Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(57)
“Do you think there will be enough space there?” Thom asked, his finger tracing over the line that Ilyan had just made to stop at a small line of camps not far from their path. “All it would take is one Trpaslík to find us, and we would be toast.”
“Excuse me,” Wyn said loudly, her voice bubbling in agitation. “I can feel a Trpaslík if they come, and I am quite capable of protecting all of you, in case you have forgotten.” Wyn smiled slyly at Thom in dissent, her hand dropping from Ryland’s to flatten against the map as she leaned toward Thom.
I half expected him to take a step back from the wicked look that Wyn was giving him, but he held his ground, shaking his head and laughing, the sound almost uncharacteristic for him.
“I have not forgotten; I still have the scar, thank you. I just do not wish you to push yourself too far, so soon.”
The sincerity of his tone caught me off guard. Thom had always been calm and soft spoken, but the way he spoke to her was different, kinder, more loving. My head snapped toward him and I looked into the long, thick strands of his dreads, feeling the soft waves of his magic whisper through the air. My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline as I tried to figure out what was going on, and what scar he was referring to. Hadn’t they only met a few days ago?
Thom held still as he looked at her. Wyn’s posture softened further as her face broke out into a wide, playful smile.
“I am fine, Thomas,” she said, her eyes glimmering with her sass.
“I need all of you to travel with them,” Ilyan continued as if the exchange hadn’t happened, his deep voice attempting to pull everyone back on track. Almost everyone turned back to Ilyan, but I stared at Wyn until I caught her eyes.
Typical silent girl talk was not going to cut it; I could tell already. No matter how many times I heightened my eyebrows at her in question, she only got more flustered, the reaction increasing my confusion.
“I will need Wyn and Sain to help keep Ryland in check and, Thom, you will need to move Dramin.” Ilyan’s voice echoed off the stone as Wyn’s head snapped back over to him, her eyes brightening in anticipation.
“That still doesn’t answer how you will keep the mass amounts of Trpaslíks away from us? We can’t possibly fight if we are carting invalids around,” Thom said, his voice back to his hard scoff.
“Joclyn and I will draw them away…”
“So she gets to fight,” Ryland interrupted Ilyan with a loud snap, his voice hard and accusatory. Ilyan withdrew his hand from the map as I cringed, the sound of Ryland’s anger igniting the mania that I was trying so hard to control. “You are going to take a weak Drak and leave me behind, aren’t you, brother?”
“You are not fit to fight yet, Ryland,” Ilyan said in a deep rumble that I could tell he hoped would calm his brother, even through the ripples of anger that flowed off Ryland.
“I can fight! Let me kill him!” Ryland yelled, his anger ripping out of him before Wyn and Sain placed their hands against him, his face calming a bit.
Ryland’s outburst was the breaking point for Ilyan. The calm he had projected evaporated as he rose up to his full height, towering over the table toward Ryland. The edges of his voice rumbled as his anger surged in an oppressive weight. “Not until you see us all as your allies. Including Joclyn.”
“And she can do that? She tried to kill me!” Ryland countered, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stared into Ilyan. Although he tried to stay strong under the power of Ilyan’s aura, I could see his resolve lessen, his anger dampening as he curled away.
“She has been trained; she is strong. And the sight has shown us that she will be ready! I know she will be!” Ilyan roared, his confidence in me like a rolling balm over my skin. “Besides, they do not want you. They would rather see my head on a pike, and Joclyn’s body in a pit. Would you like to be bait, Ryland?”
“She will never be fit to face our father; she is weak and will get us all killed,” Ryland hissed through gritted teeth.
The two men stared malice into each other from over the table. My jaw clenched while Ilyan’s muscles tensed in warning. I could feel Ilyan’s anger move off him in waves as it intersected with mine. My pain and anger at Ryland’s words grew until I couldn’t control it, until it boiled out of me in a torrent that I couldn’t help but release.
“I am not weak,” I growled through the tight clench of my jaw, while my magic rippled and bubbled until I was all but willing to let it explode out of me.
Ilyan moved back to an upright position at the snap of my voice, his arm moving around my waist in an attempt to pull me into him, but I moved away from it. My anger and pain mixed together violently, and my breathing picked up. I knew I should accept Ilyan’s comforting touch—that I should calm myself—yet I couldn’t. I didn’t think I needed it.
Right then—even through the anger, and the pain, and the fear—I could still feel myself. I could still feel Ilyan’s dream. Somehow, I was controlling the waves of fear and anger, instead of letting them control me.
My thoughts remained, and when I looked up to Ryland, when my eyes met the blue of his for the first time since I had walked in this room, I didn’t feel panic, and the walls didn’t turn to blood.
I just looked at Ryland, letting all the things he had said to me over the past few days meld together into a furious conviction that took over every part of me. I could hear his disgust at discovering I was a Drak. I could feel his fist against my cheek, his taunt that I was nothing with Ilyan, nothing without him. That was wrong, though, because I was something.