Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(3)

I stood, waiting, focused on the pathetic man, on the quiver in his spine.

He said nothing. He did nothing except shiver.

I could feel my temper rise from being ignored, my magic heating and rising from the insubordination.

“Can you do that?” The words hissed past my teeth, and he shivered more, his head wobbling in what I assumed was a nod.

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t good enough. I did not have to put up with this type of behavior anymore. Never again. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

“I don’t appreciate being left waiting,” I snapped, and his back jerked as my magic wound around him once more, lifting him into the air with a jolt before slamming him against the far wall. Pictures rattled with the impact, a flurry of dust and tiny rocks falling from the ceiling as I jerked them free from the crevices they had been hiding in for thousands of years.

Ovailia shrieked in surprise behind me, but I didn’t turn, my focus remaining on the whimpering man whose bloodshot eyes were wide as I controlled him in the one way I knew how—with fear.

“I gave you a command, and I expect it to be carried out with perfect precision. Tell no one of what you have seen. Instead, instruct them in what their king has asked.”

King.

My heart was light with the use of the word on my own tongue. My smile so wide that the man before me shuddered, nodding his head furiously in obedience, the words of acceptance and understanding lost in the buzzing that now filled my ears.

After I dropped the man from the wall with one twitch of my magic, he scuttled away, desperate to do what had been demanded, desperate to comply before it was his own flesh that was burned. I, however, remained frozen in place, my eyes trained on the rough stone of the wall, on the streaks of faded blood Damek had left behind, on the word that was echoing on repeat.

King.

“What did you see, Sain?” Ovailia asked from behind me. I didn’t even look at her. “What are you planning?”

King.

“I plan nothing,” I snapped, still not looking at her, the word continuing to repeat within me. “It is the magic of the earth that lays my path. I am simply wise enough to follow.”

Years of plotting, of manipulating, of using everyone around me … After years of carefully setting the stage, I had finally accomplished what I had set out to do.

I was king once again after being stripped of my ruling power so many centuries before. And soon, everyone would know. Soon, everyone would bow to me as they had before, as they had for centuries.

I was one of the first.

I deserved nothing less.

And I had regained it.

Now, all that was left was to destroy the last remaining people who could take away this role. The last people who could challenge me: Joclyn, Ilyan, Wyn, perhaps even Ryland if he ever conquered the madness Edmund had given him.

Four people were all that were left in my way. And I would make them pay, for fighting me, for their parents’ mistake of removing me from the role I had been born to fill.

I had come from the mud. The earth had created me. I was the only one suited to rule them, the only one who could.

“King,” I said aloud, pulling my focus away from the wall and to the twisted charred corpse that Ovailia stood beside, her back straight and lips pursed as though she were guarding him.

Foolish girl, guarding the man she had killed.

Sending an irritated glance at the woman in question, I walked right past her, bee-lining for the body of the former. I almost expected her to step between me and my prey, but she remained still, her arms folded, lips pursed, and one long finger tapping against her forearm like a metronome.

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked, her voice filled with the same false sugar she had never quite mastered.

My face twisted into a scowl at the deceptive quality in it.

“To be king?”

Nostrils flaring in an effort to control my temper, I turned toward her. Ice ran down my spine as anger shook inside me due to her ignorance while she stood frozen over the body of her father, the smell of smoke surrounding us.

“I was king, Ovailia. I was the leader of these people. I should have never been removed from that role.” I scowled, but she didn’t so much as flinch at the anger.

“With the first four holders of magic, you mean?” She remained still, that finger still tapping, her eyes widening in some kind of disbelief.

My anger erupted at her ignorance. A loud laugh broke past the chill in the room as my magic surged, bright and powerful. Long, winding ribbons of yellow and gold trailed from me, dancing through the air before falling to the ground and wrapping around the remains of Edmund. Smoke and ash filled the air as I shifted him, his dead weight sagging and rolling around as I removed the bathrobe he still wore. The white cotton was stained with his blood, singed from the same flames that had devoured him.

“The four were the true rulers of these people. We were the kings and queens of this land.” I chuckled at the memory, the sound haunting as the bathrobe came free from the charred remains. The body fell to the ground in a plume of black ash that fell over us like snow.

Disgust filled Ovailia’s face as I felt her magic trill across the air, a shield keeping the ashes of her father off her.

I, however, let them fall. I let them cover me as I snagged the robe gently from the air, the fabric wet and crusty as the blood began to dry.