Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(60)

Everything here was too red, too wet, and too dirty. Add to that the decay of a city left to rot, and I wasn’t about to touch anything. It was bad enough I had to smell it. I would have preferred the vile death of the camp outside the wall to this, and that was something I had never thought I would admit.

“Ovailia,” my father called loudly from behind me, his voice carrying enough to awaken one of the many Vil?s who lay hidden in the space. I heard the hiss and turned, ready to say the word, but with one look, the mutated thing retreated, its tail between its legs.

“Why wait?” I asked, the creature’s fear igniting my desperate need to cause more pain.

“Soon, my precious girl.” His voice was a smooth whisper as he moved toward me in three quick steps, his finger resting against the side of my face with a touch so gentle I forgot who he was. “Soon, the war will come, our thousands will crush Ilyan’s handfuls of rejects, and then all of this will be ours again. The magic will be mine again, and no one will be able to stop me.”

“No one deserves that more than you. You are my king.”

“Good.”

The same foreign and unwanted fear ticked back into place as he moved away. My nose wrinkled in disgust, although I was convinced part of that was from the smell.

“Father—” I began then stopped short at the sound of a crash that moved through the city.

A loud bang and a flash emanated from the old, broken cathedral that lay a few streets away, the already debilitated city shaking with groans and bangs, a mist of dust moving over us like a fog.

I cringed against it, moving before my father with hands outstretched as if some unseen assailant was hurling toward him.

No one was there, but it didn’t matter; I stayed in front of him, the girl right by my side as my father’s guard appeared before us, their bodies popping into existence as they ran into the alley and descended from the rooftops, surrounding the three of us in a wide human shield.

We stood still, waiting for the attack, but the alley was empty except for the dozens of Vil?s that poked their heads out of their hiding places, too scared to come out all the way.

“You fools. It’s not an attack. At least not on us,” Edmund snapped as he pushed his way past our open arms, his stride wide as he gave his guard one look.

With shivering veils of magic, they vanished back to their patrol, the single glance all they needed as far as instructions went.

Edmund sneered as he continued to walk away from us all, disappearing from view as he moved toward the middle of the street.

Remaining still, I followed the sound of his shoes. The soft sound was all that was left to tell me where he was. I knew better than to follow him without request. Míra, however, followed blindly, her hand on her chest as she tried to locate his magic, no longer able to see him.

The moment he reappeared, she rushed to his side, her feet moving like little patters of rain. Instead of moving into the protective stance she was being trained for, though, she moved behind him, her shoulders hunched as she cowered in a fear I hadn’t seen in her before.

A mild groan escaped her lips as she leaned against him, her hand pressed against the ?tít and the pain I didn’t doubt was emanating from the controlling vessel.

“You pathetic fool,” he snapped, his focus on the now doubled-over child. “I am your king, your lord, and your master. You would not be alive if not for me, and you will do well to remember that. Do what you have been trained to do, or I will kill you, anyway. I always enjoy watching things bleed.” He kicked her away from him as he finished.

The child whimpered in pain as she fell into one of the piles of blood and excrement littering the city, her hair fanning around her like a feathered cloak.

I didn’t even try to stop the smile that spread over my face as my father turned to me. My back straightened as his gaze met mine dead on, his smile as wide and wicked as my own.

“She will learn,” I said as he laughed, his toe digging into her arm before he moved away, leaving her in a heap.

“What did you see? What was that?” I asked as he made his way over to me, his smile spreading, the wicked gleam in his eyes bright in the dark of the alley.

“What do you think the chances are that Ilyan has all of his army holed up in the cathedral?”

I hadn’t expected that, and even with the confidence in my father’s voice, the smile on my face slid away.

“We had all the churches checked shortly after the wall was placed…” I hesitated. I could already see the warning in his eyes. Delivering a contradiction to his certainty so close after what had happened was not in my best interest. “There was nothing there.”

“Nothing, as in it was empty? Or nothing, as if they were destroyed?” His smile continued to grow, the greasy mess twisting down my spine, and I shivered pleasantly.

“There was no one within them.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I was treading lightly, doubtful of where he was going yet still not wanting to defy him.

It was an interesting game of cat and mouse, one I was enjoying.

I shook my head, letting my hair fan over my back as I took a step toward him, not willing to look away, no matter how much the look in his eyes made me shiver.

“So they were empty.” His smile grew. “And yet, your brother loves churches.”

“Which is why we checked them first.”