protector, and I would do just that.

  With that in mind, I had even attempted to write to Kaye a few times, to give her the information I now had and hope that she could put two and two together. She was as much of a mystery as my mate had been so long ago. With no last name, no knowledge that I was still alive, or if she was, I might as well be writing a letter to Joclyn directly.

  I froze, my pen hovering over the paper as my heart began to beat faster, every word I wanted to say to her slamming into my chest.

  If all of these letters were going out into the void anyway, then this one would join them. Perhaps this one could find her.

  I carefully turned the page of the book, glancing over the words written on the alternating pages, the few details about the Republic and the world outside just as precious as the blank pages they concealed.

  Holding onto the fragile page, I carefully popped the blank page from the binding, turning it just enough that I could easily place pen to paper.

  My dearest Joclyn, my darling mate,

  While each word still filled me with the same agony as before, bones and muscles aching with the movement, it all felt lighter now. Somehow, writing just those words made everything feel a little less oppressive.

  I miss you.

  I ignored the twist in my stomach and moved on.

  I miss you, my darling. There is no simpler way to describe this loss, but that word could very well be enough.

  Each moment I spend longing for you is an ache that I cannot seem to fill, a pressure that I cannot ease. Although the pain of this separation is one that is familiar, it still bleeds deep. I have spent centuries looking for you, longing for you. To be separated after precious moments spent together, after making you my mate, this is a different kind of pain.

  Although, this pain I will willingly take, knowing you are alive. That last moment of my life in Imdalind I did not know otherwise. I had watched you slip into the water, into the abyss of the cave that no one could reach, where only the dead could go.

  I still do not know how you survived, I still do not know if you have. The picture they have shown me, however, promises me of your continued existence, so it is that that I cling to. It is that hope, the promise, that I treat as reality.

  A promise that you are alive. That you are waiting for me, just as I did you.

  It has been a difficult fifteen years. While I will not go into details here, I will tell you this: I am alive.

  They found me in Kiev and I have been trapped in the hospital here ever since. It is a prison of a place, and I use the term hospital generously, for that is what it once was, although it no longer resembles one. I am under guard, and currently have no power to make my escape.

  I am a prisoner of these walls, trapped behind guns and republics.

  I know little of my situation, other than my heart is not my own. And you.

  I know you.

  I am writing this letter with the solemn hope that it will reach you, that it will find you, and that I will be able to tell you of my love for you one last time.

  I love you, darling. Můj navždy.

  You are my everything, my life, my breath. That love will follow me always, just as I hope it stays with you.

  If you are able to come to me, I ask that you do so without delay. I long for your touch, and hope not to be without it for much longer.

  I hesitated, pen hovering above paper as I tapped a few times, leaving tiny specks of blue ink behind. I know, too many, the words would feel stiff, the language lost from another time. To me, however, they were perfect.

  Full of all the love and passion I held for her, I knew, if this note ever found it into her hands she would feel it. She would know.

  You have my heart, you are my strength.

  Love always,

  Your Ilyan

  I could only hope that was enough.

  I did not know if it would reach her if I sent it. But part of me did not care. I needed to send the words out. I needed them to be heard so that someone knows of my passion for her. So, that hopefully one day they will find her and she will know how treasured she is.

  I hope she still knows. I hope she carried that with her.

  I ran my fingers over the still drying ink, smearing a few words before I blew over the paper, tucking it back into the book.

  The woman would be here in about an hour, delivering a tray heavy laden with food and taking these notes back out with her.

  Just like Kaye and I had done for so many years.

  Although, this woman remained a mystery to me. Just as everything else did.

  Laying back in my bed, I wrapped my arms around the book, closing my eyes as I let sleep take me, willing it to come even if only for a moment.

  Willing it to take me right to her.

  In the only place I could reach her.

  21

  There was only one time a day that the light from the window stretched far enough to reach my bed, to fall over my face and arms in a warmth that no blanket could replicate.

  Allowing the warmth to wrap over me, I lay still, eyes closed in a calm contemplation as I attempted to transport myself to the beach that had become my safe haven over the last few months.

  It was a beautiful addition to my fantasy, this brief moment of sun. As realistic as my dreams were there was always something missing, something real. Even though Joclyn wasn’t here in this moment, it was still real.

  The warmth.

  The smell of the flowers the book woman always brought.

  The beautiful passion that I felt in my longing.

  I had learned to love that too, if only because it made me feel a little bit more real.

  The warmth began to leave and I opened my eyes, stretching my hands toward the beam of sun that fell over the edge of the bed. The light made weird shadows over my skin as the curtains billowed in the slightly rancid heater air. Light and dark swirls danced over skin as the light began to fade, the warmth leaving along with it.

  Still, I did not move.

  Perhaps it was depression, perhaps it was loss, but I had no will to move, not that I had anywhere I could go.

  At least before when I was fully restrained I had Kaye, this tiny little girl who lived in the rafters and brought scraps of food for us to share.

  Now there was no one, no one but the nameless woman who brought food and books. There were days she wouldn’t even speak to me, days she couldn’t even look.

  It was better to lay here, to wait for the sun to drift over my skin, and for sleep to take me to the place I really wanted to be. To lay and work on finding a way out of here. There had to be one.

  I just haven't found it yet.

  But I would.

  The thought gave me strength and I felt my back straighten, bones and muscles tensing as determination and hope flared in my heart.

  The creak of the door sounded behind me, the sound of rusty hinges a soft whisper before gentle feet stepped into the room, each step hesitant. I didn’t even turn, I just lay still, staring at the window. I waited for the sound of the tray against the table, for her whisper of thanks as she switched out the books.

  Neither came.

  The steps continued as they stepped around the bed, the slow gate of the motion flaring a deeper fear inside of me.

  Had I paid attention to the steps, I would have recognized his approach. I would have recognized the tap of his leather shoes. I would have expected to see the blonde crop of his hair and the dead pierce in his eyes.

  I would have braced for it.

  But now, the appea
rance of the Russian filled me with a sickly combination of stubborn defiance and dread.

  The emotions raged as I sat up, fighting against the ankle restraints as I propped myself up against pillows and headboard. His irritating little grimace grew at the defiance I shot his way.

  This time, it didn’t seem to affect him. He only stood beside my bed. His hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels, his smile growing.

  The look he gave me turned me to ice, but not as much as the two words that followed.

  “Ilyan Krul,” He said, the slime in each syllable turning the little secret that I had hidden so well into noxious fumes that dripped in the air.

  His smile widened at the taunt while mine dripped from my face, tensing in my jaw and wiping away any sign of the disenchanted man that occupied the bed.

  “What do you want?” The answer gave him exactly what he wanted, but any answer did. I did not know how he had discovered me, or if the woman with the books had simply ratted me out, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Nothing but the way he was looking at me.

  If I was going to find a way out of here, now was the time. Magic or not, I couldn’t wait any longer.

  “I want what everyone else what's,” he sneered the triumph in his voice making my stomach turn. “I want the woman from Prague. I want the Oheň.”

  I hesitated, watching him as the exhilaration of a hunted prize colored his eyes, the look becoming that much more frightening as the light from day continued to dim, the sun leaving the windows in a red hue as it set.

  “I do not know where she is.” It was the first honest thing I had said to him, and I couldn’t be more happy of the truth behind them.

  His response, however, screamed of anything other than the failure I had presented him with. He rocked on his heels, his shoulders shifting as his hands did, the motion making it clear he was hiding something behind his back.

  Every muscle rippled through me at the motion, putting me on high alert. Shackles creaked as I shifted, my hands balling into hard rocks against an equally hard mattress as I prepared for the emotional and physical blows that were inevitably coming.

  “Do you really think it is wise to lie to me?” He asked, the hostility in his eyes tensing my muscles further.

  “I’m not…”

  “I already know you are looking for your mate,” the way he said the word made my stomach turn, and I shifted my weight, ankles pressing against the restraints as though I would suddenly be able to break free. “This… Joclyn is it? Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

  “You…”

  “Ah-ah,” he stopped me, his features shifting to condescending mockery as he stepped closer to me. “You already gave me the keys to find her. To find you…”

  “How?” I growled, the word barely a question. I already knew, after all.

  I already knew.

  Clenching my teeth as tight as I could, I kept my temper at bay, something that was proving to be much easier without the flood of magic behind it.

  His smile grew as the paper he had been hiding behind his back was thrown at me. I recognized it at once, the letter one I had written to a journalist in Paris, near one of the many tunnel openings and close to a safe house Wyn had used for centuries.

  It had instructions on how to find the house, and written in tiny Czech at the bottom was a letter to Joclyn.

  I love you, my darling. Never forget.

  “You led me right to her, you know. To this little house in Paris, the place was empty. Forgotten. But now we know. Now we will find her.”

  Shackled clattered as I jerked toward him, ready to rip him limb from limb. My hands reached in vain, my thoughts pulling toward my non-existent magic as I flailed in desperate need to reach him. To hurt him.

  Anything to protect her.

  Unfortunately, all I had was words, “If you even get near her…”

  “You will lunge through the air?” He mocked, interrupting me. He laughed at his own joke, the cold cruel sound cutting through the air like ice.

  “Accept it, Ilyan,” he said, the use of my real name twisting through my gut. “You can’t reach me. You can’t even escape that bed. If you had any of the power these pictures show you would have done it already, you would have murdered me.”

  He leaned in close, driving his point home, like an iron barb right into my heart. I refused to move, refused to shimmy away from his proximity. I would not give him that, no matter how true his words might be, I would not back down.

  “You have nothing,” he said with a sneer, his yellowed teeth far too close for comfort. “And neither does she.”

  I could feel the shiver threaten my spine at the threat, feel the cold fear drip over my skin. As soon as it was there, however, it had gone, replaced by the power of my own warning.

  “You are wrong,” I said, the strength in my voice catching me off guard, I could almost feel my magic spark inside of me at the strength. “I will do nothing. I do not need to. She, however, will destroy you.”

  His smile faltered as the humor was wiped from his face. As much as he tried to keep it there, however, it continued to slide away, his own fear replacing it with each word I spoke.

  “You have seen the photos. You have heard the stories. You may think you know what she is capable of, but you don’t. Not really. She can walk in here, stop every bullet, kill every man…”

  “Does she stop bullets as well as you did during your ill-fated escape?’ The question was a chuckle, but I plowed right on, refusing to let him take control of the conversation.

  Refusing to let him deflate me.

  “And destroy you in less time than it would take you to blink.”

  He blinked.

  The exaggerated motion was a clear mockery of everything that I had said. Perhaps it was. She was not here after all, she was not on her way to save me.

  As much as I knew she could destroy them if she found them, and would in her attempt to reach me, I also did not know if they had been successful in finding her. I did not know the world that lies outside of these walls.

  The only consolation was that the Republic did not have all of the information. They did not know the outcome of Nastya’s testing. If they did, I did not know if Joclyn would be able to combat that.

  “I would like to see that.” He said with a smile, the drip of warning that seeped from his voice making me shiver.

  “Then keep looking for her,” I said, letting my confidence bubble to the surface as I sat up straighter, the restraints around my ankles pulling awkwardly as I attempted to posture him.

  “You can rest assured we will.” He smiled and stepped back, pulling the clipboard from the hook on the wall, looking very much like your everyday doctor.

  “Then lie in confidence of your impending death.” The words were strong, the warning clear.

  He stood facing me, jaw tight before a tiny pop filled the room, the shrill sound bursting against eardrums as two people materialized between the foot of my bed and the heavily guarded door.

  I stared at them, not believing what I was seeing as both my wife and my brother appeared before me in a mass of dark hair and swirling magic.

  The Russian was not even able to gasp in surprise before he fell to the ground, crumpling in a heap that was heard not seen.

  I could not see it, for I was only looking at her.

  “Mi Lasko,” I gasped as I tried to shift my weight, as I tried to shift toward her.

  I had never felt so trapped.

  “Ilyan!” Her voice was a wave of power, the strength crippling me into a million emotions.

  My face grew hot as tears threatened, the emotional release breaking through with unabashed fervor as I reached for her, glad when she reached me first. Her arms wrapped around me as she lunged into my arms, head burrowing into my neck as her hair billowed around me.

  She felt the same as my dreams.

  She smelled the same as my dreams.

  She was the same. Except this wasn’t
a dream. This was real.

  “Joclyn,” I gasped into her hair, my heart swelling as I turned into her, turned into the familiar smell of roses and smoke, into her and pressed my lips against her for the first time in years.

  Her skin was hot, it burned against me, but the spark was gone, the connection was gone.

  My magic was gone.

  I wasn’t the only one to notice it.

  She turned toward me, pulling away just enough to look at me, her hands cupping the sandpaper growth on my chin. She looked at me intently, the look in her eyes making it clear she was attempting to speak into me, right into my mind, as we had before. But there was nothing, nothing but the intense gaze of her silver eyes, nothing but the pool of tears.

  “It will be okay,” I whispered, trying to ease the fear that had quickly taken over her. “It will be okay.”

  I didn’t know how to fix it, I didn’t know how to return the magic as I had been told I could. But, as Ryland’s anxious hissing near the door was pointing out, now wasn’t the time to figure it out.

  “They are headed right for us,” he gasped, a wall of yellow bursting from his hand as he shielded the door. “We need to go now.”

  The powerful man before me was so much different than the scared and broken boy I had last seen.

  Staring at him, at Joclyn, as she too prepared to fight, made me realize just how much time had passed, how much had changed.

  How much they had grown.

  There was an ache that ran through me, pushing against my heart in a longing for the lost time, for the disconnect that was threatening. The emotion was only there for a moment, the passion stronger as it filled me with a pride, with a connection to both of them.

  “Ilyan’s magic…” Joclyn whispered, her intense stare igniting my soul before she turned toward Ryland. “His magic is gone.”

  “Causing problems already, brother?” He asked with a smile, his focus clearly on the footsteps that had begun to pound through the hall, his fingertips sparking in eager anticipation.

  “No problems here,” I sighed, throwing the blankets back, “but I might need a little help.”