Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(33)

The sight came on quickly, my vision burning red before flashes of the future came so fast that I could barely distinguish them from one another. It was only after they began to slow down that I recognized them, the same images from the sight Sain had given Ilyan eight hundred years ago.

The images of Ilyan fighting alongside me flashed in my eyes, his hand around mine, my hair flying as we battled through the forest. I saw the tenderness of his kiss, the way he protected me.

I almost regretted letting the sight come as I watched those moments, grateful when they left to be replaced by images I had never seen before.

An old church I could only assume to be the abbey sat engulfed in fire; the shock at seeing something familiar was almost incapacitating. Another flash of fire, a flash of light, and then I was left with an image of Ilyan sitting behind me on the bed he had just destroyed, his fingers moving through my hair as he braided it, his lips moving rapidly with words I couldn’t hear.

I still felt the heartbreak. I still felt the pain of loss. However, I looked into the future that my sight provided—into an image I knew I didn’t fully understand—and my body calmed. My blood burned hot as my sight whispered to me of its importance, the part this would play bigger than I would ever understand.

I watched Ilyan reach toward a small, gold box that rested on the bed beside us, something golden glinting between his fingers as he removed it from the depths of the container.

The pressure in my head grew as I watched him continue to braid my hair, my mouth opening wide as my jaw extended on its own.

“He will tear us apart. If you wish to see the end, give me your heart.” My voice croaked out the deep lines of my sight, my heart seizing at the familiarity of them, even though I was sure I had never heard the words before.

I looked back at the images as they left me—the sight of Ilyan fighting by my side, of me using his magic as I battled. It was something that I wasn’t sure would happen anymore.

My hands unwound from my sides to fist in the fabric of the shirt that rested over my heart—over the ?tít—but everything felt cold and lifeless. Even the beat of my own heart felt dead. I pressed harder, pooling my magic around it—desperate to feel something—but I felt nothing. Not even a shadow of where Ilyan had protected me for so long.

The ?tít was gone. He had left me alone more than just leaving the room.

For the first time in months, I didn't have the warmth of his magic within me. I didn't have the knowledge that he would protect me. I had pushed him away, and now I was alone.

I had wanted this; I had begged him to leave me, screamed at him. Now I wanted nothing more than to feel that warmth again.

I pressed my hand into my chest as the pain in my heart grew. The tears that had streaked down my face increased along with my howls.

I had done this. I had opened my mouth and let my anger dictate my words—my feelings—and in turn, lashed out against someone who meant more to me than I had truly understood. I had acted like a fool. Worse, I had learned nothing. I had sat over Ilyan’s unconscious body and talked to Thom about pride, about anger, about who I was and what I was expected to do. While I had learned so much, I still hadn't learned enough, and I had pushed away the one person who was supposed to help me through this.

The person who had been born to stand by my side.

The floor around me shook again, a loud crash sounding from somewhere off in the distance. My hands trembled as I pulled my legs into my chest, leaning against the side of the vanity as I curled into myself.

"I'm sorry, Ilyan," I wailed, knowing he couldn't hear me, knowing the words were not enough.

It didn’t matter. I let my voice carry my pleas, the sound growing until it gave out, until I succumbed to the exhaustion just as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

My emotionally drained body slipped away, desperately claiming the sleep it needed. It was the first time I had slept alone since that first nightmare in Santa Fe, since waking up from the torment of Cail’s mind. It was a miracle I slept at all.

I woke again just as the sun was preparing to set, the whole day having passed without me. The bedroom was bathed in the glow of the last of the day’s sun, the light so bright that it almost seemed unwanted. The room was unwanted. It felt empty and cold without him here.

I splashed water over my face and unwound what was left of the careful braid Ilyan had placed in my hair, my fingers aching as they pulled the long strands out from their bindings. My heart tensed as I removed something so precious—something that had such a good memory attached—but I didn’t feel worthy to wear it anymore.

Not after what I had done to him.

My fingers froze at the thought. My mind almost expected the abbey to shake in Ilyan’s anger, however nothing came. Only the silence of evening, the gentle sound of a few crickets who had beat the others to the night.

I stretched my magic away from me as I stood before the mirror, pulsing it over the abbey as I searched for him. I scanned through hallways, through rooms I had yet to see, and right to the very edge of the gardens, but he was nowhere.

I knew that couldn’t be right. I didn’t want to believe that he could just be gone, that he could have left us all alone.

I clenched my teeth and pulled out the last of the braid, leaving my hair to hang around my face as it had done for so many years.

I looked at myself in the mirror—the silver eyes, the dark sheet of hair. I should have looked the same as I had only months before, yet I wasn't the same, not anymore. My eyes seemed darker somehow, more grey than silver, and my hair didn't hang quite so heavily.