Crown of Cinders (Imdalind Series Book 7) (5 page)

Screams cut the startled silence as the blade glistened from his chest, the naked body of their master left disrobed.

I gave them no explanation. I said nothing more. In silence, I simply stepped toward the broken man, his blood shrouding me as I wrapped my hand around the blade that still protruded from his chest, the uneven rock strangely hot.

“Don’t worry,” I said, smile expanding as I glanced back out toward the captive audience. “He’s already dead. I killed him. I defeated him. As we will Ilyan in a victory that I will lead you to.”

Their cries of protest and fear echoed in my ears as my focus drifted back to Ovailia who stared at me, the same stiff jaw in place, her hands like rocks against her thighs.

“To victory,” I repeated to Ovailia, my focus on hers as I pulled the blade, cutting into ribs, lungs, and flesh, ripping Edmund open from breast plate to hip bone.

The already rotting and burned organs spilled out of him in a cascade of gray and red. A shower of the darkest crimson covered my legs, sliding over the stone as it flooded the faces of those who stood closest, the fear escalating as every question he had was answered.

A breath of silence filled the hall before the screaming began again, panic ruling them.

It was then, with the blood of their master over their face and his milky eyes staring vacantly into them, that they attacked.

Streams of color flashed across the air, hitting against the same shield as before. The gray stone of the cave was illuminated by the flash of anger as attack after attack flew through the air.

Then, with one look at Ovailia, hair sagging in front of my face in madness, I dropped the shield, letting the attacks fly right toward me, brilliant colors inches from taking my life.

They never hit me.

Instead, a spark of ability pressed me into the world underneath our own, letting me escape them in a seamless stutter. Reappearing with a tiny pop at the back of the large hall, the sound unheard over the eruption of violence that had taken over the space.

Hundreds of attacks still sped right toward where I had been, the air alight with color, each missing their mark and embedding themselves in the body of their former master.

Screams rent the air at the sudden shift of events. Trpaslík women ran to the aid of the man who had been mutilated by dozens of spells. More ran toward the door, the untrained Chosen cowering and whimpering against the walls in mad attempts to escape the fray.

Then everything stopped.

Frozen.

Silent.

Men stopped attacking. Women stopped crying. Chosen froze in pathetic cowers. And I alone stood in the back of the hall, laughing as my power infested them, freezing them in place. The sounds of fear were snuffed from the air as I placed each of them in a cage of my magic. No matter how much they fought, it wouldn’t allow them to move.

“Well, now,” I said, my steps heavy as I walked past them, weaving my way through the sea of large, frightened eyes as they watched me, the one thing that moved in a sea of stone. “That was quite the fit you all threw. Mind you, I don’t necessarily blame you. I can image your surprise. You thought me a pathetic weasel. And now I bring you the body of your tyrant. Now I hold you all with a power that even Edmund could not master.”

Fear dripped heavily in the air with each word, the emotion dangling in their eyes, clear in the labor of their breaths. It pressed against my soul, and I breathed it in with a sigh, letting it fill me, letting it fuel me.

Stepping onto the raised platform in silence, Ovailia stepped back with one sharp look from me, the warning obvious.

This was
my
show.

Two steps and I was to him.

Edmund’s body was already ripped apart, blackened, burned limbs thrown into the dark behind him with the force of the attack. Nevertheless, it was his skull I wanted. It was the head that still looked out at them all with a slack jaw and wide-eyed horror.

The skull that so many of them could not look away from.

With a wide smile, I scanned the crowd as I placed my foot over the skull of the once powerful king, watching the fear line their eyes as, with one swift movement, I crushed the man who had once crushed them.

“You can choose one master, and I suggest you choose wisely. If we wish to destroy Ilyan and take Imdalind for our own, we do not need someone who cannot see the dangers we are surrounded by. What we need is someone who can see the truth of what lies ahead, see all possibilities in our path. And I can see all.”

The words were perfectly placed, soothing little reminders of what I was and what I was capable of. They did not go unnoticed.

Those same eyes that looked so frightened of me before now looked between themselves in confusion and awe.

“I suggest,” I began, my voice a low warning as I began to pace before them, “that you consider your options carefully. You do not want to see what I can truly do. A little freezing trick is nothing compared to the true power of a Drak.”

I stood still in the center of the platform, my smile wide as I faced them, letting the fear mount as my magic did. The powerful force went unfelt as it wound through each of them, moving into them, infecting them.

Preparing them.

And then I released them.

“If you fight for me, then do it. Kill those who still bow to Edmund. Destroy those unworthy to stand in my presence.”

The sounds of anger, fear, and battle erupted again as the horde before me reanimated, bodies falling, spells firing.

Attacks sped toward me once again, simply to be deflected with a single thought. Beams of color and flame followed, falling to the ground like sand. One after another, they came until the war that was opening up before me began to shift, the line of good and evil fading.

And Trpaslík turned against Trpaslík.

My words had not gone unnoticed.

One by one, those who battled before me began to turn on each other. The war was no longer about who could destroy me, but on choosing which side to stand on. Choosing which side of the line you would claim as your own.

Laughing, I watched as the battle strengthened, body after body falling to the ground. Explosions sounded around me as the battle intensified, as they began to rip each other apart.

“Careful,” I whispered to myself, turning away from them with a grin. “You might get hurt if you don’t choose wisely.”

Kicking the shards of bone off the stone floor, I stepped away, grateful when Ovailia followed me, her own laugh clear in the scream-filled air.

“
A
re
you hoping to find something to kill?” I teased, increasing my gait in an attempt to keep up with Wyn. Knowing I had to be quiet. Being loud while we were outside the cathedral was not smart.

Wyn, however, seemed to be trying to make as much noise as possible. Even her footfalls were deafening.

“I’m not saying it would be a bad thing.” Her voice was a heavy mumble as she finally came to a stop.

Pulling a weathered and wrinkled map out of her back pocket, she consulted it, peering through the hole in her palm like it was some kind of periscope.

“If you want to use it like that, you should get a magnifying glass inserted.” I tried to ignore the way my stomach flipped and flopped at the imagery. Then I turned away, letting my magic flow over the darkened streets we were stopped in.

I supposed, if we were going to be loud and obnoxious, I should at least make certain we were as safe and guarded as possible.

“Don’t think that it hasn’t crossed my mind,” she said with a wink, pressing the mangled hand flat in the air. “But I worry it would mess up my magic, and it has such a pretty little circular array right now.”

I would grant her that. Whatever that blade had done to her hand had not only made it impossible for me to heal, but her magic flew around in new and, should we say, unique ways.

“Just conjure glass into it, and you’re all set,” I said absently, my focus two streets away on a Vilỳ that was picking through garbage.

Luckily, looking at Wyn’s map, our target was in the opposite direction. As long as I could keep her quiet, we would be good.

“I think that’s the best thing you have said all day,” Wyn hissed in an eager whisper, balling up the map then shoving it into the back pocket of her filthy jeans. Not like mine were much better. We were in desperate need of a washing machine. “Of course, then I couldn’t torment Jaromir and his angry, little counterpart. It’s so fun to make them squirm.”

I figured I would let that one slide and followed her into an alley ahead of us. Wyn was not a very big fan of Míra. Not that I blamed her. I had seen her killing Thom, after all. And while that was something I probably shouldn’t have shared with Wyn, I did also see her in the caves with Ilyan. I saw her with him, and he was still alive.

I knew there was something more to it. There had to be, considering the moment I had seen that one distorted sight with Ilyan and Míra in the cave, everything else had kind of turned off. The images from within Imdalind had become shadowed and broken or, even worse, nonexistent.

Everyone except Wyn had agreed it was worth keeping her alive. At least for now. It didn’t help that, after two weeks of waiting for the girl to slip up and go bat-shit crazy, Wyn’s trust level had reached an already extended breaking point.

“If I can’t torment them, then what’s the point?”

You would think the girl who had committed genocide and was somehow able to regain forgiveness would be a little more understanding.

“Not having a creepy hole in your hand?” I knew she wasn’t going to accept that.

In fact, she dismissed it with one irritated glance, sprinting away from me, darting behind a towering building and into one of the many dark alleys that littered the city.

Rolling my eyes, I started running, trying my best to keep quiet, only to have my foot land squarely in a crimson-tinted puddle I preferred not to imagine the origins of.

Liquid splashed up my leg, soaking through my already worn and frayed jeans. I shivered at the cold, wishing there were a way to wash them.

Perhaps I could convince Wyn to take a detour to a clothing store. Why was it always my pants?

“Great,” I grumbled more to myself than to the renegade I was chasing.

Shaking my leg like a dog during an enjoyable belly rub, I attempted to get as much of the liquid off as I could. However, it stayed put, staining me. The color was made that much more disgusting by the deep red light the city was bathed in, the looming shadows of the building drowning everything in purple and gray.

Purple and gray. The imagery seeped into me as my head began to spin, sight’s familiar swirl attempting to pull me down.

It wasn’t safe for me to let it take me completely, not here. Not when we were so exposed, not when night was so close.

Keeping control, I continued forward, letting the vision play over my reality in a shadow, the faded scenes running over each other.

A flash of light.

The explosion I had been encompassed in before.

The blood-filled rain.

Nothing here was new, something that normally would have irritated me. But, after the darkness and Míra’s twisted sight, I wasn’t going to dispel any of this as a recap.

Dramin had taught me that much, yet he was still being far too secretive about telling me more. Besides, you couldn’t stop a battle; you could only face the war. And the more information I had for that, the greater my chance of survival.

No, of everyone’s survival.

Stopping in the middle of the filthy street, I stared into the smoke-filled room of Imdalind I had seen a million times. I stared into the shifting atmosphere, the familiar blood and screams gone, replaced by the whimpers of a child.

The smoke began to dissipate as my heart rate accelerated, hoping I would see something this time.

I could hear Míra’s screams, but all I saw was fire. Nothing else was clear as an adult woman began to laugh, her voice oddly youthful as the smell of burned flesh hit me. The aroma was strangely familiar, as if I had smelled it somewhere before. But even the pile of death that Sain had forced us to dig into and dispose of had not carried the same power, the same familiar undertone.

This was something different.

“Water flows
.
”
My own voice said within the sight, the imagery leaving as I stared down the darkening street once more, heart galloping in my chest at a painful, unsustainable rate.

Joclyn?
Ilyan’s voice ripped through me the second I rejoined reality, his fear making it obvious I had blocked him from the vision again.

I’m fine,
I said, my internal monologue strained with emotional exertion.
I thought I might see something within Imdalind and Edmunds camp, but there was nothing. Again.
I was sure he could hear my disappointment, so I quickly added,
We are safe, although Wyn might be planning on killing Míra.
I hoped he would leave it alone.

That explains why your heart is moving like a motorbike.
His panic seeped into me, his magic following close behind. The powerful warmth filled me as my heart rate began to slow.
We need to do something about those two.

Míra and Wyn? I don’t think anything can be done until Thom is alive and well, and Edmund is declared dead.

Speaking of that …
Ilyan prompted, and my mind followed his perfectly as I took one step forward, turning into the alley where Wyn had already begun digging through one of the five large dumpsters there, making far too much noise for what was considered safe.

She’s still looking. We are at a clinic in the eighth district.

I had no sooner given Ilyan an update than Wyn threw a large box behind her, the glass-filled thing hitting against the stone wall behind her.

Maybe she was trying to get us killed.

I cringed, stretching my magic out into the city. At least I could feel if someone was coming before they got here. Even if she rang a gong, we should still be okay.

I looked around me at that, my magic strangely aware of the surly best friend who was still doing who knew what in the alley before me.

Stay safe
,
můj kamarád
.
I would be most upset if you did not return to me in one piece.
His voice was deep and sultry, his love a profound joy against my heart.

Sighing deeply at the comfort it gave me, I felt the stress of the unknown drift away.

I didn’t respond. I knew I didn’t need to. He was right there inside my mind, inside my heart. His love grew in response.

Pressing my hand against the gritty stone of the building Wyn had dodged around, I propelled myself forward, out of the pink light of sunset and into the black pitch of the alley. My eyes adjusted, my magic flaring simultaneously as the shadow of Wyn digging inside the dumpster became clear, the ghostly whispers of sight following right behind.

“Stabilize your foot, or you’re going to fall.”

Wyn looked up from her digging, her nose wrinkled in irritation before she did, in fact, stabilize her foot and go back to digging.

“It’s freaky, you know,” she said in obvious irritation, her focus back on the dumpster she was excavating, reading tiny vials and boxes before throwing them behind her into the dark alley. “That you can see everything.”

“If you think that’s freaky, you should
try
seeing everything.” I was well aware my retort didn’t make it above grumbly teenager status. “Then again, it is better than being stuck scavenging with someone who will reek of three-month-old cabbage and fish bones.”

“I guess I should be thanking you, then.” This time, the game was clear in her voice, the smile sparkling in her eyes as she shot me a sidelong glance.

“You should,” I taunted, playing along. “You should also be a bit quieter if you want to live.”

“Nah.” She didn’t even look at me as she threw yet another box behind her. “I’ve got my friend and some super-powered magic. We can take them.”

“But then you would owe me more once I save your ass,” I teased, leaning against the wall in feigned boredom, really hoping she would take my advice and shut up. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, even if I could take them all. “Being alive and not stinking is quite the tall order, especially for a queen.”

“I’m sorry.
You
would be saving
me
?”

I chose to ignore that.

“I accept gratitude in the form of allegiance, sword swearing, and of course, jewelry. Bowing will no longer suffice.”

The hint of a devious smile broadened over Wyn’s face, a small trickle of a laugh escaping as she jumped down from the dumpster to face me, a sagging bit of cloth clutched in her fist.

“I’m fresh out of jewelry, your majesty.” She seemed mournful, but there was something behind her eyes that set off alarms in my head.

What was she planning?

“It is most unfortunate. Would a hoodie suffice?” She lifted her hand then, the movement sending a wave of rot toward me.

Nose crinkling, I stepped away, horror filling me. “No!”

“What do you mean, ‘
no
,’ Jos?” Wyn whispered, careful to keep her voice low as she took a step toward me with what I was convinced had been a hoodie at some point held out toward me eagerly. “You love hoodies.”

“I love hoodies made of fabric, soft cotton … not rot and bug feces.” It was all I could do to keep the panic out of my voice. It wouldn’t take much for her to force that thing onto me, and Wyn was now matching me step for step in my effort to get away. And she was enjoying it, given the way her smile broadened.

“Get that vile thing away from me!” That time, my reaction was too loud, something we both noticed right away.

Each of us froze in place, waiting for the ugly hissing of the Vilỳs or some disgruntled Trpaslík to come around the corner after us, brought right to us by the sound.

Hoodie forgotten as Wyn extended it between us, we waited.

My magic flared as I stretched it around the streets, through the sky, looking for any sign that someone had heard. That someone was coming.

There was nothing. Not even a whisper, which was something that frightened me even more. This city was never this safe, not with noise that loud. The security of nothing was clear.

So, where were they?

“Boxes are okay, but screeching is not?” I asked, the reason for her audible battle becoming clear, the look in her eyes cementing it in place.

She wanted the battle.

I shouldn’t be surprised. It was a Trpaslík thing, one she was extraordinarily good at controlling. But with Thom still down for the count and us being unable to spar thanks to imminent explosions, she had been a bit cooped up.

I should have seen this coming.

“Wyn,” I groaned, “can we please not kill anyone this trip?”

“You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

“Last I checked, murder was pretty high up on the
Worst Things in the World
list,” I spat, my magic flaring violently as the revolting thing Wyn still held spontaneously combusted from within her hand, the dark alley igniting in brilliant orange light as my magic engulfed it. “Whoops.”

“Jos!” Wyn hissed, jumping away from the flames as she dropped the hoodie to the ground. “No fair. You burned my sacred offering to the queen of the Skȓíteks.”

“Is that what you were trying to pass it off as?”

“Some queen you are.”

I knew it was meant in jest. She was still smiling like it was. But I reacted the wrong way. The words cut me a bit too raw.

“Well, it does seem to be the consensus.”

“Eh,” Wyn said with a shrug before turning back to the looming pile of trash. “Don’t listen to ’em. They are the idiots for listening to a deranged old man who tried to kill you … and me … oh, and that whole pile of corpses—”

“That he brought back to life.”

“Don’t give me nightmares.” Wyn leaned against the trash can, a hand on her hip. “I mean, I used to kill people for a living and that …” Wyn paused, her eyes wide, before she forced a shiver, the exaggerated motion shaking her.

“What, you mean you don’t have them every night?” I tried to joke, but it had too much truth behind it. And, instead, it came out as an odd squeak that Wyn did not miss.

“We all do … about everything. I think that happens when you live underneath a sky the color of blood. It infects you somehow, like cabin fever. We should be happy we haven’t all gone crazy.”

I shot her a look at that, one eyebrow hiking up into the wisps of my hair, my brow pinching together as I tried to laugh, something she didn’t try to restrain.