Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(103)

I knew Joclyn and I had done some damage with whatever had happened before, but I would seriously be dead if it was that much. That would be more of a reason for Ilyan to put me on an “armed and possibly dangerous” list. Destroying churches. In some ways, I guessed I should be happy it was a perceived disloyalty … well, and attacking my best friend. Those, I could fix.

At least, I hoped I could.

The air moved as though it was a mirage, my heart rate accelerating in fear of exactly who was coming through and what I could be facing. It had been such a relief when Ryland had found me, and granted, the whole stopping-my-bleeding-before-I-died thing was awesome, but I suddenly found myself wishing I had bled out.

Edmund was a terrifying master, but Ilyan brought out a whole different kind of fear, one that made you simultaneously feel guilt and an unquestionable desire to be better.

It was irritating.

The man himself came through first, his hair a tousled mess, face covered in ash and soot. I looked up at him from where I cowered on the ground, my heart immediately moving into overdrive.

Something had happened, something more than me attacking Jos, something more than me being controlled by Edmund. The image of Thom in that bed, the magic sparking between my fingers, flashed before me, and I winced. My heart constricted in fear of what could come after. I didn’t dare ask, seeing the remains of a war on his face, seeing the anger creased in his forehead and his downturned lips. I knew it was bad.

Shying away, I scuttled over the cobbles as quickly as I could, the sparks of electric discomfort in the right side of my body rising. The pain duplicated with each step he took toward me, the defiant assassin side of me completely quiet for once.

“We need to have a chat, you and I,” Ilyan said, his voice a deep, oozing rumble as the air behind him continued to move, Joclyn and Ryland following him through the barrier.

I didn’t even look at them. I knew better than to look away from the powerhouse I was faced with.

My heart was rampaging inside of me, everything twisting violently and increasing the pain I was stuck with.

Nodding numbly in response, Ilyan squatted down in front of me, his tall frame folding elegantly despite the lankiness of him.

I froze, the silence of the space drowning out the violent tempo of my heart and filling me with a loud buzzing I was momentarily convinced was caused more from fear than blood loss.

“Give it to me.” His voice was harsh as he extended his hand toward me, palm up, his eyes boring into me.

I hesitated, even though I knew I needed to give it to him. It was why I had come here. I shouldn’t have it. If I had learned anything in the last two hundred years, it was that.

My lips pressed into a tight line as I shifted my weight, my hand fidgeting with my pocket in an attempt to remove the blade from where I had stowed it. My heart rate increased again the closer my fingers got, the sound echoing in my ears as Rosaline’s cries intensified louder and louder and …

Mommy!



My body twitched as the single word erupted in my head, pulling at my memory with a start and igniting my magic to dangerous levels.

No one moved; they stood still, waiting.

With my lips in a tight line, I moved again, forcing the thing from my pocket, trying to ignore the way it had opened up into loud, racking sobs. The sound ripped into me as I extended the blade toward the man who had saved my life on more than one occasion, and I was quite certain he was going to do so again.

“Ryland,” Ilyan said, his focus solely on the blood red shard of the blade I extended toward him, his lip curled in what was unmistaken disgust.

The boy stepped forward, his curls bobbing as he handed Ilyan a small, metal box, the top of which opened on its own. Ilyan extended the empty vessel toward me, his intent clear.

Without question, I dropped the blade into the case, the sound of the screams and cries that came from the blade growing more panicked as the lid closed, Ilyan’s magic sealing it in place. Then there was only an indefinable calm that stretched over me.

Only freedom.

“What were you thinking?” Ilyan’s voice was as firm as the lines in his face, the look in his eyes compressing into my shoulders as, for the first time, I looked away from the powerful man before me.

“She’s my daughter, Ilyan,” I gasped, hot tears moving down my cheeks again. “I can’t abandon her.”

“She’s my niece. She’s my blood as well as yours.” Ilyan sighed, pulling my focus to him, drawn to the calmness of his voice, to the soft hand that extended toward me. “Do you think I would abandon her, as well?”

All I could do was stare at him, stare at the calm in his eyes, stare at the gesture of his hand before me. My heart thundered heavily in my chest as I tried to vet what he had said, the guilt ripping me apart.

“I’ve been a fool,” I whispered.

He pressed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “Give me your hand, Wynifred.”

Swallowing, I did as I was told, placing my uninjured hand in his palm, just to have him smile and drop it, picking up the other without question. Then his magic seeped into me as he began to heal it.

“I know you better than to think you would defect to my father, let alone marry him,” Ilyan sighed, his smile fading back into the hard line I had expected. “But do something like this one more time, Wynifred, and you will force my hand.”