Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(15)

With broken steps, he left the dark confines of the alcove and shuffled into the light, into the large hall and the joy and excitement Ovailia had resonated.

The cheers continued before the screams started. Anger and panic took control as I turned Edmund’s body, his dead eyes looking into the crowd, the large jagged shard of the Soul’s Blade clearly protruding from his heart.

The crowd deteriorated into a panic as many turned to rush the door. Many more rushed Ovailia or the podium, coming face to face with a powerful shield. Any attack they sent that way faded to smoke.

The attacks, the fear—everything poured into me with an energy I devoured with a lustful hunger. I let it energize me, fill me. Wonderment broke through my chest in a deep, menacing boom that increased the thrum of my heart. The sound increased, magnified by the room I stood in, drifting over the crowd as they began to hush, increasing the fear of this unknown who was stepping out from the shadows.

The depth of my laugh flourished as the shock of seeing me standing before them began to sink in. Unbroken, unwavering, no longer the sniveling imp they had watched cower behind their master for centuries.

That creature had gone. All that was left was an unknown hell, the devil in me just dying to get out.

Fear dripped in the air, infecting the magical people who were now my pawns with a virus they wouldn’t be able to shed anytime soon.

“Good evening.” I spoke as casually as I could, fully aware that the menace of my laugh had attached itself to the two words. “I thank you all for accepting my invitation, for following the commands of your king.”

The multitude stared at me in confusion and shock, their eyes wide as they looked from one to another, trying to understand what was going on.

“You called …?”

“What happened to Edmund …?”

“What is going on?”

The nefarious smile crept over my face, baring my teeth to the light as I stripped the blood-soaked robes from Edmund’s shoulders once again, letting the damp cloth glisten as I furled it through the air like a banner.

Screams cut the startled silence as the blade glistened from his chest, the naked body of their master left disrobed.

I gave them no explanation. I said nothing more. In silence, I simply stepped toward the broken man, his blood shrouding me as I wrapped my hand around the blade that still protruded from his chest, the uneven rock strangely hot.

“Don’t worry,” I said, smile expanding as I glanced back out toward the captive audience. “He’s already dead. I killed him. I defeated him. As we will Ilyan in a victory that I will lead you to.”

Their cries of protest and fear echoed in my ears as my focus drifted back to Ovailia who stared at me, the same stiff jaw in place, her hands like rocks against her thighs.

“To victory,” I repeated to Ovailia, my focus on hers as I pulled the blade, cutting into ribs, lungs, and flesh, ripping Edmund open from breast plate to hip bone.

The already rotting and burned organs spilled out of him in a cascade of gray and red. A shower of the darkest crimson covered my legs, sliding over the stone as it flooded the faces of those who stood closest, the fear escalating as every question he had was answered.

A breath of silence filled the hall before the screaming began again, panic ruling them.

It was then, with the blood of their master over their face and his milky eyes staring vacantly into them, that they attacked.

Streams of color flashed across the air, hitting against the same shield as before. The gray stone of the cave was illuminated by the flash of anger as attack after attack flew through the air.

Then, with one look at Ovailia, hair sagging in front of my face in madness, I dropped the shield, letting the attacks fly right toward me, brilliant colors inches from taking my life.

They never hit me.

Instead, a spark of ability pressed me into the world underneath our own, letting me escape them in a seamless stutter. Reappearing with a tiny pop at the back of the large hall, the sound unheard over the eruption of violence that had taken over the space.

Hundreds of attacks still sped right toward where I had been, the air alight with color, each missing their mark and embedding themselves in the body of their former master.

Screams rent the air at the sudden shift of events. Trpaslík women ran to the aid of the man who had been mutilated by dozens of spells. More ran toward the door, the untrained Chosen cowering and whimpering against the walls in mad attempts to escape the fray.

Then everything stopped.

Frozen.

Silent.

Men stopped attacking. Women stopped crying. Chosen froze in pathetic cowers. And I alone stood in the back of the hall, laughing as my power infested them, freezing them in place. The sounds of fear were snuffed from the air as I placed each of them in a cage of my magic. No matter how much they fought, it wouldn’t allow them to move.

“Well, now,” I said, my steps heavy as I walked past them, weaving my way through the sea of large, frightened eyes as they watched me, the one thing that moved in a sea of stone. “That was quite the fit you all threw. Mind you, I don’t necessarily blame you. I can image your surprise. You thought me a pathetic weasel. And now I bring you the body of your tyrant. Now I hold you all with a power that even Edmund could not master.”

Fear dripped heavily in the air with each word, the emotion dangling in their eyes, clear in the labor of their breaths. It pressed against my soul, and I breathed it in with a sigh, letting it fill me, letting it fuel me.