Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(6)

Die.

I could hear the words of the sight run through me. The image of Ilyan holding my blood-covered body was sharp against my heart.

“I’m n-not read-dy,” I gasped out, my voice quaking through me.

“You are stronger than any, my love. I know you will overcome what has been done to you. I promise you, I will help you to see it happen,” he whispered low enough that only I could hear.

I let out a shaky breath as my stomach tightened. I was scared. I felt weak, but I knew that wasn’t who I was. If I wanted to find who I was again, I knew what I needed to do.

I needed to face it.

I pushed away the agitation as I reached through the blankets to wind my hand around his neck, the soft pads of my fingers pressing against his skin as I pulled him closer, pressing his cheek against mine.

“I need to see,” I whispered to him, a calm rush moving through me at the clarity of my words.

Ilyan nodded once against my cheek before he pulled away, his hands moving to pull the warm blankets off me.

“St-stay with me,” I whispered to him, grateful when only a small stutter found its way into my voice.

“Always.”

I shivered as the cold air hit my skin, wishing we had found something thicker than Ilyan’s lounge pants to use as pajamas. I sat on the side of the bed as I slid my feet into the small, red leather shoes Ilyan had made for me.

Ilyan wrapped his hands around mine as he pulled me up and right into him, molding me against him. The warm pressure of his hands pressed into me as we walked toward Thom and Sain, who watched us with wide eyes. I cringed at the look they gave me at the same time that the steady beating of Ilyan’s heart echoed through me, calming my own frantic beat while the harmony of the sounds rang in my ears.

My father moved toward me in eager anticipation, his wide, green eyes staring at me in wonder. I couldn’t stop myself; I stared into him, desperate to see the father who had become more of a myth to me.

His gaze saw through me, even more than when Dramin looked at me.

When Dramin looked at me, I felt naked, my life and soul x-rayed and open to view. When my father looked at me, I felt like I had been cut open with a blunt knife, and even the secrets I tried to hide were open game.

I could barely see the shadow of the man I’d held on to behind the unkempt hair and the shallow scars on his face. I could see the man that still lived in my memories, the man who had knelt before me in the middle of the clearing during the nightmare Cail had controlled.

Even though I could see him, there was something else I couldn’t see. My father.

I didn’t know who this man was. I’d had an entire life without him; he had centuries of one without me. I didn’t know where he fit, where I fit, and with the way his gaze made me feel I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

I wanted to tell him to look away, to leave me alone, although part of me—the part that had clung so desperately to that tiny,black backpack all those months ago—couldn’t help screaming that this was my father. That he hadn’t abandoned me after all.

“You are stronger than it,” Ilyan reminded me as we stopped before the table. His hands ran over my arm before they were gone, leaving me standing alone while Sain and Thom stared at me. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to look up again, so instead I kept my focus on the massive map that covered the top of the table.

The map was huge, much bigger than I had originally thought it to be. The large abbey that we were hidden in was the size of a matchbook in the center; the forest that we were surrounded by stretched out on the yellowing parchment with small cartoon circles randomly popping up as if to remind us of the trees.

I didn’t need Ilyan to tell me what the red circles that littered the surface of the map were. The black chicken-scratch numbers written next to each one had made it obvious. It was the army that Edmund had sent after us. I could easily add the numbers up to well over two hundred, but I knew deep down inside that something was wrong with that number. Yesterday, the hostile magic around us had throbbed in a violent wall that felt like more than only two hundred men.

“We will wait until Edmund arrives, and then I believe we should start the attack here,” Ilyan said as he placed his finger against the map near a large circle of camps.

My whole body jumped at the word “attack,” bringing my focus off the map and back to Ilyan, whose deep voice rumbled as he instructed the two other men. “We can flush them out from this side while Wyn and Thom pick off the second wave from the middle—”

“I’m sorry,” Thom interrupted, his voice somewhat hysterical. “Attack? Wyn… fighting? Ilyan, you can’t be serious.”

“It is what the sight has shown, Thom, and we must stand by that. It is not our way to disregard the sights of the Drak’s,” Ilyan practically snapped.

Sain nodded in agreement, even though he didn’t seem to be able to look away from me yet. I caught a glimpse of his intense stare before I looked away, the glaze in his eyes making me feel as though I was food, not his long-lost daughter.

“And who, exactly, do you think will be able to aide in this attack, brother?” Thom snapped back angrily as he leaned over the table toward Ilyan, his dreads swinging over his face and darkening the already angered expression.

Ilyan turned toward Thom at his challenge, his face hard. I cringed the same way Thom wilted under the look in his eyes.