Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(51)

“Yes, he is passed,” Ilyan said softly, his eyes still intently focused on me as he watched me battle my demons. “But the magic will be similar; someone will be stronger than everyone else. That is who we are looking for.”

I swallowed at the idea, my throat constricting and making it hard to breathe. I gasped as I tried to push the fear away, to bring the song and the memories to my mind and stay in the here and now. It wasn’t helping, just the idea of feeling Cail’s magic against me again was crippling.

“You are bigger than it,” Ilyan soothed, his voice soft and familiar. I turned from the bleeding walls to look at him, my eyes wide as I tried to fight the feeling, as my magic pushed the fear away.

“You can do it, Joclyn,” he whispered as he moved to kneel before me in his attempt to soothe me. “You can do it,” he whispered, his voice wearing down the edges of the fear that plagued me.

Ilyan reached up with his free hand and placed it against my cheek, the skin warm as he looked into me, his mind filled with a kiss he couldn’t give me right now. The thought pushed the last of the fear away, and my body relaxed as I looked at him, blocking out the blood-covered walls, stopping my fear.

I could do this.

I nodded once before I closed my eyes, my magic flying away from me as I searched the forest that surrounded us. I felt my way through trees and the anger of the camps that were closest, pushing harder and faster until I was surrounded, the anger almost painful to me. My face squished together as I focused. Ilyan’s hand was a warm pressure around mine as his magic plunged into me, his power strengthening mine. I pulled at his magic, brought it into me and used it, allowing myself to search wider, faster.

I searched through the hordes of Trpaslíks, my magic skimming over more of that weird, un-definable magic I had felt before. My heart clenched at the uncomfortable feeling it gave me—the knowledge that I couldn’t place it disheartening—but I moved on, my desperate need to find what Ilyan sought only growing.

I gasped when I found it, pure anger pulsing through the air, stronger than all the others. It was ice and hot and acid all at the same time, the feeling so much like what I had felt inside of Cail’s mind.

It felt just like him, but it wasn’t Cail.

And there wasn’t just one.

I stifled the fear that tried to incapacitate me and let my magic jump from Trpaslík to Trpaslík as I registered the pulse, each one connected. What was more, the magic that I was feeling didn't belong to them, either.

My eyes flashed open at the realization, Ilyan’s stony face greeting me as his worries washed over me.

“There are six of them.”

“And their magic is all the same?” Ilyan asked, his magic pulsing in excitement. I cringed at the feeling, the way his mind relished the idea of the coming battle, and I pressed my hand further into his.

Yes.

“It is the forward guard,” Ilyan said as he stood to face Wyn, her jaw tensing at his words.

I didn't quite understand why the tension grew; after all, it wasn’t Edmund himself. On the other hand, Cail had been the forward guard. It was just like when I was trapped in Cail's mind; Cail always came first. Except this time, Cail was dead, and Edmund had sent others to clear the way.

“If he has sent six, then he will be here soon. If I can get closer,I could tell who it is, what their attack plan is—”

“You are not strong enough to fight yet, Wynifred,” Ilyan interrupted her wild excitement, his order heavy as he moved back to the map. “I will not allow you to take that risk.”

“Yes, My Lord,” she said in obvious irritation, her hands writhing against the dark wash of her jeans.

“I need you to wake everyone, Wynifred,” Ilyan said, the deep base of his imposing voice rumbling over the room as he kept his focus on the large paper. “Tell them to strengthen their portion of the shield and inform them that we will be meeting in the dining hall at ten.”

“Ten? Why so late? If he is coming, we don't have time…” Wyn began as she hastily moved toward Ilyan. Her movement was stopped by one sharp glare from him. His eyes were like ice as he stared into her, the message clear. Do not defy him. I swallowed heavily at the cold steel in his eyes, the heartless color unfamiliar to me.

“I need everyone there, Wynifred, and I will need to prepare Joclyn to meet Ryland face to face. Please tell Sain to do the same.” Ilyan’s frosty eyes bored into her, his tone making it clear that there would be no more discussion.

“Yes, My Lord.” Wyn nodded once before she curtsied, her eyes still downcast when she turned to leave the room. She only looked back at me when she turned to close the door, a wide smile on her face. It was the first sign in the last few minutes that she was still my best friend.

I just stared at her, unsure of what to say, until the door closed, and I could feel her magic scurry away as she ran to do what Ilyan had demanded.

I watched the door long after she had left, trying to ignore the discomfort that was winding up my spine. I didn’t belong here. I only felt out of place.

Lately, I had always felt comfortable with Ilyan; everything between us felt so natural. However, hearing him command Wyn in atone so different from any other time, the look in his eyes—a defiant glare that had almost sacred me—I felt like a lowly servant who had stolen kisses from the king.