Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(42)

A power beyond even what I had seen in my father, seen in any Drak, emanated from her. It shimmered in the air like a wave of smoke, washing over me in a force that sucked the air out of my chest.

I’d had hundreds of children, thousands of grandchildren. I loved them all, was proud of them all. But seeing my sister—no, seeing the queen before me—filled my heart more than any other.

“There is darkness here,” she said, her voice lost in the depth of the Drak, hollow with the sight of the future.

At the sound, I jumped out of my skin with a gasp and leaned forward, desperate to hear more, not caring if I fell off the rickety old bed.

“It was created by him, and when the light comes, there will be blood. Be ready. The battle comes quickly.”

I stared at the black of her eyes, trying very hard to ignore the tinge of jealousy that filled me, the desire to see again still burning a hole in my soul.

The black faded as the ache began to devour me, pulling me out of my own self-deprecation.

“What is it?” My question was little more than air whispered over the stagnant silence of the room.

“There is so much death, Dramin,” she gasped, her hand falling from Thom’s ankle as she collapsed to her knees. “So much blackness.”

Tensing, my heart ached at the sight of her breaking before me. I wished I could find a way to comfort her. I knew of the black she referred to, the hollow confusion her sight had become since that sight with Míra. It was yet another mystery to her ability that drove us both mad.

“Is he dead?” I hated asking the question and was unsure what person I was even referring to.

Edmund.

Thom.

Sain.

Ilyan.

Me.

I knew she had seen them all. It could have been any of them. I had a feeling any of them would hurt.

She pulled her shoulders up to her neck, dropping her head as she curled into herself. Time stretched between us as the silence grew, pressing against my chest and making everything spin.

“Joclyn,” I whispered, my hands shaking against the edge of the bed, attempting to lift my weight so I could get to her.

“Everything keeps shifting,” she finally responded, her voice dead. “Thom’s alive. Ilyan’s dead. Míra’s there. Wyn’s not. One thing is clear.” She looked at me, her meaning transparent.

My death was consistent in her sights. Only my death remained the same. It was hard not to admit I was eager for that end. It was hard not to tell her how close that end really was.

I knew of the sight she had seen with the girl, seeing her walk toward Thom. Joclyn, however, did not know what I had been told in that pure white sight about the girl, about how it would be my last duty to destroy her in order to save Thom.

I was ready. I simply hoped he lived after whatever happened to me. I hoped he found happiness and lived the life he had earned.

“And Thom?” I asked.

“He is there more than not.”

My tension eased as she nodded, pulling the blanket back over his now burned foot.

“At least he has a chance.”

I sighed, thinking of the memory of my last true sight, of the haunted voice, and of the little girl I was supposed to stop, whom I was supposed to kill.

Joclyn nodded in agreement, her dark hair falling around her as her focus shifted back to Thom, his breathing still a slow, steady pace.

“I thought knowing everything was a curse …”

“Sometimes, the not knowing is worse,” I finished the thought for her, knowing for the first time in my life how both sides of this morose coin felt.

I wasn’t convinced I wanted either.

“And to think, you lived in such savagery for so long.” I smiled to myself, the joke not lost on her as I reached toward the large mug on my nightstand. The knowledge of the burn this would give me caused my hand to shake, yet I didn’t care.

“How do mortals do it?” Joclyn teased before lifting her own mug to her lips, freezing halfway through the motion. “Thom is alive more than not …”

“Excuse me?” I was concerned that she might have broken, stuck on one point as she was.

“Dramin?” she asked, the use of my name pulling me out of the reverie.

Dread filled me at the sight of the woman who was frozen before me, her eyes staring unfocused into the contents of her mug. For a moment, I thought she was trapped in sight. But no, this was a look of someone trapped in thought.

“Joclyn?”

“The cave … Has Thom ever been inside of Imdalind?”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I racked my brain, trying to think of a time it could have happened, but there was nothing. Ilyan had kept us too well-hidden. It had been too big of a risk to have anyone see us. “No, why?”

“They are all in the cave …” I could barely hear her as she turned away from me, her voice a mumble. “All of them …”

I half-expected her to shout “Eureka!” and plant a flag.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just now … that cave …” she continued as if she hadn’t heard me, her voice broken in weird places. “Where Míra was … Everyone was there.”

Her wide, fearful eyes met mine as she set her mug back down, jumping from the bed with a jolt. Not for the first time, I wondered if I should tell her what I had seen, guilt and regret pressing against me.