Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) (17 page)

It hadn’t just been me who had pushed, who had let the anger win. Ilyan had, too.

I nodded once in understanding, my fingers moving over his collarbone as he shuddered beneath me.

“Can we fix it?” I asked. “Can you put it back?”

“Our magic is so closely connected that, if I attempted to do so, I believe your magic would bond to mine without us making any attempt.”

Even though I would have gladly consented to such a thing, I could hear the echo of Ilyan’s answer in his mind. He wanted to wait, wait until my mind was fully healed.

I had to respect that. Admire the respect he had for me.

“I’m scared, Ilyan, that without it there… how am I supposed to defeat Edmund?”

“You are worried that you won’t be able to control your emotions; that you won’t be able to fight?” His fingers trailed over my jaw at the question, the touch sending a comforting warmth up my spine as I shivered.

Yes.
I kept my eyes averted as I spoke into his mind, trying to fight the blush that heated my face and neck at having reacted in such a way.

“That is exactly why I cannot replace the Štít. As much as I wish to protect you, as much as I wish to do everything for you, you know as well as I do that is not always a possibility. You must master your emotions on your own—master your power—so that things like this do not happen again.”

“But what if Edmund comes tomorrow? I am not ready.”

“You will be, my love. I will help you to be in any way that I can.”

I nodded once in understanding before I moved into him, my arms wrapping around his wide torso while my head turned just enough that I could press my lips against his shirt.
I am sorry, Ilyan. I should have never said those things.

“It is all right, my love. I forgive you. I can feel your regret in my soul. I taste your tears on my lips. We all say things that we do not mean, even to the ones we love, but it is because we love them that we can forgive them.”

“I never want to lose you, Ilyan,” I said, the hand that Ilyan still held against my neck pulling me back so he could look at me again.

I could see a million words in his eyes, hear a million things that he wanted to say in his thoughts. Nothing was solid, though, and so many of the words were in Czech that I wouldn't have been able to understand them even if I tried. So I stayed still, savoring every part of him, while the warmth of his hand seeped into my neck, his other keeping me tightly up against him.

“We are not made to fight, my love,” he said, his voice soft and rumbling. “Our souls have been forever bound, both of us carrying each other’s precious cargo. You take away a piece of your soul and you will only feel hatred and fear; your emotions can never be your own.”

“Like Ryland?” I asked, my tongue tripping over the words as my heart constricted.

“Yes,” he answered, his tone making it clear he had felt the brief pain that had moved through me.

“I don't want to feel that way ever again, Ilyan. Like I was broken. Like I would never be myself again. I had enough of that in Cail’s mind, and I never want to feel it again.”

“I never want you to feel it again.”

“Ryland shouldn't feel that way, either,” I said, my eyes pulling away as I ground my teeth against my bottom lip. “I don't know if I believe you that it wasn't Ryland in Cail’s mind, but even if it was, he shouldn't have to feel broken.”

The feathers swirled around my feet as I walked away from Ilyan toward the middle of the floor where the giant stone of the necklace stared up at me from within the feathers. I just stared at it as Ilyan came up behind me, his arm wrapping around my stomach as he pulled me against him. I said nothing to him, even though I could feel his confusion, my eyes trained on the sliver of red amongst the white.

I couldn't believe I was going to do this. Part of me begged myself not to—to let Ryland suffer—yet that part wasn't me; I could never be that cruel. I had felt the hopelessness at being apart from something that was integral to me. If Ilyan was right, if Ryland’s heart was enclosed in this stone, then I knew that he was hurting. In his mind, the only way to make it better was to give him his heart back. To him, that was me. However, it wasn't, not anymore.

His heart was here, on the floor, just waiting to go home.

“I want to give him back his heart,” I said softly, unable to look away from the snaking chain of the necklace that had meant so much to me just weeks before.

Ilyan’s awe washed over me as he relaxed, his arms wrapping tightly around me from behind as he leaned forward to rest his chin against my shoulder.

“Are you sure?” his voice was heavy, his worry almost catching me off guard.

“I am,” I sighed, knowing he needed more of an explanation than that. “I may not love him the way I did, but that does not mean that I don’t care. Right now, he scares me, and I don't want to be around him. But I can't let him keep living with the pain of being broken in pieces, of not being able to control his emotions. I may not be able to give him back the piece of his soul that Edmund has stolen from him, but I can return this, and if it helps, then it is enough.”

Ilyan said nothing as he held me, the awe I had felt growing before his head bowed down and he pressed his lips against the mark on my neck. I sighed at the contact, my heartbeat increasing as the touch supercharged the connection that lived between us.

“You amaze me, my Joclyn,” he whispered into my skin as his lips pressed against my neck again before he turned me in his arms, the deep pit of his eyes swallowing me up again. “If this is what you wish, then I will see it happen.”

“It is,” I replied, my voice no more than a whisper.

Ilyan nodded once in understanding before pressing his lips against my forehead, the heat from the contact shooting through me. It was more than the heat that I felt, however. It was the steady stream of thoughts from Ilyan, his awe, his amazement.

For one brief moment, everything was right. Everything felt perfect. I knew it wouldn’t last. How could it? For right in that moment, though, I would hold myself to it, and hold it dear.

Forever.

Eleven

I sat on the edge of the now-repaired bed. My legs were crossed under me as I looked at the necklace that sat in front of me, my back stiff as I leaned away from where the silver chain snaked through the folds of the thick feather comforter. The glinting red of the stone stared at me in the dim light of dusk. The color of it—the way it glinted in the light—was almost taunting, begging me to touch it.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't bring myself to stretch my fingers out and touch the surface that I had caressed so many times before. The stone that I had held when I was scared, that I had hidden under bulky clothing when I had only wanted to disappear. I didn’t know why I was so scared to touch it. I knew what the stone would feel like: cold and unmoving, smooth as glass. It wouldn't be warm as it had been before. It wouldn't beat in time with Ryland's heart. It wouldn't open up a connection between us. Not anymore. Because everything had changed.

The connection was dead, and the necklace was the last thing I had that reminded me of how things used to be.

Maybe that’s why I was scared to touch it—because I didn’t want the reminders of how things used to be. I didn’t want those memories, those fears. I didn’t want the regret. Even if I didn’t want them, though, I got them anyway. By just looking at it, my mind was filled with the distorted memories that both haunted and calmed me.

If I closed my eyes and really focused, I could see so much of my life before Ryland had tried to kiss me that first time. Before he had found my mark. I could see Ryland’s joyful face and the way we joked and played. I could see my mother’s smile, and taste her soup. How one little necklace could hold so many memories, however, I wasn’t so sure. It was hard to recall those moments, though. It was the bad ones that came easily.

Most of the time all I had seen was Ryland’s wicked glance as he hunted me, his evil sneer from inside of Cail's mind. I had been haunted by my mother’s lifeless body on the kitchen floor of our tiny apartment. The good memories had been tarnished and in many ways forgotten.

All except this necklace.

Even then, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep the memories, not with the knowledge of what it had cost Ryland. What it had cost me, and Ilyan, and Wyn. What everyone had sacrificed, just to keep me safe.

The soft bed sagged as I shifted my weight, my shaking fingers stretching through the air as they moved toward the familiar red stone, my morbid curiosity guiding me forward. Just one touch, one moment of memories before I gave Ryland back his sanity. I almost felt like I needed that, as though I had earned it.

My fingers hovered over the stone as I hesitated, my heartbeat speeding up when Ryland’s wicked laugh filled my head. My shoulders knit together as the shadow of his laugh faded, a loud, booming knock against the door taking its place. I jumped at the sound, my heartbeat stuttering as I looked to the door that stood directly across from me.

My magic peaked in expectation of Ryland walking through, of the exchange that was about to take place. My breath felt caught in my chest as my bubble of agitation grew, but I kept my magic restrained within me just as Ilyan had instructed. I knew who was on the other side of the door, and I didn’t want to feel the icy chill that his magic gave me. I didn’t want to feel the fear and hatred, not if this plan was going to work.

I pressed my back into the headboard as the knock sounded again, the door to the bathroom swinging open as Ilyan marched out, his damp hair shorter than it had been before, hanging only just above his shoulders now, the same way it had been when I first met him. He shook out his hair as he walked up to me, causing small droplets of water to fall over the room.

“Are you sure you are ready to do this?” He asked as he pulled a dark blue t-shirt over his head, the bed sagging as he moved to sit in front of me, the cold necklace between us.

I said nothing as I reached forward and wiped a small streak of shaving cream that he had missed off the side of his face. My fingers were soft as they ran over his chin, lingering against the warmth of his skin.

Our eyes met as his thoughts washed over me. The tenderness of his desire and the strength of his concern caught in my chest.

“I’m sure,” I squeaked out, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to calm his fears.

He nodded once as the knock sounded again, this time considerably louder and more impatient.

“I will be here, mi lasko,” Ilyan sighed before leaning forward and placing his lips against my forehead, the touch soft and gentle. My magic reacted to the connection, the flow warming as my stomach tightened in fear and love, the two emotions feeling rancid against each other.

I sighed as I pushed the last of my anxiety out, knowing it would return to plague me much sooner than I wanted. Ilyan's fingers lingered against mine until he pulled away, his steps slow and confident as he moved toward the door.

I watched him until the door began to swing open, my mind suddenly panicking at what was about to happen. I wanted to look away—I knew I needed to—but I couldn’t. The frantic beating of my heart had frozen me in place. My eyes were glued to Ilyan’s back as he talked in rapid Czech to whoever was on the other side. I could feel his own nerves peak before I pushed them away, trying not to focus on his emotions and thoughts that were hardwired into my brain.

The sound of chicken scratches hit the air as whoever he was talking to replied, their voice deep and staccato in the Slavic language.

Ilyan nodded once before exiting the room, the door shutting behind him without him even looking back toward me.

My arms wound tightly around my waist, my fear dripping over my back as I watched the door. The room seemed to grow colder the longer I was left alone, my tongue feeling like lead in my mouth.

I stared at the large wooden door as if it was going to change, a ridiculous part of me scared that it would somehow disappear. Even though I knew the fear was foolish, I couldn’t seem to push it away, and the worry only grew the longer I waited.

My breath finally escaped my chest when the door clicked open again. Everything relaxed until my father stepped past the open frame, only to close the door right behind him.

I stiffened at seeing him there, at being alone with him. My shoulders knit together as my eyes narrowed dangerously. I wasn't sure what he was doing coming in here. I didn’t want him here. He hadn't really shown much interest in me beyond planning for my ultimate demise and yelling at me over my lack of knowledge. It wasn’t something I wanted to continue—not right now when everything felt so close to a meltdown.

I clenched my teeth as he came closer, my fingers knotting around the fabric of my shirt until they dug into my skin in my attempt to disappear into myself. To disappear from him.

“Hello, Joclyn.” The words sounded more like the formal greeting you would give to someone you didn’t really know, and in a way, I guess we didn’t know each other.

I nodded once in silence, my eyes narrowing as I glared into him, hoping the look would be enough to scare him off, but I knew better.

He continued moving closer until he sat across from me, his body far enough away that I couldn’t reach him, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t want him to touch me, either.

I didn’t trust myself enough to know what I would do if he did.

Sain didn’t even look at me; he only smiled sadly at the necklace before reaching out and picking it up, his hand curving around it as he tested its weight. I cringed as he held it in his hand, my frustration swelling as I tried to ignore the surge of ownership that welled up inside of me. I didn't know where the selfish emotion had come from, but it scared me, the sensation unwelcome.

I had no ownership over what my father held in his hands. I didn’t want any ownership of it, not anymore. Which only made my reaction all the more unwanted.

He looked at the necklace like he was proud of it, a look I was not sure he had ever given me as of yet. Awe, surprise, disgust, yes, but not pride. Not the look a father is supposed to give his daughter. I swallowed heavily and looked to him again, startled to find him peering at me, his eyes darker than they had been before.