Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(63)

With one last grin, he closed his eyes, his face serene as he did what came naturally to him, as he searched out the blade that held the souls of so many he had killed, their magic now inside of him, a direct line if you will.

Eagerly, I waited, breathing heavily as I leaned toward him, anticipating what was to come—some declaration of control, of death.

“She’s close…” he whispered, stepping over the heaving, gasping man as he took my hand in his and pulled me back into the middle of the street. “It is not within her, so my control is limited, but not for long.”

He gestured forward, his eyes trained on the darkness that swallowed the city. I looked between the street and my father in confusion before a small, black figure cut through the red tint of the world in front of us, stumbling, running, screaming. I knew who it was and that my father was in control of her.

Wynifred.

We had come to get information out of Sain. We had come to show the filthy princess a magical race she was being trained to kill, yet, another assassin had walked into our midst. Another assassin had walked into our control.

“Wonderful.” I smiled, my eyes wide as she continued toward us. “What are you going to do with her?”

“I’m going to get you past Ilyan’s wall.” He smiled at me. “If she can get out, then she can get you in. Together, you will destroy his army before he even has a chance to attack us. He will be crippled, and all because of Wyn.”

“Brilliant.”

“Make sure to come back with my new bride, Ovailia. I would hate for dear Wynifred to miss her bonding ceremony tonight.”

This time, I laughed, the sound loud and joyful as I danced before the woman who had been nothing short of my archenemy for several centuries. She didn’t even know what was coming as she walked toward us, her eyes wide as her body propelled her forward without her permission. Her hand wrapped around a shard of red blade I recognized immediately, the panic clear on her face.

She could see us.

She knew what was happening, yet there was nothing she could do.

“Hello, darling,” Edmund cooed, his voice the same he would use before he forced all of his wives into his bed. “I told you I would make you mine eventually.”

Wynifred looked at him in terror as he grabbed her hand, her palm opening to reveal the jagged blade. She couldn’t even move as he lifted the shard and plunged it through the center of her hand.

There was silence for the briefest of seconds, and then her mouth opened wide, a high-pitched scream seeping through the hot air around us.

We laughed.





The mug was dry. It had been dry for the last few hours, but I held it, anyway—clung to it, more like. My tight grip was probably more out of familiarity and desperation for the comfort that was attached to it.

If anything, it was something to hold against my hands as I listened to the screams that had been resonating through the halls for the last few minutes. The pain and agony behind them increased with each wave.

I didn’t need to be told whose they were.

Joclyn’s magic—that powerful Drak magic that even I couldn’t help her understand—was taking control. Either that or, if we were correct, Sain was. Whatever it was Sain had done to her, to her sights—whatever lessons I hadn’t been taught, whether the Zlomeny was true or not—it was ripping her apart, just as he had warned. No. Just as he had created.

I hoped she would be strong enough to control it, to defeat it.

To defeat him.

That it wouldn’t devour her.

Subsequently, I sat, staring at the door with the mug in hand, wishing there was a way I could reach her, wishing I was strong enough to walk there, hoping Ilyan would bring her to me.

The scream came again, louder, the sound swallowing the footsteps that were racing toward me, opening the door with a bang so loud I was surprised even Thom didn’t jump.

“Wyn!” Ryland yelled angrily as he barged in, Jaromir on his heels as he searched for the little pixie who normally occupied the space.

“Ryland?” I asked in a panic as his eyes swept over the room to meet mine. “What’s going on?”

Ryland leaned against the door, his bulky frame seeming even more powerful as he pulled to his full height. “Have you seen Wyn?”

“No.”

“Damn it!” His voice was loud, louder than the fist that hit against the door he was leaning against, his powerful strength leaving a long crack in the old wood.

“Ryland!” I yelled his name with as much authority as I could. “What is going on?”

“Joclyn,” he panted, the obvious answer frustrating me. “She was with Wyn. Ilyan thinks she attacked Jos.”

My eyes widened in shock. I hadn’t expected Wynifred to attack her best friend. Six hundred years ago, the thought would not have made me bat an eye. Now, that was not the girl I saw every day. Besides, with the way Joclyn screamed, I had assumed it was her own magic.

“Ryland?” I asked, pulling the blankets off my old, useless legs before I even got a response. “I need you to take me to her.”

“But I—”

“You can find Wyn after. I need to be there now.” My authoritative tone was weakening in my dread, but it was something Ryland didn’t even notice. His focus was so intent on Joclyn I was positive a rhinoceros could have barged through the hall behind him, and he wouldn’t have noticed.