Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(43)

Her lips met his as lights flashed, popping around us all in a beautiful array that was almost comforting. I lay back as I watched them, content to observe the dancing sparkle of the earth’s magic, sad when they left as Joclyn breathlessly pushed Ilyan away.

The normally stoic man laughed, stealing another kiss.

“Seriously, will you get a room?” I groaned.

The two laughed even further before Ilyan swept out of the room, leaving Joclyn and I alone, the tension moving back so quickly I was in no doubt that I had dreamed the last few minutes into reality. I would believe it, too, if it wasn’t for the way Joclyn was staring at the door, her hands twisting the long, golden ribbon through her fingers in agitation that was so familiar for her.

Saying nothing, I waited, sipping on Black Water, leaning peacefully against the old headboard and wondering faintly if this was what the elderly did in the mortal world. Perhaps I needed a newspaper.

“The Zlomeny.” Her voice was soft, but still, I heard. It pulled me right out of revelry, my eyes snapping open to the girl who now faced me. “What are they really?”

Chest tightening in a panic, I was swallowed whole by her eyes, the silver gone from their depths, replaced by a color so dark it was almost black. I expected the ember glow, expected the sight, but she just sat still, staring at me as if she could see into me, as if she really was.

Draks had been taught to use our magic for a slow recall in order to peer into someone in order to understand who they really were. I had seen the deep looks, the knowing glances, many times before. I had performed them many times before. With Joclyn, however, it was different. It was as though she was peering into the deep hidden caves of your soul and connecting with them, understanding them, rather than exposing them and poking around.

“Nothing escapes you, my dear.”

“Well, I am your younger and much wiser sister.” She said it with a laugh, her eyes sparkling as the bed shook a bit under her.

“Siblings is a very loose word for what we really are, dear Joclyn.”

“Drak, then?”

“I’m not sure that fits, either,” I said with a growl, trying to ignore the deep longing that flamed through my soul.

“Why not? Apparently, my sights are broken,” she growled back, one look pulling her right back to the battle in Rioseco where our father had claimed their bonding had broken everything. “Do you believe him?”

“I…” I hesitated.

For the first time in what I was certain was my entire life, I hesitated.

She didn’t miss it.

Her focus finally pulled away from the ribbon wrapped around her fingers, her eyes wide in haunted fear as she met my gaze. “That bad, huh?”

I swallowed, not liking the massive pit that had grown in the middle of my chest in the last few seconds. “What Sain told Risha, the rumors that have been spread, they are things the Drak are told never to repeat: about the Zlomeny, about the weakness of a Draks’ power. We tell everyone they are the sights that are broken by the acts of others, by the mortals. But that is not true.”

She stared at me, obviously waiting for more, but I couldn’t seem to find the right words. Everything was trapped behind a mental block, something keeping me from telling her the truth.

“So what he is saying is true?” The anger behind her voice was heavy, but still, I smiled. Sometimes, I thought Father was right—that she did need better control over her emotions. “That, by creating a Zlomeny, my magic is dying. It’s killing me.”

“That’s what we have always been told.” I repeated the words the same way I had for years, but this time, they pressed against me, igniting something deep inside. A fear like I had never felt before rushed through me, a flash of a memory moving alongside the dread like it had caused it.

Joclyn moved to sit beside me, the whole bed rocking under the shift of her weight.

“Dramin?” She was scared. I didn’t blame her.

My entire body felt weaker than I had in days. I waved her worry away, determined to confess this truth out. She was Drak, after all; she should have known long ago.

“Zlomeny are sights that are broken because the Drak magic is too powerful for those who hold it. They can’t control it, so the magic devours them. The term Zlomeny does not refer to the sights, but rather to the people who are not worthy of Drak magic.”

“Great,” she moaned, her hand tightening around mine. “So now I’m not worthy of Drak magic, yet somehow, I’m the most powerful magical creature alive. At least I know I’m not the only person whose sights keep changing.”

With those simple words, the panic moved in waves of fear, pulling something from deep inside me. A memory of tears filled my mind in a haunted recollection I wasn’t quite certain I wanted to pull at.

“What did you say?” I asked, not looking at her, already not wanting to hear the answer.

“That I’m somehow all powerful yet not powerful enough—”

“No,” I interrupted her, my eyes digging into hers with such foreign intensity she shied away. I was doubtful she had ever seen this side of me before. I was doubtful anyone but my mate had. “About the sights changing. Do your sights change?”

“Obviously, I’m a Zlomeny, remember?”

“I’m quite serious, Joclyn.” The memory of my tears intensified, the recollection of an alley running through my mind in a quick flash that shuddered through me painfully, the bones in my back creaking in protest from the movement. Regardless, I stayed still, staring at her, dreading her answer while also needing it.