Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(17)

“You sound like my father.”

“It has to be this way, my love. Whether or not you or I agree, it is the way of the Drak—of your father—and, as Dramin’s father, you have to respect Sain’s wishes.”

I wanted so much to say Ilyan was right—that this choice was right—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t accept that Dramin wanted to die. He wouldn’t have fought for life for so long only to give in. I had seen the sadness in his eyes when I had foreseen his death. He had been accepting of it, but he hadn’t wanted it, not really.

Dramin’s plea for me not to tell anyone suddenly made sense. It wasn’t out of worry for others. He didn’t want anyone to change it; he didn’t want me to change it, and he had known that I would try.

I wasn’t sure I still wouldn’t.

If I can’t change the sights… what does that mean for me, Ilyan?

Ilyan’s thoughts stopped abruptly at my question. The image of him screaming in agony as he held my body surged through me. The sight’s promise of what was coming for me loomed heavy and unwanted. His eyes burrowed into me, so bright I could almost see into him. Into his soul. His movement was slow as his hand came up to cradle my face, the soft skin hot.

“It means I stand by your side,” Ilyan whispered, his thumb softly tracing the line of my lips. “For you were born and you were bred to only protect her.” His voice deepened as he quoted the sight, my heart seizing even under his delicate touch.

It wasn’t the words that he had said that had affected me so; it was the words that came after.

The ones that told of my death.

It was those words that made me doubt the truth of the sights at all.

Because if I didn’t, if all the sights were set in stone, then my life was coming to an end just as Dramin’s was. And I wasn’t ready to give up yet.





Five



Dark-blue clouds rolled over the forest that surrounded me from where I sat on the ancient balcony in Ilyan’s room. They blocked out the stars and cast a dull grey shadow over everything. I knew it was well past midnight—it had to be after the night we’d had—but with the storm, there was no way of being certain. The dark blanket of clouds lit up before the distant rumble sounded, warning us of the storm that, when I had been awakened by Ilyan’s war meeting, had been off in the distance. The storm that was now right over us.

I took another drink from the earthen mug I held, the Black Water keeping me nice and warm against the chilled air that caught on the thin cotton pants I wore.

The smell of rain that saturated the air mixed with the scent of eucalyptus that wafted off my hair, making everything around me smell warm and heady. My body was relaxed and my mind clear, thanks to Ilyan.

He had insisted on drawing me a bath when we had returned from Dramin’s room because I couldn’t calm down. I was fuming over my father’s decision and his pigheaded belief in magic that he had so thoughtfully told me I didn’t understand. I had felt broken and beaten by those words and the way he resented me. My soul had screamed at what my future held, fighting against it. Everything had been frayed and broken, making my agitation increase.

So, Ilyan had placed masses of flowers in a hot bath, hung twigs from the ceiling, and placed hot stones on every surface he could find. The whole effect was different from what he had done in Santa Fe, and at first, I thought he had lost it. Then the steam came, the aroma loosening the prison of emotion that trapped me, and I could have hugged him. Though it felt like hours, I was sure I hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in there.

Minutes that had taken off months of stress.

I smiled at the thought just as I heard the bathroom door open behind me, my nerves cinching together at the sound before I felt Ilyan approach me, bringing with him the powerful floral smell he had created.

I drained my mug as Ilyan walked up beside me, his bare back to me as he leaned against the balcony, watching the thunderheads. His skin glistened with the last of the shower water, his dark-blue pajama pants clinging to his hips.

I saw the tension in his back, and for the first time, I began to wonder if he could feel what I could. The anger and sadness of the earth. It came on the wind as the earth mourned the coming battle, and it seeped through the ground from the army that surrounded us, ready to strike. Everything was on edge, the very core of my magic trembling with the oppressive force that threatened to cave me in.

The earth is crying. I knew the phrasing sounded like a child’s comment, however Ilyan understood and nodded once, his gaze still focused off in the distance.

“She can feel the anger that surrounds us. She can feel what is coming,” he whispered reverently.

I could only nod, understanding what he meant. It was more than just the earth that trembled. I could sense the Trpaslíks’ anger in the trees. I could feel the strength of the weird magic off in the distance. I could see the tiny, magical lights flare just beyond the tree line as the Trpaslíks began to wake and light their fires. They were close, so close we could see them and they could see us.

There was a promise of battle in the air; the same promise which drowned my hope that nothing would happen until Edmund himself arrived. To know he was coming, that we expected him, and that I would have to fight him—perhaps when the next sun rose—was terrifying.

“I don’t know if I will be ready in time,” I reiterated my fear aloud, my eyes pulling away from the dangerous depths of the forest and back to the mug I held in my hands.