Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(17)

I knew there was something more to it. There had to be, considering the moment I had seen that one distorted sight with Ilyan and Míra in the cave, everything else had kind of turned off. The images from within Imdalind had become shadowed and broken or, even worse, nonexistent.

Everyone except Wyn had agreed it was worth keeping her alive. At least for now. It didn’t help that, after two weeks of waiting for the girl to slip up and go bat-shit crazy, Wyn’s trust level had reached an already extended breaking point.

“If I can’t torment them, then what’s the point?”

You would think the girl who had committed genocide and was somehow able to regain forgiveness would be a little more understanding.

“Not having a creepy hole in your hand?” I knew she wasn’t going to accept that.

In fact, she dismissed it with one irritated glance, sprinting away from me, darting behind a towering building and into one of the many dark alleys that littered the city.

Rolling my eyes, I started running, trying my best to keep quiet, only to have my foot land squarely in a crimson-tinted puddle I preferred not to imagine the origins of.

Liquid splashed up my leg, soaking through my already worn and frayed jeans. I shivered at the cold, wishing there were a way to wash them.

Perhaps I could convince Wyn to take a detour to a clothing store. Why was it always my pants?

“Great,” I grumbled more to myself than to the renegade I was chasing.

Shaking my leg like a dog during an enjoyable belly rub, I attempted to get as much of the liquid off as I could. However, it stayed put, staining me. The color was made that much more disgusting by the deep red light the city was bathed in, the looming shadows of the building drowning everything in purple and gray.

Purple and gray. The imagery seeped into me as my head began to spin, sight’s familiar swirl attempting to pull me down.

It wasn’t safe for me to let it take me completely, not here. Not when we were so exposed, not when night was so close.

Keeping control, I continued forward, letting the vision play over my reality in a shadow, the faded scenes running over each other.

A flash of light.

The explosion I had been encompassed in before.

The blood-filled rain.

Nothing here was new, something that normally would have irritated me. But, after the darkness and Míra’s twisted sight, I wasn’t going to dispel any of this as a recap.

Dramin had taught me that much, yet he was still being far too secretive about telling me more. Besides, you couldn’t stop a battle; you could only face the war. And the more information I had for that, the greater my chance of survival.

No, of everyone’s survival.

Stopping in the middle of the filthy street, I stared into the smoke-filled room of Imdalind I had seen a million times. I stared into the shifting atmosphere, the familiar blood and screams gone, replaced by the whimpers of a child.

The smoke began to dissipate as my heart rate accelerated, hoping I would see something this time.

I could hear Míra’s screams, but all I saw was fire. Nothing else was clear as an adult woman began to laugh, her voice oddly youthful as the smell of burned flesh hit me. The aroma was strangely familiar, as if I had smelled it somewhere before. But even the pile of death that Sain had forced us to dig into and dispose of had not carried the same power, the same familiar undertone.

This was something different.

“Water flows.” My own voice said within the sight, the imagery leaving as I stared down the darkening street once more, heart galloping in my chest at a painful, unsustainable rate.

Joclyn? Ilyan’s voice ripped through me the second I rejoined reality, his fear making it obvious I had blocked him from the vision again.

I’m fine, I said, my internal monologue strained with emotional exertion. I thought I might see something within Imdalind and Edmunds camp, but there was nothing. Again. I was sure he could hear my disappointment, so I quickly added, We are safe, although Wyn might be planning on killing Míra. I hoped he would leave it alone.

That explains why your heart is moving like a motorbike. His panic seeped into me, his magic following close behind. The powerful warmth filled me as my heart rate began to slow. We need to do something about those two.

Míra and Wyn? I don’t think anything can be done until Thom is alive and well, and Edmund is declared dead.

Speaking of that … Ilyan prompted, and my mind followed his perfectly as I took one step forward, turning into the alley where Wyn had already begun digging through one of the five large dumpsters there, making far too much noise for what was considered safe.

She’s still looking. We are at a clinic in the eighth district.

I had no sooner given Ilyan an update than Wyn threw a large box behind her, the glass-filled thing hitting against the stone wall behind her.

Maybe she was trying to get us killed.

I cringed, stretching my magic out into the city. At least I could feel if someone was coming before they got here. Even if she rang a gong, we should still be okay.

I looked around me at that, my magic strangely aware of the surly best friend who was still doing who knew what in the alley before me.

Stay safe, m?j kamarád. I would be most upset if you did not return to me in one piece. His voice was deep and sultry, his love a profound joy against my heart.

Sighing deeply at the comfort it gave me, I felt the stress of the unknown drift away.