Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(50)

“If they don’t kill each other,” Ryland mused as another fist fight broke out, the sounds of the incessant fights beneath us making me uneasy.

I wasn’t the only one.

Ryland stood, tugging at the long hem of the tunic he was wearing, obviously uncomfortable in the regal clothes that were normally reserved for Ilyan. Now Ilyan and his baby brother were practically identical in those clothes. It was odd to see them standing side by side in tunics that clung to them in odd ways, tights that defined things that would be better left undefined, and long, golden chains that, a year ago, would have made me think pimp.

Now, all I saw was a king. A king and his younger brother, his second.

All Ryland was missing was the crown.

I was glad Ilyan hadn’t found a dress in wherever he had dug those up from. I might not look like royalty, but at least my holey jeans were comfortable.

“But then,” Ryland continued, pulling my thoughts from gold-trimmed fabric and back to the angry shouts beneath us, my tense mate still and volatile before me, “having them kill each other was kind of the point.”

“Not the point, per say,” Ilyan said, his narrowed eyes still focused on the crowds beneath us.

My stomach tightened further. The look on his face did not give me much confidence for what was coming.

“But, yes, some form of violence is preferable before we allow them to divide.”

“Divide,” Wyn scoffed, laughing as a spark of magic exploded overhead, the brightening courtyard erupting in sparks of orange. “You mean, get them all angry and see who stands up for you? And here I was thinking we were conducting some highly scientific model—”

“This is very scientific.” Ilyan didn’t even look at her, his focus still on the crowd. The strength in his face mounted, the madness in his eyes becoming clear. I was in no doubt he had meant it as a joke, but the humor was lost in his power, lost in the danger that had surrounded us, the same feeling eating at my spine. “Scientific enough that not everyone will die.”

“Sounds good enough for me,” Wyn responded with a shrug and a smile. “I wanted to make sure my crazy matched yours is all.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Wynifred. But, in this instance, we at least seem to be on the same side,” Ilyan said, his voice dark as his focus pulled away from the crowd to her. “Your crazy is right on par for this. Are you ready?”

“Always am, boss,” Wynifred said with a grin, cracking her knuckles. Little sparks of fire ignited from her fingers, smoke oozing out from under the glove she was wearing as though her hand was on fire. Maybe it was. “Just tell me where to go.”

“Why do I have a feeling everything just got very dangerous?” I growled, looking at Ryland who looked as worried as I did.

Another attack covered the sky, crackling against the barrier that surrounded us in electric circuits that cracked like ice crystals.

This was exactly what Sain had wanted. All those whispering rumors, all those vile lies. It was all for this, all to tear us apart before the last battle began. And I had to say, it was working.

“Or, if you’d rather, I could light them all on fire.” Wyn’s grin expanded, her voice a hiss over the riotous screams as she leaned into the middle of our little circle. She looked like she was orchestrating some kind of drug deal.

Or a murder.

“Who are you talking to, Wyn? Ilyan or Joclyn?” Ryland asked with a laugh.

“I could be talking to you, Ry. It doesn’t matter. The threat is real. And besides, fire is pretty.”

“Prettier than all of this?” I asked, taking one side look at the crowd beneath us right in time to hear an obscenity or two hurled at me. The words smacked against my heart, and I flinched before Ilyan’s magic roared inside of me in irritation.

“Get the pig out of here! Give your people a queen worthy of them!”

“Ouch.” That one hurt.

“So says the pigs,” Wyn scoffed, fire sparking as she side-stepped.

Her need to attack them was as clear as my irritation of them, which was fine. She could attack, and I could glare.

“I believe it’s time.” Ilyan’s magic flared as his stoic glare shifted back toward the horde, one step pulling him forward. His jaw was tight as his magic washed through me with a strength and power that left me wanting.

“She shouldn’t even be here!” the voice erupted as a rock was hurled over the crowd.

The rock, unlike the magic, soared past the barrier and right at us. Magic bristled, dissolving the rock into sand before it could smack me right in the face.

“A rock?” I said, a laugh coming freely. “I think I might really be a tyrant.”

“At least you are a tyrant who can dissolve rocks to sand.”

“What would you like me to do, Wyn?” I sighed as another fistfight broke out beneath us.

Wyn chuckled darkly at the development.

“Rocks make wonderful fireballs.”

“Well, in the interest of not lighting people on fire …” I pushed my long braid over my shoulder, letting the golden ribbon trail over my skin and float through the air in an attempt to get to Ilyan, something it seemed to do even if wind was not present. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Ilyan’s voice was a growl, his eyes on fire as his magic resounded inside of me, his focus still on the crowd beneath us. “Ryland, as my second, you stand on my left. Joclyn, as my mate, you’re on my right. Wyn, stay close to her and use your best judgment in counterattacks. But please be careful not to bring anything down. I’m not sure how much this cathedral can take.”