Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(19)

It still affected me the same way, though, perhaps because I had been with her. Perhaps it was because we were both hiding a deep strain of malevolence no one else understood.

A perfect match, which made the fact that my magic was trying to pull into hers more irritating.

She moved toward me slowly, her gaze never leaving mine as her ridiculous heels crunched into the dead undergrowth in loud snaps. Her eyes were dark orbs of plum blue as she leaned closer, running her finger over my lips, and my heart tensed in confusion and irritation at the gentle touch.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.” Her finger didn’t leave my face, her magic continuing to wind around me like some poisonous snake that I could tell neither wanted me nor wanted to let me go.

“Hello, Ovi.” I kept my voice low and fearful, back to the cowering role she knew. The fa?ade was fueled by the bitter cold, the chill of the air a biting pressure against my lungs.

I inhaled, savoring the sting of the icy wind as it moved over my skin, tugging at the cloak, at my hair, and taking any hope of warmth away from me.

“Why did you stop?” she snarled, the calm of my greeting unheard as she moved ever closer, her hand wrapping around my neck in a violent warning.

I shook underneath the touch, but not for the reason she would assume.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I cowered, letting my voice warble as I fought against the strong waves of pride that rippled through me at her accusation.

She turned away at my denial, her hair swinging over the pristine white of her fur coat like a flurry of snow. White against silver. It was beautiful.

I would give her that; her beauty was still hard to resist.

Something foreign swirled through me as I stood, lost in thought, while two of her guards appeared from the air around us, flanking me so close that, for a moment, I was truly afraid they were going to take me to Edmund. I didn’t need that, not yet.

I wasn’t ready for that yet. I still needed Ryland’s blade. I still needed Thom.

“You stopped moving. You almost severed the magic—”

“I was being followed.”

Her eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments before they widened in shock.

“Ilyan.” It wasn’t a question, though it probably should have been. He wasn’t the only one who could stutter anymore, but she didn’t seem to care, even though I knew that she, too, possessed the ability. “And the girl?”

I nodded, Ovailia’s shock leaching back into disgust as a loud hiss slipped past her lips.

She turned away from me in anger, her hair fanning around her like a blizzard.

“How did they find you? You told us that your sight is clean.” Her voice traveled on the bitter wind, moving through me.

I shivered, letting the weak movement move through me like a wave. “You know how he found me. That girl can track magic better than most Vil?s,” I snapped, regretting the outburst the moment Ovailia turned back to me, her eyes dark in warning.

The guards increased their holds at her look, hands digging into my arms as they held me in place. I grimaced at the pain, at the pressure.

None of them cared.

“Did he see you?”

“Not that I could tell.”

Ovailia studied me for a moment, obviously skeptical, before she narrowed her eyes. Her hand drifted to the side as she dismissed the guards, the burly Trpaslíks fading back into nothing as they pulled their shields around them.

“So you are still good for something, I take it.” Her voice was a poisonous reptile, the look in her eyes ready to attack.

Before I could get a chance to answer, the look changed, her eyes drifting in and out of focus until they were a million miles away, the anger falling from her face to be replaced by a deep understanding that scared me.

I knew that look. I knew that movement. It had happened to me enough over my life and even more in the last few days. She had received her instructions from Edmund.

I couldn’t help the odd mix of eagerness and fear that took over my body. The idea of playing the game was hauntingly desirable.

“What does he want of me?”

Ovailia smiled at the depth of my knowledge, her hand lifting as she brushed the back of it against the bare skin of my jawbone, her fingers running through my beard in a touch so soft I couldn’t help the shiver that jerked through me.

Our magic connected, the skin contact giving the power free range to move between us, to try to connect. It was something that, by the look in her eyes, she enjoyed.

“What do you want of me?” I couldn’t help the question. I couldn’t help the low grumble of my voice, the twisting of my stomach making a powerful play.

She smiled more, her eyes dancing as her magic continued to penetrate, and the chill of the wintry breeze became a distant memory as the warmth of her hand heated my insides like a hot water bottle.

“I want the same thing my father wants.” The honey of her voice melted into me, despite knowing what was coming. “Information.”

My magic attempted to curl back into me in disappointment, but I kept it there, inside of her, a strong force as magic and souls danced in a tango that could never be completed.

“Haven’t I given you enough?”

“There is always more.”

This time, it was my turn to smile.

She was right. There was always more, so much more than even she could ever understand.