Crown of Cinders (Imdalind Series Book 7) (17 page)

His hand was so cold, so stiff that I feared he was already gone. Ice gripped my heart at the possibility. Then I became thankful when his focus drifted away from the ceiling. The slight movement of his eyes was enough, although I was confident he did not see me.

“I’m here, Dramin,” I whispered, my face burning. I didn’t think I was getting enough oxygen. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Fine, then,” Míra hissed from behind me, and Ilyan’s panic slapped against my gut. “You won’t have to.”

“No!” Ilyan yelled, and my magic rushed to my heart as the barrier broke, as the reason for Ilyan’s panic became clear.

I turned, expecting a battle, knowing she couldn’t win against the two of us. However, there was nothing except the red-tinted grin of her smile and the sound of a faint pop. The girl pulled herself across the worlds, away from us, and into a stutter to who knew where.

As I stared at the now empty room, at Ilyan who stood as confused as I was, at Wyn who sat crying in the corner with Thom’s head in her lap, everything felt hollow.

I knew I should be scared about where she had gone. I knew I should care, but I couldn’t, not with Dramin’s hand still wrapped in mine. Not with the look of hopelessness and sorrow Ilyan was already fixing me with.

I turned back to my brother, my heart rate escalating further. Everything in my stomach beat and swelled and pulsed so much it was starting to hurt.

Healing magic wound throughout him, stitching skin back together and restarting organs, but I already knew it wasn’t enough. Even with magic, I doubted he could survive what had been done to him. His magic had been dead for months, just as he would be before the sun fully rose over the red-tinted sky.

“Joclyn,” Dramin gasped, his voice a scarce breath from under the blood filling his mouth. It trickled from the crease, and Ilyan wiped it away as he came to sit beside me, his leg pressing against mine.

“Uncle.” The word no longer seemed right, so I shook my head as I clung to his hand, leaning closer. “Brother, my brother, I’m here.”

The words were as strong as I could make them, knowing it was not enough. It didn’t say enough. It wasn’t loud enough. I wasn’t even sure he could hear me.

He stared past me, into the sky, as though I were nothing more than air between him and wherever he was going.

“You’re my brother,” I sobbed, trying so hard to get the courage to say what needed to be said. “I’m here … I’m … I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

I paused, everything closing up in my throat as I felt Ilyan’s arms wrapping around me, his head pressed against my shoulder.

I’m here, Jos. I’m right with you.
His voice was calm, soothing, filling me from within. The words were simply for me, yet I thought they were meant for Dramin, as well.

“Jos?” Dramin gasped, his voice odd and distorted as he continued to look beyond me.

I squeezed his hand, leaning over him in an attempt to get him to look at me, to get him to see, but it was as though I was invisible. I was gone, just as he was leaving. He didn’t even squeeze my hand in return.

“Dramin?” I could barely get the one word out.

“You are the most beautiful queen,” Dramin panted, blood trickling down the side of his mouth as he tried to force the words out. Everything came out broken and strangled. “I am so honored to be your brother.”

“You are my brother, the best I have had.”

He laughed at that, although it was pained.

“Always be what you are. Always be …” More blood dripped from his lips with each word.

I waited, knowing there was more. But none came.

None ever came.

I had seen death so often in movies. I had been around death so much over the last few years you would think I would be numb to it by now. That I would be used to it.

I wasn’t.

I never would be.

Pain ripped through my chest so intensely I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. I froze, my hand tightening around his as Dramin’s eyes drifted away to stare at whatever beautiful thing he had seen, his soul leaving to find it. Leaving us all in the calm silence that ripped me open.

My heart turned to ice as that iron cage I hated so much snapped around it.

“No,” I gasped, part of me still not daring to believe. Still expecting a cough, a gasp, a gurgle of blood, and some Míraculous recovery.

There was nothing. Nothing but my tears and Wyn’s tears as she rushed over to us.

I was left to wonder for an eternity what he had been about to say, wondering for an eternity what he had been staring at, where he had gone. Left staring at a man whose heart had beaten so long and loved so much and was now quiet. Part of me wondered if I would ever learn to love as much as he could. As much as he had.

The laugh that was always ready, even in the worst situations, was gone forever. Part of me had been swept away alongside him.

Kneeling on that old stone ground, Ilyan’s arms around me as he cried with me, his own heartbreak matching mine, our two emotions weaving into a desperate pain, I couldn’t move. I sat, clutching a lifeless hand of a brother I didn’t get nearly enough time with, of a family I had always wanted and I had so suddenly lost.

Dramin’s hand fell from mine as I turned toward Ilyan, his hands warm around mine.

Mid-sob, I stopped, turning toward my brother at the swell of his magic that filled the room. I expected to see him staring, to see him sitting, but he was still. Nothing but the ripple of his power as it drifted from his body in a fog that flowed over the ground away from us, twinkling in the red light of dawn.

All that remained of my brother moved away from us in the faintest line of white in the air, the relics of his magic visual as it glistened and glittered. It seeped inside the walls, moved past the windows and out into the air, the bright red of the sky swallowing him whole as he left to find his wife, to find his children, to find the rest of our family.

“I hope you find your way home, my old friend,” Ilyan whispered from beside me, the simple words slamming into my chest, bringing around a fresh round of tears.

I fell forward, over my brother, caught by Wyn. The strength of her arms pulled me into her as she hushed and hummed like the mother she really was.

I lay there, sobbing, thinking of all the people we had lost.

It wasn’t fair.

This needed to end.

“I’m going to kill him,” I sobbed, my voice seething through the tears.

“Edmund?” Wyn asked, brushing my hair behind my ear.

“No,” I said, moving to sit before turning to face the two of them, my pain quickly moving into anger. “Edmund is dead. But Sain … Sain is going to pay for this, for all of it.”

No one said anything. No one had to. They were all stuck in the same paralyzing moment, all in agreement of the proclamation I had made. We had all made the same one at least once. I knew it wasn’t my first time.

A million questions ran inside my mind as the agony of loss fueled them. I stayed quiet, for as the sadness tried to take me, another voice was added to the tears of those around us, one that I hadn’t heard since we had entered this godforsaken city.

From the voice came questions, and they ended in a panicked yell.

“Wyn? Ilyan? Hello? Help!”

As one, we turned toward the other side of the room, toward the man part of me had already counted for dead, assuming Míra had done away with him, as well.

“Thom?”

T
he three men
shivered before me, their bodies construed on the floor in poor attempts of a bow. They quaked with every step I took before them, the sound of my footfalls loud in the hollow expanse of the hall. The echo of the void made everything louder. I could even hear them breathe in sharp little inhales that accentuated their panic.

“This is a grand hall.” My voice was a loud snap as I continued to pace, sidestepping a large pool of still damp blood that remained from the massacre of a few days ago. “I remember when it was carved out. Three skilled Trpaslíks stood in the large cavern we now use as a walkway, their magic pulsing, moving, melting the rock. That was before the fire magic was lost to your kind. That was before any of you were born …”

I ended with a laugh, the loud, disreputable sound barking inside my chest in a pleasant ripple, echoing against the hollow room with a ridge of danger that was not missed by the three men.

They shivered all the more, curling their spines into themselves as if that could somehow save them.

I laughed harder. Nothing could save them. They would understand the punishment for defying me soon. Then death would find them. I had a job for them first, however.

“I was alive, though,” I continued, the laugh ending with a snap, the rough edges of my voice hard against the rocks. The entire room trembled underneath it, underneath my anger. “I saw it all. I was here when they carved the hall, when they protected the deep wells of magic. It was my magic that they cowered beneath, much the same way as you do now.”

They shivered more. Georg even shifted his weight, pulling his body back again in a desperate attempt to get away from me. Not that I blamed him. I could feel his magic pulse in fear, the strong barrier I had placed over them still restraining his power.

“It was in this room that I ruled. In this room, I was king. It seems fitting I put my throne in this room. I much prefer this one to the old wooden ones they gave us before,” I mused as I left the floor they cowered on, jumping lithely onto the raised stage of the old council room. “They were so bland, so boring.
Wood
,” I scoffed. “Nothing more than a chair your grandmother would knit in. They were supposed to show how humble we were, how much like you.”

The large metal coffers lining the back of the stage erupted to life as I approached them. Brilliant orange flames jumped to life, igniting the dark stone of the stage in streams of color and casting the massive throne I had made for myself in lines of light and shadow.

Bones.

Hundreds of bones. Ripped from the bodies of those who fought and lost. Many of them still glistened with the blood of their former owners. Glistened with the loyalty they held toward Edmund. The loyalty that had ended in their deaths.

The loyalty had been reduced to a place for the king they should have worshiped to sit.

White and red, it rose out of the black stone in twisted lines, rib cages intertwined with arms and legs, fingers stretching over the arm rests, curling over bones.

And above it all, a blackened skull. The fractured remains of a burned king, his eyes nothing more than hollow sockets, chipped teeth of yellowed ash protruding from a slack jaw, opened in an eternal scream.

“I am not like you,” I continued, my back to them as I moved toward the massive structure, a smile stretching over my teeth. “I never have been, and I will no longer pretend to be.”

Blood-soaked cloak rippling behind me, I sat, sinking into the oddly comfortable structure.

Running my fingertips over the bones of the throne, I sighed, enjoying the oddly gritty texture of the skeletal remains. The smooth, almost rock-like surface was familiar and pleasant, made even more so by the vibration of magic that always lived deep within the marrow. I could feel it in the long femur that stretched over the armrest. My elongated nails tapped against the knucklebones, the tiny bones placed like studs against a seam of fabric, binding them together in infamous beauty.

“I am sure you have questions,” I began, shifting the subject as I continued to drum my fingers over the bones of the chair. “About why you are here, I mean. About why I have called for you.”

They continued to tremble as I spoke, their hearts pounding so loudly I could hear their faint echoes in the silence of the dead room. Fingers twitched, backs quivered, yet none of them said anything. They cowered in fear, their panic increasing my joy.

I smiled. How could I not with the way they shivered?

“Yes … yes … my king …” Alojz finally answered when it became obvious I was waiting for a response, his fear-swollen tongue barely able to get the words out.

“It’s quite simple. You see, whispers have been floating around Imdalind, whispers about you three.”

Allowing the ominous depth of my words to drift into nothing, I sat, listening to their dread of discovery beyond the still hush of the cave. The fear tightened their backs as they began to shift, long glances unhidden as they contemplated if they should fight, if they should run, or if they should face me with bravery that I was positive, until this moment, they’d had no doubt of.

“Whispers about you and your loyalty.” The lie left my tongue with rancid honey and vinegar, the disdain masked by a false sense of security I could tell was not enough.

I would have to play their game if I wished to gain their trust.

“Rise.”

As one, they stood. My wicked smile faded before they could catch a glimpse, the shrouded truth of what they had walked into hidden by a look of piety.

“We live to serve you,” Alojz whispered, his head bowed in reverence, a smile shoddily hidden beneath the long curls of his beard.

“Serve.” I repeated the word to myself, the thinly veiled disbelief hidden under my breath.

It was all lies. Lies I was already eager to strip them of. They lived to serve no one but themselves, no one but the man I had already destroyed.

Heavy emotion rippled over me, tensing my muscles and twisting my stomach in eager anticipation. My soul called for the crimson blood of the three to wash the floor now and not to wait.

With their eyes focused on me, I stood, letting the blood-soaked robe fall around me like the cloak it had become.

“Damek has assured me that your skills are beyond compare, that your loyalty toward me has grown beyond what your kind is capable.”

Despite my kind words, a hint of danger infected them, poison dripping from each syllable. It was not something that was missed.

As I sprang from my podium, the blood cloak rippled behind me with the sound of a loud
crack
.

“Is this true?” I asked as I circled behind Bronislav, my voice a cool chill in the harshness of the winter we were trapped in.

Bronislav shivered under the pressure. Each of the others glanced at him in fear, the reality of what was happening hitting them.

The wave of my magic smothered them with the deep emotion I was convinced they had thought they had escaped.

Layer by layer, I stripped away their pathetic securities, leaving them bare and exposed. The temporary calm I had given them before was nothing more than a cruel joke now, a joke I was certain they would kill to have returned.

“Yes, my king,” the elderly man whispered.

“Good.”

Withdrawing my magic enough that the lies of safety and stability could find their way past again, I stopped before them, my spine tingling in exhilaration for the trap I was about to set.

“My sight has shown me the greatness that I am to rule. It has shown me what you will become and what I am to command. It has shown me a death, a single death that will lead to this, and the bravery of the three who will bring it to me.” I paused, my smile struggling to remain hidden before I continued on. “I have seen you three within the walls of Prague. I have seen you in battle, and together, I have seen you destroy Ilyan Krul, the usurper who has kept our races controlled for centuries.”

The fear they’d had before left in a breath. A gasp escaped Georg whose eyes were so wide I didn’t think he would ever be able to close them again.

“I have seen you behead the would-be king of the Skȓíteks and deliver the dripping monstrosity to me. I have watched us all indulge in his still beating heart.”

Open glances passed between the three as anticipation grew, everything from before forgotten as I handed them their archenemy on a platter.

They had been trained to think of him as such, and that brainwashing ran so deep it even trumped the need for revenge that had fueled them to date.

“In a few days’ time, I will be re-opening the pits. I will be recommencing the promotion battles for the Chosen and letting the blood flow again. In the pits, we will present this delicious gift to the masses, and you will be the ones to do it.” Perhaps it was wrong to lie, but with the excitement on their faces, it didn’t matter. Also, I didn’t care. “I need you to make that happen.” Glaring at Alojz as I spoke the last few words, I let the possibility of the scene play into his ego.

Feet shuffling in eagerness, eyes wide as glances passed between them, they stood. The awe of having escaped the wrath they were convinced they would meet mixed perfectly with the future I had displayed before them.

The chess pieces moved forward.

“You have seen all this?” Alojz asked, his eyes narrowing at me.

I jerked, not liking the way he questioned me, not liking the depth of his eyes as they bore into me. It was the same as Ovailia, that smug power I had no interest in seeing.

He had no power.

Just as she had no power.

No matter how many fires they put out.

The others looked at him in confusion, obviously not understanding why he would question such a gift as this. Their own need for Ilyan’s death drowned out their better logic.

Alojz was wiser than I had assumed, it seemed.

My own silent warning met his dead-on. Eyes narrowing, I took a step forward, my silent threat understood.

“My king.”

But obviously not in its entirety.

I wasn’t a fool. The well-kempt man wasn’t asking if I had seen this; he was asking how deeply I was able to see.

I smiled, careful to keep the wicked gleam out of my eyes. The wide grin portrayed a calm comfort that was almost more perverse than letting the warning glare through my eyes. “Bronislav,” I said, still not letting my eyes drift from Alojz’s. “Come here.”

I could see Bronislav hesitate out of the corner of my eye, his jaw slack as he looked between Alojz and me. The former returned his look in confusion. I still did not look away from the man before me. His own confusion spiraled into fear as the older Trpaslík finally moved to join me.

“I wasn’t going to do this,” I said with a sigh, removing a small leather pouch from the pocket of my worn and baggy jeans, “but seeing as Alojz needs proof of what is to come …”

Without warning, I reached forward, grabbing Bronislav’s hand and pouring a small amount of the liquid from the pouch over his skin.

On contact, he began to scream, the powerful magic in the water burning through him. Meanwhile, I felt the cool comfort of the liquid, my sigh of contentment lost under the sound of Bronislav’s screams.

“Black Water,” I announced, my voice distant as I felt my magic begin to connect with it. The powerful wave of sight moved into me as my magic connected with his reality, with his fate. “The true power of the Drak. The power that shows me everything.”

Blinking, my eyes drifted to black.

The gasp of shock and fear from Georg and Alojz was a whisper before sight took me completely, before images of Bronislav’s life passed before me.

Flashes of children running and playing.

Flashes of his bonding ceremony.

Flashes of his future.

Watching it all, I hoped for some sign of what was to come, for some hint as to what my path could be. However, Bronislav held nothing, merely flashes of their meetings, flashes of each failed attempt to trap me, and finally, of his death. Of his head rolling over the dirt pits of the battlegrounds, blood spraying over the battle that surrounded him.

It was as I had planned, but he would not live to see the culmination of that battle. He knew nothing of the outcome, of my victory.

His sight was useless to me.

“His blood will flow over your hands,” I forced the words out with the hollow sounds of the Drak, the sight’s ominous roar following the false words. “Your banner will be golden, your future as bright as the glint it brings.”

I pulled my hand away from him, leaving him still gasping in pain as the other two watched me, their faces muddled with anticipation and horror.

“You will be one of the greatest of your kind,” I said directly to Bronislav as the old man stared at me with tears in his eyes, clutching his hand to his chest. “Go seek out Damek; have him wrap your hand. Your preparation for the accomplishment to come begins now.”

My focus drifted back to Alojz, the man’s face now a stone mask, the fear clear.

I couldn’t stop the smile. I couldn’t stop the wicked gleam from moving over my face, the malice so clear he flinched.

Still, I didn’t look away. I let the glare seep into the defiant man before me as the echo of the door Bronislav left through reverberated around us.

“Georg,” I said, holding my hand out to him in expectation, my fingers waggling like I was going to give him a sweet.

“My king,” Georg began, his voice quiet as he took a step away from me, “I do not wish to know my sight … I believe you … I do not question your power.”

Alojz flinched at Georg’s insolence, his own fear clear as my focus snapped away from him, going right to the cowering man beside him.

The man pulled at his long beard in nervousness.

“Georg.”

A snap, a steady hand, a glare, and the man stepped forward, shaking from head to toe as he placed his hand in mine.

His scream became a loud echo as I splashed the water over his hand. A large amount covered his palm, drifting up his wrist in a burn that would haunt him until I removed his life.

While I gasped in ecstasy, my magic connected with his soul, feasting on the sights of his past, of his future. Letting them run over me, I watched his youth, watched him lust after a woman I had seen several times before. Watched him kill many Skȓíteks in battle.