Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(10)

I heard Ilyan’s heart rate pick up in my ears before his hand moved to stroke the side of my face. His fingers grazed over the skin as his emotions shifted, his thoughts moving right along with them when his own confusion gave way to a gentle pride.

“He is amazed by you, as am I.” His voice was a whisper as he spoke to me.

“It is more than amazement, Ilyan,” Sain said, his tone matching the awe that his face had held before. I almost jumped at his voice, shocked that he had been paying attention at all.

“What do you mean, Sain?” Ilyan asked, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held me against him protectively, the action flaring my nerves.

“She has been speaking into your mind,” Sain said as an answer, the words almost sounding like a revered song.

“Yes,” Ilyan’s deep voice rumbled through his chest, making it clear he didn’t want to elaborate.

“I had my suspicions before when I saw the burn of the Black Water on your hand, but I thought you were just pacifying an old man…” Sain whispered softly.

My fingers clung to Ilyan’s shirt as I waited for the news that was sure to come.

“You have fused your souls.”





Three



“F-f-us-sed-d?” The word was out before I could stop it, the stutter worse than right after Ilyan had pulled me from the nightmare, when I huddled against the toilet. I couldn’t help it, though; I couldn’t make sense of the confusing mess my father had just divulged.

“That is only lore, Sain.” Ilyan’s voice rumbled in disbelief, his emotions moving through me as his thoughts tumbled over each other.

“Is it?” Sain asked, his awe fading into amusement. “Then tell me, how does my child speak into your mind? There is no magical ability that can accomplish such things. I am sure there are others anomalies that connect you two. Things that cannot be explained.”

I looked away from Ilyan’s shocked expression to my father, my pulse quickening at being referred to as his child. The surprise at such an intimate title wore off as his words sank in, though.

There were other things that connected us.

I had felt them in the way I could feel Ilyan’s emotions, the way I could understand his thoughts before he put words to them. I had thought those were supposed to be normal magical abilities, which had come to me when my full powers had awakened. They felt normal to me. My magic, my mind just knew what to do—how to find Ilyan when he wasn’t near me, how to feel his emotions.

Then why was it only with Ilyan? Why could I not hear my father’s thoughts or feel Wyn’s emotions from across the abbey? The only time I had felt something similar was with Ryland, but we had been bonded then.

Is it a Z?lství? I asked as I turned in Ilyan’s arms, my hands soft against his chest as I looked up to him. I could see my shock looking back at me through him, my silver eyes wide as I tried to understand.

It was the only thing that made sense, out of the limited knowledge I had of magic. I felt like I was sifting through sand in search of a diamond as I tried to understand what Sain had been talking about.

“No, my love,” Ilyan whispered to me, his hand running down my face as he moved my hair out of my eyes. I could hear his thoughts as they trickled down to me; the promise to never bind himself to me until I was ready still strong.

“Then what is it?” I asked, my stomach tightly wound in fear.

“I am not sure. It is lore. If it is true, I can tell you that it is so much more than a Z?lství …” He said nothing more as he held me against him, our eyes closing in harmony as our magic met, moving together. I could hear Ilyan’s thoughts trickle down to me, his mind tripping around thoughts and words and languages until it was a jumbled mess that got lost in the air between us.

“Ilyan?” my father asked, his voice soft as he interrupted us. “May I see your hand?”

Ilyan eyed him skeptically before he moved away from me. His steps were slow as he removed the heavy bandages he kept around the burn, allowing my father to see. I stood still against the table as Thom also came forward to see the dark red marks that Ilyan had given himself.

Ugly divots of black and blood red covered Ilyan’s entire palm, the burn stretched along the backs of his fingers and up his wrist. The angry, red skin was still glossy as it worked to heal itself, the burn not more than a day or two old. I had seen it last night, and even then I had been aware that it would never heal, not in the way the marks on his chest had. He would wear these painful scars forever.

“That would be why I despise that poison,” Thom said, his voice crinkling in disgust. He looked like he wanted to move away, but he held still, almost as if he couldn’t help himself from looking at the burns. It was the same look he had given me when Dramin had first given me the water, like it had offended him.

The problem was that his look was offending me. Ilyan’s hand looked terrible, but without that sacrifice and without the water, I wouldn’t be here.

“That poison saved me,” I said, the anger rippling through me. Thom lifted his eyes to meet mine, though he only rolled them and looked away, mumbling something about Dramin that I couldn’t hear. Ilyan’s back stiffened at his comment, but he said nothing, his muscles rippling under the dark cotton t-shirt he wore.

“This is very deep. I don’t think I have even seen one this deep before,” Sain whispered, his fingers prodding the sore skin, which caused Ilyan to jerk in pain. I jumped as Ilyan did, my fist reaching up to wind its way around the fabric of his shirt.