Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(56)

Ilyan had lent me a dream, a piece of him that I could take with me always. I could feel his magic thrum through me, something I had grown so used to that I had almost forgotten what it really meant for us. Now I knew, though. Ilyan’s dream had become my dream, and with that hope, I could overcome everything.

Even though the demons were just waiting to knock down the door.





Fifteen



Ryland was watching me.

I could feel his eyes on me from where I stood, sandwiched between Thom and Ilyan around the large, raised table. My shoulders tensed in fear as I heard Sain whisper to Ryland every few minutes. The fear blended into anger as Ryland clung to my father’s hand. Sain’s voice was calm as he tried to stop Ryland from doing what my mind continually screamed at me to do to him. The desire that I was desperately fighting.

The need to attack.

I ground my teeth and pushed the craving away, careful to keep myself as close to Ilyan as I dared. Even though he had warned me not to touch him, not to get to close. Ryland’s perception of me was still distorted, and getting to close to Ilyan could shatter the flimsy veil of sanity Ryland had found. If Ryland erupted, it would only be moments before my own sanity shattered.

So, instead of stepping closer to Ilyan as I wanted, I took a deep gulp from the mug of Black Water I held, letting the deep magic that it provided warm me, numb me, and settle my madness. Although it wasn’t enough, it helped. I took another small sip before setting it back on the table we stood around, grateful for the residual calm it gave me.

I kept my eyes glued on the ancient parchment that Ilyan had brought from our room, the yellowed surface lined with streaks of colorful light from the numerous lanterns and orbs that lit the dusty room. I knew the sun was shining somewhere above the dark clouds that shrouded us, but all we received was darkness and the steady drum of thunder.

Ryland mumbled as the sky ripped open, and my breathing picked up, my shoulders tensing as Sain’s murmurs became a dense white noise to Ilyan’s commands. I moved a step toward Thom, but he only seemed to be concerned with Wyn, who stood opposite of him. Wyn, whose hand was wrapped around Ryland’s.

“Hurt her!” Ryland suddenly erupted and I jumped, my eyes darting toward the sound. I knew at once it was a mistake.

My anger licked at my soul in a flame of heat and fear, the emotions screaming at me to lunge across the table at him. I clenched every muscle in an attempt to stay still, my joints aching as the raw anger attempted to bully its way past the wall I had built, threatening to take me down.

Just as I fought the madness, Ryland fought to maintain the calm he had built. I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed and sagged, the way his fingers compressed into tight, little fists.

Until now, Ryland had been calm. His voice mellow when he spoke, his emotions didn’t seem quite so volatile. But he still wasn’t whole; he still wasn’t the boy he used to be, and the monster was threatening to come back.

I had hoped the return of his heart would have helped, and while I could see the calm it had given him, it hadn’t been enough.

I just wished I didn’t feel so awkward wearing the now clear diamond around my neck. I don’t know what it was, but the necklace almost felt like a war prize, something tainted that I should return. Or destroy.

I swallowed once and looked back down to the table top, knowing that one look into the depths of his eyes would unleash my nightmares. Knowing that part of me wanted it to. I could already hear the liquid thoughts of my anger begging me to attack, to slice him apart.

I grit my teeth and closed my eyes at the thought, not liking how my mind accepted the idea as rational. I pulled the vivid image of Ilyan’s dream to mind, letting it settle my nerves for the hundredth time in half as many minutes.

The meeting had to almost be over; Ilyan had told me it would only be an hour, and I was sure that we had almost reached that. Although for all I knew, it had been only ten minutes. I let my focus wander from Ilyan’s fingers as they traced over the map to the rows of tables we were surrounded by. Most of the wooden surfaces had been worn smooth over centuries of use while others looked like they had been hewn only recently.

I was sure it had to be a kitchen, either that or ancient monks needed a lot of fireplaces. The large, rounded stone alcoves were evenly spaced along the wall behind us, each ancient outcropping covered with ash and soot. So, a kitchen, although the lack of chairs seemed a little odd. Only two tables had chairs, and they were stacked…

“Joclyn,” Ilyan said, making me jump, my attention pulling from my temporary distraction to look at him. “I need to know how many camps lie along this stretch here.”

Ilyan asked the question with that same loud boom of command that I had heard this morning, and I almost wanted to deny him and give my imprisoned anger some type of an outlet. However, the last thing I wanted was another fight, so I closed my eyes, swallowed my pride, and sent my magic away from me, my mind searching through trees as my magic gave me sight to what was miles away.

I let it pulse and surge until I had a clear enough understanding of the land. Then I opened my eyes, grabbed the pen from Ilyan’s hand and wrote in the single camp that had been missing from the map.

“This might work,” Ilyan said, letting his finger drag over the paper and leaving a glittering trail of red behind. “If they leave this space untouched, you,” he glanced over at Thom, “and Wyn should be able to get Ryland and Dramin through here without much of a mishap. From there it is a straight shot home.”