Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(14)
“Good,” I hissed, wrapping my hand around her waist before pulling her into me. I let our magic dance together, knowing the connection was dangerous. “Since I killed him, I can do what I want with him. He is mine, as all those people are mine. As the future is mine.
“There is no us,” I continued, pushing her farther into me. “There is no we.”
“Not yet.” She smiled, and my eyes narrowed.
I dug the tips of my fingers into her side as my magic flared. My temper was rising so quickly I could barely contain my magic, contain my anger. I knew she felt the warning pricks of my power. I knew she felt the pain.
But she didn’t show it.
She stood against me, her hand soft on my forearm as she fixed me with the same dangerous smile.
“Careful, Ovailia. Remember what I said about a devil.”
Her smile faded at my words, the power she thought she had over me fading into a question. She stepped away, pulling her heel out of Edmund’s back with an odd squelching noise before it tapped against the stone of the floor, the click like the bang of a gun, signaling the change.
“Everyone is in the hall,” she continued as though the last few minutes had never happened. “We’ve scoured all of Imdalind and pulled all the Trpaslík guards from the camp. The qualified Chosen are here. The others are locked in their tents as you requested. Damek and I have already barred the doors, although I am not positive we can hold this much magic behind them if they were to revolt.”
“Let me worry about that.”
The fear in Ovailia’s eyes relaxed as I stepped off the corpse of her father, the tension in her shoulders loosening. She whimpered as I moved closer, her eyes soft as my fingers trailed over her skin in a move that she perceived as intimacy. She was foolish enough to have missed the control I had taken, to have missed the protective shield I had placed around her.
“Well, then”—her smile grew as her magic swelled, her beautiful frame taking another step toward me—“we are ready.”
“Wonderful.” Even past the mask of emotions I always hid behind, I couldn’t stop this smile from releasing. I couldn’t stop the greed from coloring my eyes.
Ovailia watched it spread as she let her hand drift up to my shoulder, her own brand of lust intensifying, seeping into the air and mixing with the flavor of death in a luscious aroma.
“Wonderful,” I repeated as I breathed it in, letting the sweet smell of victory fill me. The last tendrils of Edmund’s magic burned inside me. “Go and introduce your father, Ovailia.”
Ovailia said nothing as she vanished from sight, smiling demurely. The soft click of her ever-present heels following my good little pet to her task.
“Now we get to play.” My heart rumbled as I turned, addressing the lifeless corpse as if it were an old friend patiently waiting for his turn. “Up you go.”
Edmund’s magic was destroyed, Míra and the ?tít gone. There was no longer any magic in this vessel. Otherwise, I would have controlled him as I had with the bodies within Prague. Instead, I let my magic seep inside him, strong as it filled the icy cold of rotting flesh, moving him like a puppet on a string.
Ticking throughout him like the pulse of a metronome, my magic brought his body to life, shifting and jerking with a steady beat. He moved as though he were under a strobe, his arms and torso shuddering in a haunting stop-motion that jerked and pulsed. Loud cracks broke through the air as his bones began to shatter, unable to hold the weight of the decaying man. They pushed their way past the charred and blackened remains of his flesh, glistening white and shining brightly against the grit of black ash.
I moved him to a standing position, his legs twisted beneath him, head lolling on his shoulders like a newborn. Dead white eyes stared into nothing as the singed ends of his always perfectly cared for hair fell over his gaunt face in the limp curls that were so similar to his sons’.
“Hello, old friend,” I cooed as I twisted his head to one side, his mouth agape as a dry and cracked tongue protruded from behind yellow teeth. The blade that still protruded from his chest was more obvious now. “Ready for some fun?”
“Trpaslíks!” Ovailia’s voice boomed from beyond the door, heralding what was coming, causing the beat of my heart to increase. “Our master, our king has gathered us here for wonderful news!”
The jovial crowd answered in a cheer, a shout.
Before Ovailia could continue, I closed my eyes then stretched my magic past the wall to see the horde gathered there, to see their eager faces, to see Ovailia who was alive in her element as she led them toward the destruction I had planned for them.
Ovailia continued as I opened my eyes to view the corpse who wobbled before me, the room beyond fading to green.
“I suppose you need to look nice for your fans …”
Removing the robe from my shoulders, I threw it over his. My magic twitched inside of him as the door swung open, and Ovailia’s voice echoed loudly inside of me.
“I give you my father!”
Magic surging, I prodded him forward, toward the eager throngs that were waiting to see him.
Ash fell from his body with each step, chunks of what was once flesh littering behind him as the movements jostled his fragile remains. They fell like a train behind him, like a cloak of coronation; except, this one was in the death and failure of his reign.