Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(62)

“Prague.”

Ilyan’s emotions spiked through me as Sain’s answer sent him into a panic. His demand for knowledge came quickly, the context easily understood, even though he spoke in Czech.

The images of his home flowed from him so fast I couldn’t stop them. The memories of his life matched up with the sight until all that was left was a jumble of fear and happiness.

Edmund is going to use the Vil?s to attack Prague. To use the humans to create an army, a magical race that only he can control. I sent the words into Ilyan’s mind as I looked into him, his wide eyes boring into me.

“When?”

Soon, I wanted to answer him, to send the words to him, but I couldn’t.

The time table made no sense. Edmund was due to arrive in Rioseco at any time, to fight in the battle that the sight had shown would be his end. When I would kill him.

Which could mean one of two things.

I would either fail and give Edmund a chance to build his army, or the attack against Ilyan’s beloved home had already begun.

Ilyan’s eyes were desperate as I looked into him, his pained need for knowledge breaking my heart. I couldn’t tell him.

“It’s too late,” Sain answered for me. “It has already begun.”

Ilyan’s eyes widened as his jaw clenched, the look in his eyes almost haunting. I could feel his anger and feel the pain over the knowledge that he could do nothing.

I grasped Ilyan’s hand, desperate to give him the calm he needed—desperate to help him find clarity—when a yell broke out from somewhere in the abbey. A deep, masculine scream that echoed through the stone hallways of the abbey before it reached us.

My blood sped at the sound. My hand wound tightly around Ilyan’s as the sound came again, Ilyan’s fear at a possible battle flooding into me.

Not yet. I wasn’t ready yet.

I sent my magic away from me in a tidal wave that crashed over the abbey, filling every nook and cranny until I felt the source of the scream, the answer freezing my blood.

It wasn’t the battle.

I had thought I had failed.

Thanks to the fight Ryland and I had gotten ourselves into, no one except Ilyan and I knew what I had tried to do.

What had apparently worked.

Dramin had woken up.





Sixteen



Dramin.

I spoke the word into Ilyan’s mind before I bolted away from the table, my red shoes slipping on the stone as I ran away from the kitchen toward the faint pull of magic that throbbed and pulsed as Dramin tossed in his bed.

I focused on him as I ran, my stomach dropping in alarm as his magic ebbed a bit. The weakening strain worried me that he was slipping away again. I needed to get there before that happened.

I had made it down one hall before voices and footsteps erupted behind me, the thunderous tumult making it obvious that everyone was following me. I picked up my pace as I turned the last corner, my feet slipping on the rubble from where I had thrown Ryland into the wall. I could see the wide door just ahead, the wooden slab inset in the stone.

I took the last few steps at what felt like a snail’s pace, though I knew I was running; the door swung open as the flare from my magic pushed it. When I slid into the door frame with a loud grunt, Dramin turned toward me, his green eyes hooded and tired.

Everything stopped as our eyes met, my face heating and burning as I looked into the bright sheen in his eyes. I had thought I hadn’t been able to heal him; I had thought I had failed. I couldn’t have been happier to be wrong.

“Uncle.”

“Siln?.” His voice broke and cracked as his weak body tried to push himself to sitting.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face, my joy at seeing him awake temporarily trumping the guilt I felt at putting him there. I entered the room at a dead run, my arms wrapping around Dramin as I tackled him, pushing him right back down onto the bed.

He grunted at the impact, his arms stiff before they came to wrap around me, his touch calm and hesitant. I felt the soft touch on my back, and I snapped, my guilt and sadness tumbling together until they ran down my cheeks in warm streams.

“I am so sorry,” I sobbed into him, my voice breaking as my chest heaved, everything in me tightening in despair. “I d-didn’t mean to. I am s...sorry.”

I pushed the words out the best I could, hating when the stutter came back yet pushing past it. I needed to tell him. I needed him to know that it had been an accident. I needed him to understand.

“Siln?,” Dramin said in my ear, his voice so soft I could barely hear him. “Dear child, you did nothing other than what the sight had shown, nothing other than what was in your heart, and I do not fault you for that. I never could.”

His arms wrapped tighter around me, his words digging into my soul as the tears came faster. The weight that had hidden itself in the deep pit of my heart vanished, taking a tiny bit of the stress I had harbored with it. I gasped for breath as my body relaxed, the now joyful tears that slid down my face increasing as I felt the others enter the room.

“Dramin,” Ilyan gasped from the door, his voice a wave of awe that washed over us. His quick gait pounded through the surprised silence, his hand landing lightly on my hip as he came up beside us.

“You are well, my friend,” Ilyan whispered, the emotion choking his voice away.

Dramin looked toward him and chuckled, the sound that I had grown so used to—the sound I had missed so much—warming me. I had almost expected never to hear it again. Hearing it lifted the fear that had lived in my heart and warmed the chill that had dwelled in this room. It was its own form of magic.