Crown of Cinders (Imdalind Series Book 7) (9 page)

“Finally. I’ve been looking for you,” Ryland gasped out as he continued his sprint toward us, his shirt so soaked I expected him to remove it.

My stomach jerked uncomfortably at the memory attached to that thought, the imagery of Ryland removing his shirt too close for comfort.

Ilyan cleared his throat beside me, pulling me against him as a frown came upon his face.

I cringed, my stomach falling to my toes in embarrassment.

Ilyan’s thoughts weren’t on mine, though. They were on what we had been discussing. They were on his father as his eyes focused on his baby brother.

Ilyan hadn’t been Edmund’s solitary son.

I was a fool for not having remembered that. I had practically grown up in their house.

Well, in the kitchen, anyway.

I recoiled, the flash of a familiar face haunting my memory. Luckily, no one noticed. Everyone was far too focused on what was before them.

“We have a problem.” Ryland panted, his voice broken as he ran his hand through his hair, tiny droplets of sweat flying away from him.

“Unless it involves our father coming back from the dead to avenge us, I would say we have more important things to handle right now, little brother.”

Wow, Ilyan, subtle much?

I guessed he had already moved past guilt and into anger.

“No, I …” Ryland began before stopping short, his jaw swinging so low I was worried it would hit the ground like some old cartoon character. “Come back from the
dead
? You already know?”

“Well, Joclyn heard …” Ilyan began, stuck in autopilot before Ryland’s words caught up with him, smacking him in the face. “What do you know, Ryland?”

“Our father is dead.”

I stared at Ryland, my eyes wide as I attempted to remind myself how to breathe. For all I knew, I had been smacked in the chest.

“You know? But how?”

“I am really lost,” Ryland said, running his hand through his hair as he looked from person to person as if something on our faces would piece it together. His bewilderment grew.

“Don’t be daft, Ry,” Wyn scolded. Her sympathy had already been used up for the year, it seemed. Or maybe she no longer had any. It was hard to tell. “Jos and I overheard some Trpaslík henchmen talking about it—”

“And I just realized why Míra’s Štít is empty,” Ry interrupted her, his voice still raspy from attempting to catch his breath. “It’s not connected to anything. The other side … It’s gone. His magic is in her, and she has full control.”

If there were a time and a place for a staring match, this would be it.

None of us moved. We stood, frozen in the dark, staring at each other, the glowing orbs of the tents seeming like ominous enemies waiting to attack.

“Where is she?” Ilyan asked, the king coming out like a lion.

“I had Risha take her and Jaromir back to the hall with the healers. She can stutter.”

Ilyan jerked at the word. He probably would have run right to her if I hadn’t held him in place.

“So I am unsure what good it will do,” Ryland continued. “But I gave them orders not to let them out of their sight.”

My heart was once again trying to pound its way past my rib cage. I thought overhearing about my father’s witch burning was one thing, but even I could tell Ryland was spooked.

The accidentally-falling-into-a-pool-of-mud look was suddenly making sense.

“So it’s true, then.” Ilyan’s voice was little more than a growl. Even Wyn was on edge. I could taste her magic in the air. “Sain has killed our father.”

“Is that what you heard?” Ry’s voice caught, his eyes wide as he stared at Wyn and me, His glare was so intense that, if I weren’t standing right there, Ilyan’s arm still wrapped around me, I might have thought I was seeing this through the eyes of sight. “That Sain killed him?”

“And apparently took control of his camps.” Wyn scoffed. Disgusted, she popped her hip out, wrinkling her nose as if the filth-covered man were standing right before her. “King Sain. I think there was a reason that role expired centuries ago. Is it sad that I kind of want Edmund to still be alive? I mean, I’ve kind of been wanting to kill him for a couple hundred years now … It would suck to lose out on that honor at the last minute. And all because of a dirty Drak.”

“Whoa, that’s harsh, Wyn.” Ryland was on the defensive, his shoulders squaring as he moved toward me as though he were preparing to fight for my honor.

As if I needed it.

“I’m not sure how to take that, Wyn, so I am just going to assume you are talking about your swim in the dumpster earlier and the fact that my father doesn’t like to bathe. Given that, I am not sure who is the ‘dirty’ one.”

Ryland snickered as Wyn’s jaw dropped, the upset forgotten as that mischievous light tickled her eyes, a rebuttal moments away.

“That’s enough,” Ilyan snapped as he ceased his pacing to rejoin us, the humor in his voice barely masked. “Wyn, let’s not accidentally insult my wife.”

“Who says it was an accident?” she managed to sneak in.

Ryland snickered, but the side glance Ilyan fixed her with shut her right up. She locked her lips with an imaginary zipper, a smug victory remaining clear in her eyes.

“We have bigger issues than bathing and garbage bins,” Ilyan finished lamely, extending his hand toward mine in an invitation that needed no explanation. “We have no way of knowing for certain if Edmund is dead, but if he is, we need to prepare as best we can for Sain’s control, especially when eighty percent of our people favor him. We need to find out who stands with us and who is against us. I would rather prepare for a rebellion before Sain’s zealots act on it. We need to keep this information from them as long as possible.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” I asked, not liking where this was going.

“A council,” Ilyan said, a powerful smile running over his face, his magic pressing against all of it with exhilaration for what was coming. “A very well-placed council.”

Everyone looked at each other. With the way Wyn’s eyebrows were flying away, I would guess they were as lost as I was.

There was no denying the power in Ilyan’s face, however. He knew exactly where we were going. And we were all eager to let him lead us there.

“Ryland, I need you and Risha to help guard the kids. Take turns if you must. It won’t help if the girl can stutter, but I have a feeling she won’t leave Jaromir behind. And Joclyn’s the only one who can take someone with her without risking life and limb. I’ll want you at the council, so leave Risha there to watch over them so you can attend council in the morning.”

Both Wyn and Ryland turned a delicate shade of green at the memory of the “trauma” I had put them through. Go figure.

“Joclyn and I are going to go to Dramin. We need to track the sight, dig deeper and see if we can find any concrete answers or clarify what is coming. Dramin knows the most about Drak and Sain—”

“And I will dance naked amongst the trees …” Wyn began, her snide retort for being excluded from the to-dos blocked with one sharp look from Ilyan.

“No, Wyn, you are in charge. I need you to supervise the masses and prepare them for a council tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Wyn interjected, aghast.

Ilyan ignored her.

“I need you to make sure everyone is in attendance.”

“Wait,” Wyn gasped, further shock widening her face. “You are putting
me
in charge?”

“As long as you keep your clothes on, yes.” Ilyan didn’t seem too happy about this. His lips were a tight line, and he wouldn’t even look at her. He still hadn’t forgiven her for destroying his chapel, not that I blamed him.

“No prob, boss. I won’t let you down.”

“Well,” Ilyan sighed, his eyes closing as he dragged his hand through his hair again, “desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Burn.”

R
unning beneath the stars
, the sparkling specks choked by smoke, I could already see the flames. I could see them lick the sky, light the night on fire with the light of a sun. It was as it had been in sight, the dratted imagery coming before, not soon enough to stop it.

Not soon enough to save the people who were trapped in the large, white tent.

At any other time, I wouldn’t care who lived and died. I wouldn’t care who was sentenced to a fiery death. I had killed enough. I had created enough death. I had enough blood on my hands.

But these were not on my hands. They were not deaths I had created, not deaths I had wanted. I needed their allegiance, not their deaths. I needed to win a war with warriors, not graves.

I still needed them.

I needed them alive … for now.

“Did you see anyone leave the tent after the fire?” I asked Damek who ran beside me, his breath coming in ragged shards as he tried to keep up with me.

Damek had shown up after the sight had left me, pulling me out of bed and back into the madness that was ripping everything apart.

“Nothing out of the usual, my king.” He heaved, his eyes still on the brilliant light before us.

The heat of the fire saturated the air, even from hundreds of yards away.

“Did you see
them
?”

He knew who I was talking about, and he swallowed, a quick side glance cast my way before he looked forward, trying his best to keep his back straight.

If it were anyone else, I would assume this behavior to mean he was working with them, but I had covered his back with Black Water a few days ago, leaving him with nine long scars and me with a perfect window into his life, into his allegiance.

He wasn’t working with them.

“No, my king,” Damek finally said, the bend in his back making it clear he was still feeling the residual pain from the water. “But I am still of the opinion they are not working alone. From what I have heard …”

Stopping in place, I wound my magic across the air as I stopped Damek’s forward progression. His words ceased as I pulled him back, sending him through the air with a yelp and bringing him to stand right before me.

The crackle of the fire snapped over the hot air as we stood so close to the fire that the screams of those dying, the screams of those trying to help, were clearly heard.

“I have told you before, Damek, that you can only kill a snake by cutting off its head.” I stepped closer to him, placing my hand on his shoulder, my long, unkempt thumbnail pressing against the skin there as I ran the thumb of my other hand over the length of his knife.

His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the fear obvious despite his eyes never leaving mine, my hand still heavy on his shoulder.

It had been two weeks since I had killed his former master, and already, his bravery and allegiance were shifting. After two more weeks, he would be quite the formidable servant, even without a Štít.

I was unsure even Edmund could have accomplished such a feat.

“Step on a devil’s tail and just upset him more,” he continued for me, my magic relaxing against him as he stumbled back, trying to find his feet.

“Yes.” My response was a hiss, the sound made louder by a flare-up of the fire, the blast lighting the field as brightly as the sun.

The screams increased with the explosion, the sound of a tent collapsing following behind.

Damek flinched, his eyes wide as they turned toward the now crippled tent. I didn’t even look, something Damek didn’t miss as his eyes returned to me, the fear in him intensifying.

“I need you to find them, Damek. All three right now.” I stepped closer to him as ash began to fall around us, the tiny bits of fluff drifting across the scorched air like snow. “Find them. Bring me information. I want it before the fire has turned to embers.”

Boring my eyes into him, I let a smile curl my lips back over my teeth, a look that leached into him with the tiniest of flinches.

“Yes, my king,” he whispered, bowing his head with one last glance before he ran back into the night.

“Where is Damek going in such a hurry?” Ovailia asked as she emerged from the cloud of ash and smoke Damek had disappeared into. “To get a pail of water?”

Even in flames and smoke, she was perfect. I had torn from the room, grabbing only my blood-soaked cape. She had dressed to the nines, complete with bright fire-red heels and skintight jeans.

I swallowed, gritting my teeth, keeping my magic restrained tightly against me unless she attempted something.

“I sent him to find the three bastards,” I growled, turning back toward the flames, away from her.

“The usurpers.” She spat the word with as much malice as I felt. “Do you think it was them?”

“Sight has shown me them standing in these flames, Ovailia. Do you really wish to question my ability?”

With one sidelong glance, I put her in her place. Her jaw tightened as she scowled at me, her steps slowing enough that I easily outstripped her.

“Why don’t you get a pail of water, Ovailia, if you think it would help?” I didn’t turn back to see her reaction, and I didn’t give her any other instruction. I continued forward, picking up my pace to a run as I caught up to the horde of people.

Hundreds were running around, pulling Chosen from the tents, attempting to heal them. They stood, ash covering their heads and shoulders, magic stretching in an attempt to extinguish the flames.

It was when someone really did run forward with a pail of water, throwing the tiny amount of water on the wall of smoke and flame that I knew what we were facing.

It wasn’t fire set with heat and tinder. It was magic, ignited with ability, shielded by a strength I hadn’t seen for a while.

It wasn’t fire meant to kill; it was fire meant to test the ability of those in the camp.

No, meant to test me.

Unsurprising, given with what the usurpers had been doing since I had marched the remains of Edmund onto that stage. Testing me. Testing my ability. Finding the cracks in a Drak.

Fools. There were none. I had been born from the mud. I was the perfection of power. It was a matter of time before they found that out.

They might have escaped the genocide I had staged in the hall, but they wouldn’t live long. All I needed to do was find the perfect way to attack, to teach them a lesson.

“Ovailia!” I called, standing still as screams and smoke and flame engulfed the air around me.

The heat of the flames licked my skin, igniting the strength of the magic within it. It permeated the air, the magic that controlled it hidden under the heat. I felt it in waves of anger and malice that matched my own, beating amid me in knots that tensed my jaw.

“Yes,” Ovailia spoke from behind me, out of arm’s reach, as if that would save her from my wrath.

“Come here.”

There was a moment of hesitation, the sound of screams and fire still echoing before the crunch of her heels against dirt and ash echoed over it. Her steps brought her right before me.

She stood with her hands firmly on her hips, her hair billowing behind her. Eyes flashing dangerously as she gazed at me, her disgust at being seen in such a state a dire warning that I let roll off my back with the tiniest of smiles.

I did love her when she was like that: defiant, angry, powerful.

This was beautiful.

This was the femininity that I desired.

“Do you feel it?” I asked her, prodding at her ability as I took a step closer, letting my magic free from where I had captured it, letting it run around her, taunt her.

She felt it at once, her hands tensing against her hips as her eyes narrowed. “Feel what?”

She wasn’t amused.

My smile deepened. I loved playing with my food.

“The power in the flames, the strength of the magic that has created them.”

Her eyes widened at that, the unexpected answer slapping her in the face.

Taking two quick steps toward her, I pulled her into me. Her magic continued to swirl through the air as she caught sight of what I and a handful of others had realized.

“Pekelný,” she gasped, exhilarated horror echoing back at me. “Fire bred from hell.”

“It seemed fitting that a devil would bring fire for me.” I kept my voice low as I leaned into her, my magic running wild in its attempt to connect with hers. Doing my best to control it, to keep it close enough to Ovailia that her better judgment was compromised, I pressed my lips against her neck. I trailed them over her skin before coming to a rest on the hollow of her ear.

“I want you to put it out.” The words were seductive, but she reacted as if they were poison, trying to pull away from me in shock, only to find my arm wrapped around her waist like an iron bar.

“You can’t be serious, Sain,” she retorted after recognizing her prison. “No one can put out pekelný.”

“I can,” I whispered, pulling away enough that she could see the power and warning in my eyes. I wanted her to feel it under her skin as my magic ran over her like silk. “But I don’t want them to know that just yet.”

Her eyes widened in further shock before the façade she always wore slipped back into place. The disgruntled mask crumpled her features until she was nothing more than an old woman with a hatred for all things living.

“Do you think it’s them?”

I didn’t respond to her query.

I turned her in my arms toward the wall of fire that we were now surrounded by. “Put out the fire, Ovailia.”

“Sain …”

“I know you can,” I continued before she had a chance to rebut. “Show me how powerful you are. Remind all of these people that you are more than your father’s pawn.”

I felt her stiffen underneath my grip, her breathing picking up as, with wide eyes, she stared at the flames.

“You are more powerful than anyone here,” I told her, letting my magic run over her skin, letting it soothe her as it attempted to move into her.

As she inhaled sharply, her magic rose up to meet mine. The warmth and strength of her power were a drug against me. Even with the power I held, the strength and anger that moved inside me, all I wanted was to kiss her, to take her and forget that the flames burned before us.

The heat of the flames was weaker than the heat that her magic sent into my blood.

Dangerous.

“I think it’s time you remind them of that.”

Pressing my lips against her neck with the deepest longing, I felt her pulse beneath my kiss. I savored the stuttered beat of her excitement before I pulled away, ripping my magic from her.

Backing away, she lifted her hands, the pressure of her power filling the air. Her hair swirled amidst the vortex of heated air as she stood alone, feet before the flames.

Moments from the fire attempting to devour her, moments from my Míraculous rescue.

I couldn’t let them all think her powerful, but I couldn’t destroy the flames on my own, either.

Laughing, I folded my arms over my chest, feeling her magic swell as mine began to spin. The streams of gray and black were a beautiful contrast against the flames as they spread from her hands. They sped through the air and slammed against the wall of fire with a reverberation that shook the ground beneath us all, ripping through the sky with a howl akin to an animal. An animal inches from death.

The screams of fear increased as the fire fought back against the attack, a wall of smoke flooding us, filling the air until it was hard to breathe.

I smiled at the magical battle before me, laughing at the war, only to have the laugh echo back to me.

The heavy wave of smoke shifted beneath me, choking me as the power in it became an infection, an infection that sparked against my sight. My head began to spin as my magic consumed me, pulling my mind into a different smoke-filled space.

Unable to pull myself out of the sight, I was surrounded by billows of gray and white so thick I could scarcely see past them. I couldn’t be here. I needed to save Ovailia from the flames before they devoured her. I needed to save them all, to show them all what their new leader was capable of.

Yet, the magic had trapped me within it, the urgency great. It had been decades since I had been pulled into a sight of such importance, and
now
it chose to take me.

I needed to get out of here. Time was not on my side.

“Is there any news?” a deep, gruff voice I recognized filtered past the smoke, the very words beginning to clear it. The heavy shroud dissipated and left me standing in the center of a smoke-filled room where three Trpaslíks sat around a table.

“You,” I barked, knowing the word would go unheard to those in the sight before me.

It was them, the same three men who had haunted my sight for the past few weeks, who had attacked the quiet silence that I had expected as king and challenged my crown at every turn.

Every turn that I met them at, that I had defeated them at.

Too bad no one living knew the very basics of dealing with a Drak.

Perhaps I should give them a hint. You couldn’t defeat them, because you could not hide anything from them.

Through the distorted darkness they were surrounded by, the figures that sat around the table were clear and crisp beyond what was normal, the precise imagery too clean to be of this world. This was coming.

Perfect. I could use this premonition to find them. I could use it as my opportunity to destroy them.

Alojz, the man who had spoken, pulled the elongated pipe he was known for from his mouth with an embellished sigh, a billow of lavender smoke wafting around his head like a crown before dissipating into the already pungent space. “I am tired of waiting,” he growled, the last of the smoke from his pipe floating into the air. “The Chosens’ camps are on fire, and he still hasn’t shown.”

I tensed, my heart beat ramping up violently at what the old man had said.

This was not coming. This was now.

I could find them.

The older Trpaslík leaned across the table, his eyes wide as he looked at his two companions. The small tilt in his lip was partially hidden beneath his carefully trimmed beard, something that I had yet to adopt with my own scruffy mane, choosing to let the wild look I had adopted frighten my people, instead.