Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(32)

It was something we had tried multiple times, all without success, but … someone could. No, not just someone. And not just the cloaked man, either.

“No, Ilyan, one of Edmund’s men can move through the wall,” I corrected, and Ilyan froze. My forehead wrinkled as deeply as his did. “It wasn’t Edmund, but the magic required…”

My open question faded into the darkness as Ilyan turned away, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as his temper pulsed through me. His thoughts moved so fast I couldn’t hope to keep up with them.

“He’s done something to them. Whatever he did to those Vil?s, he’s mutated their magic, strengthened it. Strengthened them.” He turned back to me, the quick movement making me jump.

“Do you think it was one of his Chosen?” I asked, not wanting to think about those poor people Edmund had destroyed.

The Chosen we had found in the first few days after the ambush had seemed … normal. I had been able to remove the tainted magic and save them. But the more time went on, the less human those bitten by Edmund’s Vil?s became.

We had found a few survivors over the last few days, and what those Vil?s had done to them still twisted my stomach. No matter how hard I tried, I hadn’t been able to help them. The truth of what Edmund had done sickened me.

“It could be, or it could be someone who is working for him.” Ilyan’s thoughts stabilized as he spoke, images flooding into me as his mind moved someplace we had visited many times before.

But with no proof, with no real evidence against him besides him being a disagreeable, old man, we couldn’t do anything.

Not unless we found proof.

“We need to get back,” he announced, his voice heavy with the same authoritative tone I had gotten used to when he went into war mode. “We need to do a count, find out if someone’s missing.”

“You mean we need to check to see if Sain is there.” My voice was hard, the anger that always erupted at his name taking over.

“Yes,” he agreed, his bright blue eyes meeting mine with a whip of energy. “It might be what we need.”

My heart pulsed heavily as I looked at him, my hands in tight fists around the soft fabric of my jeans.

He was right. After months of waiting, of having our hands tied behind our backs, we might have something. If that was Sain, then Sain wouldn’t be at the cathedral…

Everyone might tell me I was overreacting, but I couldn’t trust him. I doubted I ever would, not while he was telling everyone I was an undead, bleeding puss nugget.

Or whatever he was doing.

Ilyan’s lips twitched at that, his hand moving quickly as he took a step toward me and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into him.

You’re not an undead, bleeding puss nugget.

And you’re not the king of France.

“Well, not now. Many years ago, however…” he said with a smile, the emotion fading quickly into a pained grimace as the deep stress of what we were really facing plowed into us.

I cringed against it, leaning against him.

“We need to go,” I gasped, not only because of the urgency of the task before us, but because of the painful wave of magic that had moved through me. The heavy heat that spelled danger.

With one quick sweep, I felt them. At least twenty of Edmund’s men were one street over, looking for us.

I was sure it was no coincidence they had chosen this exact spot at this exact time to attempt to stage an ambush.

Pulling away from Ilyan enough to see him, I felt his body tense beside mine, tension rippling through me as it did him. I could feel his need to attack them, to catch them, to try to glean some information out of them.

If only there was time…

My chest heaved as I fell back into him, apprehension winding through my spine in a need to leave.

We had one chance to catch Sain. We couldn’t waste it.

“There’s no time. We have to go,” I reminded him.

He nodded then wrapped his arms around me as his magic swelled, ready to pull us back into the void. With a gentle kiss against the skin of my forehead, my magic reached to meet his. The colored specks of light were triggered in the darkness that surrounded us as the army of Trpaslíks rounded the corner and Ilyan’s magic pulled us into the void, away from the striking ribbons of colorful magic that would have brought us death.

Everything tightened as we were pulled into the usual suction cup of pressure the void held, my heart tensing in preparation for the pain, for the black.

Except, everything was different this time.

The tense pressure I was used to was gone, my body calm in a space that felt more open, more alive. More than that, it didn’t end. A stutter that usually took seconds stretched on, my anxiety and confusion growing as I tried to understand what was happening.

Forcing my eyes open, I expected the black of nothing, expected to be trapped and lost.

And alone.

But I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t in the dark.

Ilyan still held me against him, his hair flowing around him, eyes closed, and face at peace. He was beautiful, frozen as he was in the space between time.

I could have gazed at him until we returned to Prague, let him be my anchor to the disorientation that was still plaguing me. Nonetheless, something else pulled my attention and slammed into my chest like a ton of bricks.

It was my magic.