Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(26)

But today … Today, I had seen it.

Today, I had wanted it.

It was a feeling I was trying to ignore, yet hearing my father speak of the connection, of the espionage in such a way, I wanted it. I wanted to exploit it—exploit him.

“Our King, our lord,” one of my father’s many servants announced loudly from beside us, his voice carrying over the now silent stadium as he presented the child to her new master.

She was covered in blood and filth, her blonde hair barely visible from underneath the mud that coated it. She did not cower. She did not even try to hide. She stood still and tall as she met my father head-on, her focus solely on him.

It was as he had said. She knew what she had done; he just needed to give her a reason to do it.

“What is your name, child?” Edmund asked, his voice calm, obviously taken aback by the loyalty the child was already displaying.

“Míra,” she said, her voice as strong as the gaze she had fixed him with.

Edmund said nothing as he walked toward her, placing his hands on her bare arms as he looked at her.

Her steady gaze wavered as his magic filled her, as a new ?tít was placed against her heart, taking away any choice over her life the girl had held before.

Turning the child into something more.

Just as my father had me.

Just as I would Sain.

It was as my father had said: it was all in how you played the game.

And I was going to play.





“Good job, Jaromir! You are going to be a pro at this in no time!” my voice boomed through the red-lit courtyard, the deep sound echoing off the cobbles and broken stone work in a weird ricochet.

Everything was different close to Ilyan and Joclyn’s barrier. The small patio was bathed in a golden light that filtered over the already painted world. The light made everything look real, closer to how things were on the outside. It wasn’t perfect, but close enough that, for brief moments, I could believe everything was normal.

You will never get outside.

That was probably why I preferred to do my work out here, even though Ilyan demanded all magical training take place within the cathedral where he had placed a secondary shield to protect the ancient building, as well as keep the signs of our presence as shrouded as possible. I understood the reasoning, but the ancient space was too dark for me. I always felt trapped. Besides, the larger barrier Ilyan and Jos had placed out here did much of the same job. So, as much as I could, I would bring us out here and pretend it was nothing but a never-ending sunset.

I wished that was all it took to forget we were trapped in my father’s doom bubble.

Don’t worry; I’ll keep reminding you.

Even if it wasn’t for the restrictive prison we were trapped in, there would still be that incessant voice in my head, the disembodied words of my father seeping through me, trying to control me.

Trying.

But he couldn’t, not anymore. I wouldn’t let him. I would fight the anxiety his voice gave me. I would rise above him. I needed to, not just for me, but for what was coming.

I was reminded of it every day as I trained Jaromir, as I trained all of the other newly awakened Chosen, preparing them for what no amount of fantasy could conceal.

At first, I had rebelled against the job before I realized I was one of the few people here who knew what my father was capable of, who knew what they were up against. And someone needed to prepare them for the war that was ahead.

My war.

The war I am going win.

The war you are going to help me win.

No.

We shall see.



That training was as good a daily reminder as any.

“I didn’t quite get the flick like you taught me, though, sir,” the little boy spoke in quick Czech as he approached me, his shaggy hair bouncing as his voice rattled on with all the eagerness and excitement he’d possessed since the first day I had started training him.

“What flick?”

“You know, how you move your wrist to the side a bit…” He smiled widely, showing an odd mix of adult and baby teeth, before stepping away, the grin growing as he pushed his hands before him.

I could see the gears in his mind twist and turn as he thought about what he was about to do, as he twisted the magic to perform whatever wrist flick he was talking about.

With a bang like a gun, the magic erupted from his palms in sparks of colors that went wide, much wider than it had the time before, thanks to the odd jerking motion he was trying to accomplish.

Even with the large spray, the magic was still accomplished perfectly.

While all the other Chosen had fought against their new abilities and life, mourning what Edmund had taken from them, Jaromir took to it like a duck to water. He mastered complex tasks easily and quickly, surpassing all the others who had awoken around the same time.

You should use him.

Use him to help us win this.

To defeat Ilyan.

To kill Joclyn.

Of course, his acceleration was partly to do with how far he had pushed himself, how much perfection he expected. He refused to move on to another task until he had perfected it, and he would get quite upset with himself if things weren’t honed in record time. It was a lot for a boy of nearly nine to take on.

That insatiable quest for perfection, while valiant, was sometimes fruitless, which was what he was stuck in now—a search for perfection that was focused on a wrist flick not required for the task I had set him.