Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(135)

“It can’t …” I began, all words lost as I stepped toward the man and ripped the photo from his hands in desperation to know for sure if it was him.

“He says his name is Ilyan Krul,” the reporter began, his voice as distanced as Wyn’s soft sobs. “He was first admitted to Hospital Isidia in the Ukraine about fifteen years ago. He was in a coma for over thirteen years. It’s only been recently that he has awoken, and he speaks of nothing but a woman by the name of Joclyn Krul and this house. I have never met the man before; I only heard of him because of the oddities in the story.”

“What oddities?” Wyn asked as she wrapped her arm around the other side of me, looking at the picture. The protective best friend vibe was coming on strong.

I knew what she was thinking.

That it was a trick.

A trap.

Something.

That this couldn’t be.

But it had to be.

It just had to be.

“His heart, for one,” the man continued. “It is not his own. It had been transplanted when he arrived at the hospital, although we know not how because he had no scar. For the other, he does not age.”

I could barely stand now. Luckily, Ryland and Thom held me up as the picture drifted from my fingers, falling to the floor where Ilyan’s face continued to stare up at me.

“Where is he?” I asked the reporter, my voice hard as I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you have a map?”

The man looked at me in shock before he turned once again to his satchel, rummaging through papers.

“Jos, you can’t,” Ryland said in Czech, obviously intent on keeping his voice low.

“Can’t what?” I returned as I turned back to the man, who now held out a map to me with shaking hands. “I’m going. You can come if you like.”

“The hospital is there,” the reporter said as I took the map, his finger pointing to a large intersection of roads in Kiev.

“Can you clean up the mess?” I asked Wyn, who was already giggling in excitement as I felt her magic surge.

“Tell Ilyan I say hi,” she answered, smiling at the reporter who was now looking between us all in differing stages of confusion and horror.

“Ryland?” I asked, holding out my hand.

Ry sighed, knowing he couldn’t stop me, and ran his hands through his hair, taking one glance at Míra before he picked up the picture of Ilyan and gripped my hand. One nod was all the answer I needed.

With a surge of my magic, I pulled both of us through the world beneath ours and right to the hospital in Kiev, a shield already wrapped around us.

The lobby of the massive building was a flurry of activity, shoulders already running into us, confused faces glancing back as they tried to understand what they had hit. Normally, I would care. Right now, I ignored them, grabbing Ryland’s hand and pulling him into an alcove, leaving a line of confused people behind us, many beginning to snap at each other over their clumsiness.

“Jos,” Ry hissed in a panic as I dropped the shield, “have you thought this through?”

“Do I think anything through?” I asked, my heart thundering in my chest as I walked away from him and right toward the large information desk. Well, I hoped that was what it was. The language written below it was kind of similar to Czech.

“Jos,” Ryland moaned as he caught up to me, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a stop, “slow down.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said sarcastically, turning myself back toward the desk and trying to pull Ry with me. He was too muscular for that to happen, though.

“Do you even speak Ukrainian?” he asked, causing the eager thunder of my heart to drop.

He smiled smugly at my obvious answer and, with a deep breath, pulled me toward the desk, sliding his hand down to wrap around my own.

Normally, I would pull away, but I couldn’t. I was too jittery, too scared, too nervous, and having that hand to hold on to was calming me down somehow. Well, it was at least making it feel like I wasn’t going to suddenly explode.

“Is there a language you don’t know?” I asked caustically, my nerves making me snappy.

“No,” he retorted, his jaw hard, “because I don’t spend all my time on a beach, dreaming of—”

“Someone who might be alive.” The words felt oddly foreign.

My heart thundered as we finally reached the desk. Ryland held the photo out to the kind-looking lady, and she said something in a deep, smooth voice. The woman took the picture and looked from me to the image, her eyes growing wider with each pass.

I looked at Ryland, desperate for some update, but his focus was only on the woman before us, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Silence passed. So much silence. And with each tick of the clock and each frantic look between us, I was growing more irritated. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Ilyan Krul,” I finally said, pointing at the picture, shaking it at the woman. “Joclyn Krul.” I pointed at me. “Ryland Krul.” To Ryland.

With each word, her eyes grew wider until she shot to her feet, saying something quickly to us before she scuttled away from the desk, taking the picture with her.

“What did she say?” I hissed desperately to Ryland, my hand shaking in his.

“To wait here.”

“Well, that’s not promising,” I grumbled, leaning over the desk and slamming my head into it, causing a few people around us to look at us in alarm.