Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) (14 page)

It didn't help the heartbreak, however. It didn’t help the tears that streamed endlessly over my face. Those kept coming, my heart clenching painfully as I wailed. The abbey rocked again as my head swam, the coming sight giving me the chance to get away and not to feel. This time I didn’t fight it. I wanted the numbing escape the sight provided.

The sight came on quickly, my vision burning red before flashes of the future came so fast that I could barely distinguish them from one another. It was only after they began to slow down that I recognized them, the same images from the sight Sain had given Ilyan eight hundred years ago.

The images of Ilyan fighting alongside me flashed in my eyes, his hand around mine, my hair flying as we battled through the forest. I saw the tenderness of his kiss, the way he protected me.

I almost regretted letting the sight come as I watched those moments, grateful when they left to be replaced by images I had never seen before.

An old church I could only assume to be the abbey sat engulfed in fire; the shock at seeing something familiar was almost incapacitating. Another flash of fire, a flash of light, and then I was left with an image of Ilyan sitting behind me on the bed he had just destroyed, his fingers moving through my hair as he braided it, his lips moving rapidly with words I couldn’t hear.

I still felt the heartbreak. I still felt the pain of loss. However, I looked into the future that my sight provided—into an image I knew I didn’t fully understand—and my body calmed. My blood burned hot as my sight whispered to me of its importance, the part this would play bigger than I would ever understand.

I watched Ilyan reach toward a small, gold box that rested on the bed beside us, something golden glinting between his fingers as he removed it from the depths of the container.

The pressure in my head grew as I watched him continue to braid my hair, my mouth opening wide as my jaw extended on its own.

“
He will tear us apart. If you wish to see the end, give me your heart.
” My voice croaked out the deep lines of my sight, my heart seizing at the familiarity of them, even though I was sure I had never heard the words before.

I looked back at the images as they left me—the sight of Ilyan fighting by my side, of me using his magic as I battled. It was something that I wasn’t sure would happen anymore.

My hands unwound from my sides to fist in the fabric of the shirt that rested over my heart—over the Štít—but everything felt cold and lifeless. Even the beat of my own heart felt dead. I pressed harder, pooling my magic around it—desperate to feel something—but I felt nothing. Not even a shadow of where Ilyan had protected me for so long.

The Štít was gone. He had left me alone more than just leaving the room.

For the first time in months, I didn't have the warmth of his magic within me. I didn't have the knowledge that he would protect me. I had pushed him away, and now I was alone.

I had wanted this; I had begged him to leave me, screamed at him. Now I wanted nothing more than to feel that warmth again.

I pressed my hand into my chest as the pain in my heart grew. The tears that had streaked down my face increased along with my howls.

I had done this. I had opened my mouth and let my anger dictate my words—my feelings—and in turn, lashed out against someone who meant more to me than I had truly understood. I had acted like a fool. Worse, I had learned nothing. I had sat over Ilyan’s unconscious body and talked to Thom about pride, about anger, about who I was and what I was expected to do. While I had learned so much, I still hadn't learned enough, and I had pushed away the one person who was supposed to help me through this.

The person who had been born to stand by my side.

The floor around me shook again, a loud crash sounding from somewhere off in the distance. My hands trembled as I pulled my legs into my chest, leaning against the side of the vanity as I curled into myself.

"I'm sorry, Ilyan," I wailed, knowing he couldn't hear me, knowing the words were not enough.

It didn’t matter. I let my voice carry my pleas, the sound growing until it gave out, until I succumbed to the exhaustion just as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

My emotionally drained body slipped away, desperately claiming the sleep it needed. It was the first time I had slept alone since that first nightmare in Santa Fe, since waking up from the torment of Cail’s mind. It was a miracle I slept at all.

I woke again just as the sun was preparing to set, the whole day having passed without me. The bedroom was bathed in the glow of the last of the day’s sun, the light so bright that it almost seemed unwanted. The room was unwanted. It felt empty and cold without him here.

I splashed water over my face and unwound what was left of the careful braid Ilyan had placed in my hair, my fingers aching as they pulled the long strands out from their bindings. My heart tensed as I removed something so precious—something that had such a good memory attached—but I didn’t feel worthy to wear it anymore.

Not after what I had done to him.

My fingers froze at the thought. My mind almost expected the abbey to shake in Ilyan’s anger, however nothing came. Only the silence of evening, the gentle sound of a few crickets who had beat the others to the night.

I stretched my magic away from me as I stood before the mirror, pulsing it over the abbey as I searched for him. I scanned through hallways, through rooms I had yet to see, and right to the very edge of the gardens, but he was nowhere.

I knew that couldn’t be right. I didn’t want to believe that he could just be gone, that he could have left us all alone.

I clenched my teeth and pulled out the last of the braid, leaving my hair to hang around my face as it had done for so many years.

I looked at myself in the mirror—the silver eyes, the dark sheet of hair. I should have looked the same as I had only months before, yet I wasn't the same, not anymore. My eyes seemed darker somehow, more grey than silver, and my hair didn't hang quite so heavily.

I ran my fingers over my face, my hands shaking as I tried to find the girl that I had been, but she wasn't there, not anymore. The girl I had been would never have said those things to someone she loved. She would never have tried to kill Ryland, even though he had tried to kill me.

Without thinking, I reached up and pulled the collar of my shirt down, letting the line of my scar shine through the mirror, the scar where Ryland had stabbed me. It had been months—almost a year—since that night, but the line was still white, a painful reminder of what we had become.

I pushed the thought away and grabbed the earthen mug by the sink and filled it, my magic heating and dancing through me as I took a drink of the Black Water. I exited the bathroom, only to come face to face with the destroyed bed. I hadn’t looked at it last night; I hadn’t wanted to see what I had driven Ilyan to do. I could see it now, however, and it wrung through me. The destroyed remains wound uncomfortably through my stomach. Everything had been sheared in two—comforter, feather mattress, and frame—right down the middle.

Just as we had been. Broken.

Ilyan had done this in his pain with only one thought. It made me worry for what he had done to the rest of the abbey, for why the building felt as if it were falling apart. I cringed and moved away from it, not really wanting to see what he had done.

Not wanting to see his pain.

I didn't know what to do. Should I track him down? Write him a formal apology letter? Hang a white flag from the balcony? I had never been in a situation like this before. One thing was clear; I needed to find him. I needed to apologize.

I took another drink and moved toward the balcony, hoping that I could perhaps see him from the stone outcropping, like Romeo and Juliet. I almost laughed at the thought, the ridiculousness of it catching me off guard.

I took two steps before I jumped back, Black Water splashing over my arms as my bare foot hit against something hard and cold that cut into the soft tissue of my heel.

"Ow!" I groaned as I rubbed the tender spot on my foot, my magic pushing aside feathers until I found the red ruby glinting at me from within the blanket of white that covered the floor.

No, not a ruby, I reminded myself.

My heart seemed to beat faster, my hands clenched around the mug of Black Water as I glared at the necklace. My brow furrowed as if it had somehow offended me. I guess in a way it had. I could still vividly recall Ilyan throwing it to the ground in his anger. I could see the pain on his face when I told him I thought he was lying, that I didn't need him.

My shoulders knit together at the thought, my stomach twisting uncomfortably as the guilt bubbled up aggressively.

I drained my mug and tossed it on the massacred bed as I stared at the necklace, my fingers twitching as I moved the feathers out from around it to get a better look. Even the idea of touching it made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I didn't think it was the whole “heart enclosed in a piece of diamond” thing. It was just that it had come from Ryland.

The feathers flew through the air around me as I dropped to my knees just as the door opened. I jumped at the movement, my gaze flying toward it as my heart rate picked up. My hope at seeing Ilyan mixed with the fear of being attacked until someone who I wanted to see just as much walked into the feather-covered room.

“Gee, if you were going to have a pillow fight, you could have at least called me,” Wyn said, the smile in her voice lighting up her face. I tried to return her smile, but the guilt that had been raging through me grew, and instead, I stared at her, frozen in place.

Wyn just looked at me as she leaned against the door, her body still weak as she relied on the slab of wood for support.

She looked different, and it was more than the odd, old-fashioned nightgown she wore, although the absence of bangles and a band shirt did make her look like a different person. The marks that had once lined her face and arm were now a shadow, like a marker that someone had attempted to wash away, though it didn’t quite come all the way off. Even through the weakened sag in her spine, she stood taller, looked more confident, older.

I stared at her, trying to decide if I was imagining the changes or if they were really there. She had been through as much, if not more than me, and I was certain that I looked different to her as well. It had been so long since I had seen her; twice as long for me thanks to Cail’s nightmare. Right then, however, I didn’t care if there were changes or not.

“Wyn,” I sighed as I bolted off the floor, my feet taking me to her in three giant strides before I fell into her arms, both of us falling into the wall behind her.

The feel of her arm wrapped around my back was all it took for those desperate emotions that I had been trying to ignore to come through. Regret, pain, anger. I was so emotionally drained from the last day that I couldn’t stop them.

Wyn was here. It didn’t make it all better—it didn’t take away the desperation and the fear—but somehow, it made it all seem a little more manageable.

“W-w-w-yn,” I stuttered out, my voice distorted by the staccato breathing that had taken over me.

“Geeze, girl, you under attack by Reavers or something?” Wyn asked with a laugh as I cried against her. I was aware that there was a joke there that I hadn’t gotten, but I didn’t care. I just clung to her as the ugly emotions spilled from me.

“Jos?” she asked, the light laugh dropping from her voice almost immediately. “You okay?”

Everything stopped in expectation of an answer, one that I knew I wouldn’t be able to give. So I just clung, my fingers tangling around her nightgown as I internally pleaded with her to drop it, not to make me expand on something I was almost sure would end in a panic attack.

“Jos?” she asked again as she shut the door behind her, the heavy wood slab closing with a loud bang that echoed in my ears and flared the alarm that my weak emotions had let take over.

I jerked at the noise, my arms flying away from her as they moved to cover my ears. Wyn’s eyes widened again at my reaction, which only made me shy away from her all the more. I didn’t like being looked at like that, least of all by Wyn.

“Calm down, Jos. It’s okay. It’s okay,” she soothed, her hand rubbing over my back. I tried to settle down—I really did—but I couldn’t seem to get my body to cooperate.

“If you want, I can sing you a stupid Styx song,” she offered, a wide, cheesy grin on her face. The absurdity of her suggestion wound through me in sweet familiarity, the joyful light in her eyes breaking through my anxiety enough that I could return the smile. Albeit, it was more chagrined than wide and cheesy.

“That’s better. Let me get you some water.”

I sank down to the ground as Wyn weakly walked away from me toward the bathroom, her hand clinging to different pieces of furniture in an attempt to keep herself steady.

I needed to pull myself together. It was only Wyn. My friend. She had been there from the beginning, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

My lungs ached as I breathed, my body protesting the surge of anxiety and emotion I was still trying to calm.

“You are lucky I was able to come,” she said from the bathroom, her voice carrying to me as I kept my focus on the floor. “It’s my first time out of bed since yesterday… since… well, you know…” Her voice trailed off as she rambled, the sounds so familiar I couldn’t help smiling.

“Everyone wanted to keep me there, but I couldn’t, not after today. So I kinda snuck out; hence the 1970s gown. I’m just glad it’s not brown,” she jabbered on as she came out of the bathroom, another large earthen mug in her hands. My fingers twitched as I wrapped them around the mug she extended toward me, my body seeming to relax from the magic that seeped from it.

“Th-thank-k… y-you,” I said, my voice shaky as I brought the mug closer.

“Yeah, I really am sorry. I didn’t think you were that bonkers… I mean, I didn’t know how scared you would be… I mean, Thom told me, but I guess I just assumed he was full of it…”

I smiled at her. Her crazy banter was familiar, even though her voice was a little different. I brought the mug to my lips, grateful for an excuse not to answer her implied questions and assumptions.