Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(131)

But nothing felt right anymore now that he wasn’t here. Nothing felt like the freedom I was searching for was supposed to.

It felt dead, my soul as lifeless as his, my muscles a tense pain as the weight of what had just happened, of what I had just done, hit me.

Of what I had lost.

Ilyan had been the only one to believe in me, to shelter me in my misery… in my loss. And when he had needed me, I had destroyed him.

I already knew. This action I would regret.

“Regret nothing,” I whispered again, willing the words to be true as I turned back toward him right as another stone fell around him, so close it almost crushed him.

“Regret nothing!” I practically screamed, running toward my brother as the ceiling began to come down on top of us, burying us both.

The sound of the stone was a reverberation in my soul as the world turned to nothing but blackness, my vision only stone, my skin covered in the icy cold of water.

I wasn’t even sure if I had made it.





JOCLYN





Fifteen Years Later





33





“We should stargaze,” I whispered, nestling into Ilyan’s collarbone as the water splashed against my toes. “Should we come back tonight when it’s not so hot and see what we can find?”

“You mean the constellations?” Ilyan asked in his deep Czech accent, running his hand over the bare skin on my shoulder.

“Yes,” I gasped, my voice shaking under the gentle tickle of his touch.

“I believe, if I am not mistaken,” he whispered, “that our constellations are different than yours.”

“No Orion?” I asked in shock as I sat up and leaned over him, his long hair spread out around him.

“We have an angry Trpaslík by the name of Brunard.”

“Close enough,” I sighed as I sunk back down next to him, the sand suddenly feeling cold against my skin, the air like ice.

I gasped at the change, an outburst that went unnoticed by Ilyan. He only sighed and held me closer, the dream shattering.

I lay there, nestled against him, everything growing tighter and more uncomfortable as the chill departed, leaving me again in the warm sun. Although, this time, I was aware of where I was and what was happening.

“Do you think we will ever find each other again?” he asked, wiggling his hand through the sand to find mine.

“I hate when you ask that,” I told him, turning away from the boiling heat of the sand to face him, his blue eyes already bright as he stared into mine. “It’s not like you. And it normally means that I’m going to wake up soon, and the dream will be over.”

Ilyan smiled sadly at me, but he did not respond. He only wiggled closer over the sand, moving until his body was flush with mine, his skin cold against the sunbaked heat I was plagued by. I tried to ignore the way my heart pulsed painfully at that, at the way my magic didn’t react to his proximity. It was a reminder that he wasn’t really there, and this wasn’t really a T?uha.

“I think you’ll find me again,” he said, his voice soft as he pressed his lips against my forehead.

My stomach swooped pleasurably from the contact, before the pain came. I closed my eyes against it, focusing on the touch, on the moisture of his lips, on the warmth, only to have it all disappear.

The weight of him, the scent of him—it all left as something pulled me out of my dream, leaving me lying on the beach as always, surrounded by the blanket of warmth that this part of France held at this time of year.

Everything was too warm. The sun was too warm. The sand was too warm. The heat was everywhere, surrounding me on all sides. Regardless, I didn’t dare move. I didn’t dare open my eyes and let reality wipe away the last of the dream. And part of me didn’t care. It was a good dream, the best I’d had in a while, and I was content to let it linger. Besides, lying here in the sand with the sun beating down on me and the sound of the waves and the birds was too comforting.

It was probably why I had fallen asleep.

Not that I minded.

That was why I was out here every day, sleeping, dreaming, refusing to move on, or so Wyn said.

I just wished it was as easy as that. I couldn’t move on. My soul wouldn’t let me.

Groaning, I rolled over onto my stomach, cringing as the sun-boiled sand pressed against the bare skin on my arms and legs.

“Ouch,” I groaned, letting my magic flare just enough to cool the sand, but not too much. Cold sand and warm sun weren’t a great combination, either. Trust me; I had tried it before.

“Aunt Joclyn!” a tiny voice screamed through the calm, shattering the illusion I had created and scaring one of the little seabirds that had parked himself in the reeds. The little red-breasted thing took off with a disgruntled tweet.

Still, I lay in place, my eyes closed as I listened to the quick, running feet joining the desperate pants of the child. I wasn’t foolish enough to open my eyes just yet. I had gotten a face full of sand before.

“Aunt Joclyn,” the tiny little boy said again, his feet carrying him right to me. As expected, he showered me in sand.

I wished there was a way to keep the darn stuff out of my nose.

Desperately huffing in an attempt to expel the sand, I sat up, wiping granules out of my face, facing the towheaded boy who was now laughing hysterically, his arms clutched around his middle.