Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) (23 page)

Ryland mumbled as the sky ripped open, and my breathing picked up, my shoulders tensing as Sain’s murmurs became a dense white noise to Ilyan’s commands. I moved a step toward Thom, but he only seemed to be concerned with Wyn, who stood opposite of him. Wyn, whose hand was wrapped around Ryland’s.

“Hurt her!” Ryland suddenly erupted and I jumped, my eyes darting toward the sound. I knew at once it was a mistake.

My anger licked at my soul in a flame of heat and fear, the emotions screaming at me to lunge across the table at him. I clenched every muscle in an attempt to stay still, my joints aching as the raw anger attempted to bully its way past the wall I had built, threatening to take me down.

Just as I fought the madness, Ryland fought to maintain the calm he had built. I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed and sagged, the way his fingers compressed into tight, little fists.

Until now, Ryland had been calm. His voice mellow when he spoke, his emotions didn’t seem quite so volatile. But he still wasn’t whole; he still wasn’t the boy he used to be, and the monster was threatening to come back.

I had hoped the return of his heart would have helped, and while I could see the calm it had given him, it hadn’t been enough.

I just wished I didn’t feel so awkward wearing the now clear diamond around my neck. I don’t know what it was, but the necklace almost felt like a war prize, something tainted that I should return. Or destroy.

I swallowed once and looked back down to the table top, knowing that one look into the depths of his eyes would unleash my nightmares. Knowing that part of me wanted it to. I could already hear the liquid thoughts of my anger begging me to attack, to slice him apart.

I grit my teeth and closed my eyes at the thought, not liking how my mind accepted the idea as rational. I pulled the vivid image of Ilyan’s dream to mind, letting it settle my nerves for the hundredth time in half as many minutes.

The meeting had to almost be over; Ilyan had told me it would only be an hour, and I was sure that we had almost reached that. Although for all I knew, it had been only ten minutes. I let my focus wander from Ilyan’s fingers as they traced over the map to the rows of tables we were surrounded by. Most of the wooden surfaces had been worn smooth over centuries of use while others looked like they had been hewn only recently.

I was sure it had to be a kitchen, either that or ancient monks needed a lot of fireplaces. The large, rounded stone alcoves were evenly spaced along the wall behind us, each ancient outcropping covered with ash and soot. So, a kitchen, although the lack of chairs seemed a little odd. Only two tables had chairs, and they were stacked…

“Joclyn,” Ilyan said, making me jump, my attention pulling from my temporary distraction to look at him. “I need to know how many camps lie along this stretch here.”

Ilyan asked the question with that same loud boom of command that I had heard this morning, and I almost wanted to deny him and give my imprisoned anger some type of an outlet. However, the last thing I wanted was another fight, so I closed my eyes, swallowed my pride, and sent my magic away from me, my mind searching through trees as my magic gave me sight to what was miles away.

I let it pulse and surge until I had a clear enough understanding of the land. Then I opened my eyes, grabbed the pen from Ilyan’s hand and wrote in the single camp that had been missing from the map.

“This might work,” Ilyan said, letting his finger drag over the paper and leaving a glittering trail of red behind. “If they leave this space untouched, you,” he glanced over at Thom, “and Wyn should be able to get Ryland and Dramin through here without much of a mishap. From there it is a straight shot home.”

“Do you think there will be enough space there?” Thom asked, his finger tracing over the line that Ilyan had just made to stop at a small line of camps not far from their path. “All it would take is one Trpaslík to find us, and we would be toast.”

“Excuse me,” Wyn said loudly, her voice bubbling in agitation. “I can feel a Trpaslík if they come, and I am quite capable of protecting all of you, in case you have forgotten.” Wyn smiled slyly at Thom in dissent, her hand dropping from Ryland’s to flatten against the map as she leaned toward Thom.

I half expected him to take a step back from the wicked look that Wyn was giving him, but he held his ground, shaking his head and laughing, the sound almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I have not forgotten; I still have the scar, thank you. I just do not wish you to push yourself too far, so soon.”

The sincerity of his tone caught me off guard. Thom had always been calm and soft spoken, but the way he spoke to her was different, kinder, more loving. My head snapped toward him and I looked into the long, thick strands of his dreads, feeling the soft waves of his magic whisper through the air. My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline as I tried to figure out what was going on, and what scar he was referring to. Hadn’t they only met a few days ago?

Thom held still as he looked at her. Wyn’s posture softened further as her face broke out into a wide, playful smile.

“I am fine, Thomas,” she said, her eyes glimmering with her sass.

“I need all of you to travel with them,” Ilyan continued as if the exchange hadn’t happened, his deep voice attempting to pull everyone back on track. Almost everyone turned back to Ilyan, but I stared at Wyn until I caught her eyes.

Typical silent girl talk was not going to cut it; I could tell already. No matter how many times I heightened my eyebrows at her in question, she only got more flustered, the reaction increasing my confusion.

“I will need Wyn and Sain to help keep Ryland in check and, Thom, you will need to move Dramin.” Ilyan’s voice echoed off the stone as Wyn’s head snapped back over to him, her eyes brightening in anticipation.

“That still doesn’t answer how you will keep the mass amounts of Trpaslíks away from us? We can’t possibly fight if we are carting invalids around,” Thom said, his voice back to his hard scoff.

“Joclyn and I will draw them away…”

“So
she
gets to fight,” Ryland interrupted Ilyan with a loud snap, his voice hard and accusatory. Ilyan withdrew his hand from the map as I cringed, the sound of Ryland’s anger igniting the mania that I was trying so hard to control. “You are going to take a weak Drak and leave me behind, aren’t you, brother?”

“You are not fit to fight yet, Ryland,” Ilyan said in a deep rumble that I could tell he hoped would calm his brother, even through the ripples of anger that flowed off Ryland.

“I can fight! Let me kill him!” Ryland yelled, his anger ripping out of him before Wyn and Sain placed their hands against him, his face calming a bit.

Ryland’s outburst was the breaking point for Ilyan. The calm he had projected evaporated as he rose up to his full height, towering over the table toward Ryland. The edges of his voice rumbled as his anger surged in an oppressive weight. “Not until you see us all as your allies. Including Joclyn.”

“And she can do that? She tried to kill me!” Ryland countered, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stared into Ilyan. Although he tried to stay strong under the power of Ilyan’s aura, I could see his resolve lessen, his anger dampening as he curled away.

“She has been trained; she is strong. And the sight has shown us that she will be ready! I know she will be!” Ilyan roared, his confidence in me like a rolling balm over my skin. “Besides, they do not want you. They would rather see my head on a pike, and Joclyn’s body in a pit. Would you like to be bait, Ryland?”

“She will never be fit to face our father; she is weak and will get us all killed,” Ryland hissed through gritted teeth.

The two men stared malice into each other from over the table. My jaw clenched while Ilyan’s muscles tensed in warning. I could feel Ilyan’s anger move off him in waves as it intersected with mine. My pain and anger at Ryland’s words grew until I couldn’t control it, until it boiled out of me in a torrent that I couldn’t help but release.

“I am not weak,” I growled through the tight clench of my jaw, while my magic rippled and bubbled until I was all but willing to let it explode out of me.

Ilyan moved back to an upright position at the snap of my voice, his arm moving around my waist in an attempt to pull me into him, but I moved away from it. My anger and pain mixed together violently, and my breathing picked up. I knew I should accept Ilyan’s comforting touch—that I should calm myself—yet I couldn’t. I didn’t think I needed it.

Right then—even through the anger, and the pain, and the fear—I could still feel myself. I could still feel Ilyan’s dream. Somehow, I was controlling the waves of fear and anger, instead of letting them control me.

My thoughts remained, and when I looked up to Ryland, when my eyes met the blue of his for the first time since I had walked in this room, I didn’t feel panic, and the walls didn’t turn to blood.

I just looked at Ryland, letting all the things he had said to me over the past few days meld together into a furious conviction that took over every part of me. I could hear his disgust at discovering I was a Drak. I could feel his fist against my cheek, his taunt that I was nothing with Ilyan, nothing without him. That was wrong, though, because I was something.

I grit my teeth as my muscles rippled, the blinding rage dimming my vision.

“I do not need you, or anyone else to make me strong.” I didn’t take my eyes away from him as I spoke. I could see his own anger pulsing just under the surface, waiting to escape and attack me, no matter how hard Wyn and Sain tried to control it.

My magic flashed once, and I slammed my fist into the table, a powerful ripple of my magic resounding through the room in a tangible cloud. It moved through the others in a gust of wind that sent them off balance, their clothes and hair whipping around them in the torrent.

I could hear their yells of surprise as the wind grew, the roar of my magic a snap in their ears. My magic exploded into the paper under my hand as the power moved through the air, flying through the ancient fibers and into the space that surrounded us.

Like the ripples of a wave against smooth water, my magic surged again as I prompted it. The flux of energy saturated the map as the markings that dotted the surface wiggled and moved over the top. Ink spread over the paper as my magic did, thick black lines rising from the map like wisps of smoke, the grey vapor growing and multiplying as they moved and danced in the air above the aged paper.

I didn’t look away from Ryland as my magic spread through the forest, focusing on everything that surrounded us. I saw the fine, red hairs of a Trpaslík’s beard, and the glowing green rocks of a fire. I saw them in the shadows of my eyes as I looked through Ryland, the images becoming part of me. I brought them into me, pushing them into the inky tendrils that floated above the map, morphing them, changing them into a perfect replica of what we were surrounded by.

Trees sprouted from the paper, the black and white figures unfurling from the soot as if they were growing there. The wispy spirals of ink joined together as they formed tiny, two-inch tall shadows of each of the Trpaslíks who surrounded us. The small figures moved through camps and around fires, the same way their counterparts moved miles away from where we stood. Figure after figure took shape over the surface of the map; my magic rippled powerfully through me as tents, trees, cars, everything that the enemy had brought with them began to materialize.

“I am not weak,” I growled at him again, trying desperately to ignore the look of amazement that lined everyone’s faces.

Everyone but Ryland.

Ryland just looked at me, his face stony and callous as glowered down on me. My father was already mumbling in his ear as he took the fight out of him, something I would be lucky to keep at bay.

I scowled at Ryland as I leaned away from the table, grabbing my mug of Black Water, content that I had made my point even though I was sure he was immune to whatever I had just displayed to him.

I jumped a bit as Ilyan placed his hand against my bare arm, his magic flowing into me in one quick burst as my mind filled with his thoughts of awe and pride. I turned to him at the touch, the look on his face soft and gentle before he removed his hand, the weakened connection leaving me with only shadows of his thoughts. He turned back to the few of us who huddled around the map, his voice that deep rumble of royalty again.

“Here,” Ilyan prodded through the ghostly shadows of ink as he displayed a new path, different than the one he had originally decided upon, this one further west, further from the main camp where Edmund’s guards had settled.

His finger traced through the camps, a line of red glitter flying from the tip of his finger again as he left the trail for all to see. The red sparkled among the wispy smoke figures, trailing away from the center of the map.

A sure getaway.

Then why did it make me so uncomfortable? I heard everyone else agree, saw their heads bob in agreement out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t look away from the end of the map where the beautiful line of Ilyan’s magic stopped, where the swirls of my magic had not taken on a true shape, leaving only a patch of grey smoke that swirled through the air.

“The five of you will travel along this path here,” Ilyan began as he indicated the red line, but his voice sounded tinny and distant, my mind pulling away from them.

I stared blankly at the swirls of grey above the map, my body weighed down as my magic stretched away from me. I pressed into the power as it moved, my heartbeat rising as I focused on the shapeless smoke, my desperate need for understanding only growing.

“Joclyn and I will begin an attack here, allowing for the section to clear out.”

The world where Ilyan spoke was a million miles away as I focused on the bare patch of land miles from where we stood. Except it wasn’t bare; I could clearly see the burlap tent that stood in the bare space, in the exact position on the map where the ink still danced through the air.

I stared at the tent in my mind’s eye, the plain square shape feeling like an oppressive force even from this distance. The flap to the tent moved in the breeze as my magic stretched through the air, a gentle buzzing replacing Ilyan’s voice as I focused, as I moved closer. The closer I got, the heavier my mind and magic grew, until I felt that same, weird feeling as before; the peculiar magic I had felt so many times before hitting me hard.