Crown of Cinders (Imdalind Series Book 7) (38 page)

“Two can play this game,” I taunted, magic surging as I pushed myself into the black of a stutter.

His yell of surprise followed me into the void as I appeared behind him with a
pop
, a smile spreading wide as my magic surged. I slammed my hand into his back, right behind his heart. One sharp point of magic moved into him before he could stop me, the dagger of my energy cutting into bones and lungs to reach his heart, to rip into it.

I could feel his blood pulse against my magic as it invaded him, his own power attempting to retaliate as he gasped in pain. The sound of his desperate inhale was beautiful, but as useless as any chance of retaliation.

“You end now,” I whispered into his ear, wrapping my free arm around his waist as I held him still, his body shaking with pain as I held him against me.

With one tap of my fingers on his back, the magic that had already stabbed into him erupted. The tiny sliver of my power turned into a bomb, a powerful blast that ripped into muscles and flesh, tearing his once proud organ to shreds in a detonation that shot through his chest, heart, and bones.

Blood sprayed from him in a fan of red and white that painted the stone wall before us as though it was a canvas. Bits of him dripped from the stone as another
boom
shook the cave. Everything began to give way, boulders falling around us as everything started to collapse.

When I released him, Ilyan fell to the ground, his body a lifeless heap of bones and flesh, all that was left of his life covering the stone he would be buried under.

“Take your own advice, Ilyan: regret nothing,” I hissed as I stared at him, feeling the icy water of the river spray over my back as yet another piece of the cave fell into it. “We both should have learned that long ago.”

I turned from him, ready to stutter out of this graveyard and into freedom. A freedom I have never had. A freedom I never thought I could obtain.

But nothing felt right anymore now that he wasn’t here. Nothing felt like the freedom I was searching for was supposed to.

It felt dead, my soul as lifeless as his, my muscles a tense pain as the weight of what had just happened, of what I had just done, hit me.

Of what I had lost.

Ilyan had been the only one to believe in me, to shelter me in my misery… in my loss. And when he had needed me, I had destroyed him.

I already knew. This action I would regret.

“Regret nothing,” I whispered again, willing the words to be true as I turned back toward him right as another stone fell around him, so close it almost crushed him.

“Regret nothing!” I practically screamed, running toward my brother as the ceiling began to come down on top of us, burying us both.

The sound of the stone was a reverberation in my soul as the world turned to nothing but blackness, my vision only stone, my skin covered in the icy cold of water.

I wasn’t even sure if I had made it.

“
W
e should stargaze
,” I whispered, nestling into Ilyan’s collarbone as the water splashed against my toes. “Should we come back tonight when it’s not so hot and see what we can find?”

“You mean the constellations?” Ilyan asked in his deep Czech accent, running his hand over the bare skin on my shoulder.

“Yes,” I gasped, my voice shaking under the gentle tickle of his touch.

“I believe, if I am not mistaken,” he whispered, “that our constellations are different than yours.”

“No Orion?” I asked in shock as I sat up and leaned over him, his long hair spread out around him.

“We have an angry Trpaslík by the name of Brunard.”

“Close enough,” I sighed as I sunk back down next to him, the sand suddenly feeling cold against my skin, the air like ice.

I gasped at the change, an outburst that went unnoticed by Ilyan. He only sighed and held me closer, the dream shattering.

I lay there, nestled against him, everything growing tighter and more uncomfortable as the chill departed, leaving me again in the warm sun. Although, this time, I was aware of where I was and what was happening.

“Do you think we will ever find each other again?” he asked, wiggling his hand through the sand to find mine.

“I hate when you ask that,” I told him, turning away from the boiling heat of the sand to face him, his blue eyes already bright as he stared into mine. “It’s not like you. And it normally means that I’m going to wake up soon, and the dream will be over.”

Ilyan smiled sadly at me, but he did not respond. He only wiggled closer over the sand, moving until his body was flush with mine, his skin cold against the sunbaked heat I was plagued by. I tried to ignore the way my heart pulsed painfully at that, at the way my magic didn’t react to his proximity. It was a reminder that he wasn’t really there, and this wasn’t really a Tȍuha.

“I think you’ll find me again,” he said, his voice soft as he pressed his lips against my forehead.

My stomach swooped pleasurably from the contact, before the pain came. I closed my eyes against it, focusing on the touch, on the moisture of his lips, on the warmth, only to have it all disappear.

The weight of him, the scent of him—it all left as something pulled me out of my dream, leaving me lying on the beach as always, surrounded by the blanket of warmth that this part of France held at this time of year.

Everything was too warm. The sun was too warm. The sand was too warm. The heat was everywhere, surrounding me on all sides. Regardless, I didn’t dare move. I didn’t dare open my eyes and let reality wipe away the last of the dream. And part of me didn’t care. It was a good dream, the best I’d had in a while, and I was content to let it linger. Besides, lying here in the sand with the sun beating down on me and the sound of the waves and the birds was too comforting.

It was probably why I had fallen asleep.

Not that I minded.

That was why I was out here every day, sleeping, dreaming, refusing to move on, or so Wyn said.

I just wished it was as easy as that. I couldn’t move on. My soul wouldn’t let me.

Groaning, I rolled over onto my stomach, cringing as the sun-boiled sand pressed against the bare skin on my arms and legs.

“Ouch,” I groaned, letting my magic flare just enough to cool the sand, but not too much. Cold sand and warm sun weren’t a great combination, either. Trust me; I had tried it before.

“Aunt Joclyn!” a tiny voice screamed through the calm, shattering the illusion I had created and scaring one of the little seabirds that had parked himself in the reeds. The little red-breasted thing took off with a disgruntled tweet.

Still, I lay in place, my eyes closed as I listened to the quick, running feet joining the desperate pants of the child. I wasn’t foolish enough to open my eyes just yet. I had gotten a face full of sand before.

“Aunt Joclyn,” the tiny little boy said again, his feet carrying him right to me. As expected, he showered me in sand.

I wished there was a way to keep the darn stuff out of my nose.

Desperately huffing in an attempt to expel the sand, I sat up, wiping granules out of my face, facing the towheaded boy who was now laughing hysterically, his arms clutched around his middle.

“I got you!” he said in hysterics, stomping his feet in the sand.

“Oh! You think you got me, did you?” I teased, moving to my hands and feet as I faced him, seeing his humor fade almost immediately. “We’ll see about that.”

With a squeal from my adorable nephew, I tackled him to the ground, pinning him in the hot sand and tickling him. The boy squealed for mercy between his adorable, squeaky laughs.

“Aunt Jos,” he panted, barely able to get the words out between giggles. “Please!” More laughs. “Stop!”

“Stop?” I teased, only tickling him more. “You want me to stop, Cail? What is this nonsense?”

Cail giggled further, now desperate to wiggle away from me, his continued pleas only becoming more jumbled from his laughter.

“Aunt Jos!” he practically screamed between laughs. “Please!”

“Okay, okay,” I said, moving back to a sitting position, finally freeing the kid from the torture of tickling. “If you insist.”

Cail only rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a smile as his dark eyes twinkled mischievously. I knew that look. At five years old, he was already hungry for more. He was too much like his father.

“Do you really want to go again?” I asked, leaning forward and wiggling my fingers toward him menacingly. “Because I can go all day.”

“No!” Cail cried, wiggling across the sand away from me.

“Okay, I guess I’ll let you off the hook … this time.” I smiled at him, moving to lie down, but Cail jumped back to his feet, grabbing my arm and pulling.

“You can’t keep being a mopey loner, Aunt Joclyn!”

“Did you hear that from your mom?” I asked, affronted.

He ignored me.

“You have to come with me.”

“And why would I? I like being a mopey loner.” Ignoring his violent pulls against my shoulder, I lay back down, closing my eyes, content to stay here for the rest of the day.

“But you can’t,” Cail continued, whining now like the true five-year-old he was. “The king is here.”

Now my eyes snapped open—well, just one of them—as I peered at the kid from where I lay, his tiny frame all shadowed black from the sun behind him.

“You mean
Uncle Ryland
?” I asked, trying to retain the laugh at hearing Cail refer to his favorite uncle as “the king.” Even though he was, that was far too out of character for this kid.

“No, the king. Daddy says I have to call him king now, and that, if I don’t, Uncle Ryland … I mean … The king will get really mad and might even order his guard to cut off my head.”

This time, I couldn’t help laughing.

“First,” I said, standing to face Cail as I wiped the sand off my T-shirt and jeans, “your dad is just messing with you, as he does,” I added under my breath. “If you call Ryland the king, he might not be too happy.” I smiled at him before turning toward the large estate that was now home while Cail stood still, looking affronted for a moment before he ran to catch up to me.

“But he is the king …” he protested, obviously scared of what Ryland would do. I just ruffled his hair and kept walking, glad he was keeping up.

“He is, but his brother didn’t like being called king, either.” My heart tensed . I had said the sentence so simply I hadn’t even realized what I was saying until it was too late.

“The great Ilyan?” he asked.

I could only nod.

I hated that title. I had a feeling he would, too.

Cue more chest palpitations.

“Second,” I began, desperate to move the conversation away from that topic, “Míra isn’t going to cut off your head. And you better be nice to her …” I had a feeling she was going to become more than his guard before the end of the year. I never could have seen that coming.

“So …” Cail started to ask as we approached the towering manor, the old home set atop a stone ledge, just as Ilyan had built it, “if I call him Uncle Ryland, I won’t die?”

“You won’t die,” I promised, crossing a finger over my heart for good measure.

Cail looked up at me, pressing his lips into a tight line as he contemplated that before coming to a very stoic and difficult, judging by the look on his face, decision. A single nod of agreement was his lone sign of understanding.

After I returned his nod, we both turned toward the house to see Frain and Chyline, who stood near the base of the stone steps that led up it, the pair happily chatting with Míra. The beautiful woman stood in shorts, combat boots, and a tank top, looking more like a punk teenager than the badass guard she was. She laughed at something the Firsts said, her sheet of blonde hair shimmering with the movement.

“See?” I said, smiling at Míra as she turned and waved at us enthusiastically. The beautiful woman she had grown into certainly was one I was proud of. “Míra is not scary. Now get. And go bug your grandmothers. I am sure they have presents for you.”

Cail made a face at me before he took off to where the two older women welcomed him eagerly. They were always spoiling him a bit more than they should. Sometimes, I was worried he was too pampered. I guessed it was a good thing he had Thom as a dad.

That ought to keep him grounded.

“Hey, Míra,” I greeted as she walked up to me, her large boots slipping awkwardly in the sand. “Ryland’s already inside, I take it?”

“Yeah,” she answered, greeting me with her trademark hug and dual kisses, something I had never gotten used to, even after living in Prague for over ten years before we had found Ilyan’s house. “Something came up, and he needed Rinax’s opinion.”

“Oh?” I asked, surprised. “Is that the best excuse he could come up with for a visit? No one really needs Rinax’s opinion, you know.”

That man was far too grumpy for his own good, something Míra understood. She chuckled in agreement before looking sharply toward the inland, her eyes narrowing.

“It’s probably just a gull, Míra,” I said, knowing her protective tendencies, not just for Ryland, but for all of us. She had burned down one of the outhouses before, and I really didn’t need to repair anything else. It always got the villagers talking.

She didn’t seem to hear. She had already gone into full guard mode.

With a shrug, I left her, something she didn’t seem to even notice, and started up the stairs, following the clear pull of Ryland’s magic inside the house.

I had only made it halfway up the stairs before Wyn and Thom appeared at the door. Thom looked thoroughly entertained as he and Wyn laughed over something. I was already sure what it was.

“You need to stop pestering him, Thomas,” Wyn said with a barely concealed laugh, putting her hands on her hips and making her already protruding belly that much more noticeable. “If you teach him to be scared of every—”

“I’m not teaching him to be scared, Wynifred,” Thom retorted, shoving his hands in his leather jacket. “I’m teaching him to be a man.” He pounded his chest.

The whole thing was so ape-like that Wyn broke out into laughter, something that only seemed to upset her more.

Her laughter turned into quite a few spluttering sounds, her hands flailing like crazy before she half-screamed and stomped away, right down the stairs toward me.

I looked up at her then at Thom behind her. He was now making wild gestures of pregnant bellies and crazy ears. I would like to say his charades were a warning, but he looked so ridiculous I laughed, which Wyn did not miss.

She looked between Thom and me in increased anger before turning on me, wagging a finger in the air like an old man. “Don’t you dare tell me you had some part in this,” she scolded.

“No,” I said, not even trying to restrain the laugh anymore. “I told Cail his dad was full of it. That being said, you’ve gotta let those two figure stuff out. You keep shielding him, and they are gonna have issues. He’s got to figure out his dad is a loon.”

Wyn stopped two steps above me, her hands still on her hips, belly sticking out toward me. She stared at me, the angry pregnant woman slowly fading until a smile started to peek out.

“His dad is a loon,” she said, the smile taking full control now.

“Biggest one I know.” I took the last two steps as one, letting my arm drape over Wyn’s shoulders as I turned her back toward the house. “And you love him for it.”

“I do,” she sighed, love dripping from her voice as it usually did when she talked about Thom.

“Good,” I sighed, too, my stomach tensing from what I was about to say. “So, now let’s calm down, shall we? Let those pregnancy hormones take a break.”

“Joclyn,” she snapped.

I ignored her, plowing ahead as we moved through the large wooden double doors and into the grand tiled entry hall where Thom, who stood with a very dapper Ryland at the back of the room, looked up at the sound of our approach. Ryland smiled before going back to whatever conversation the two brothers were wrapped up in.

“If you don’t, I’m going to make you watch Firefly again,” I continued, keeping my voice down, although not by much. “I’ll even watch it with you.”

Now she laughed loudly and obnoxiously, her own arm winding around my waist. “Wait. Are you meaning to say that you are going to stop sleeping on the beach all day and living in the past?”

I probably deserved that dig after bringing up pregnancy hormones.

“I’m not living in the past,” I groaned, still foolishly trying to stay quiet. It
was
foolish, especially considering Wyn wasn’t even trying. She was going to drive this home. I wasn’t going to get away from this conversation that easily. “I’m following my soul.”

“Uh-huh,” Wyn said with a laugh. “You keep telling yourself that, and I’ll keep pretending that Styx isn’t considered classical music now.”

“Speaking of that …” I began.

“Of Styx?”

Ignoring her, I asked, “Why did you tell Cail I was being a ‘mopey loner’?”

“Because you
are
being a mopey loner!”

I opened my mouth to retort, but between Wyn’s wide smile and the deep burly laughs that echoed over the tiles, I was silenced. Ryland and Thom had left their conversation to join us. Thom smiled smugly, walking next to his much taller and much burlier little brother. The muscular man was dressed in a grey pinstriped suit, something that had become more common on him in the last few years. Always dapper. It would be a good look if he didn’t have that mischievous “kid in a candy store” look.