Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(61)

Flashes of children running and playing.

Flashes of his bonding ceremony.

Flashes of his future.

Watching it all, I hoped for some sign of what was to come, for some hint as to what my path could be. However, Bronislav held nothing, merely flashes of their meetings, flashes of each failed attempt to trap me, and finally, of his death. Of his head rolling over the dirt pits of the battlegrounds, blood spraying over the battle that surrounded him.

It was as I had planned, but he would not live to see the culmination of that battle. He knew nothing of the outcome, of my victory.

His sight was useless to me.

“His blood will flow over your hands,” I forced the words out with the hollow sounds of the Drak, the sight’s ominous roar following the false words. “Your banner will be golden, your future as bright as the glint it brings.”

I pulled my hand away from him, leaving him still gasping in pain as the other two watched me, their faces muddled with anticipation and horror.

“You will be one of the greatest of your kind,” I said directly to Bronislav as the old man stared at me with tears in his eyes, clutching his hand to his chest. “Go seek out Damek; have him wrap your hand. Your preparation for the accomplishment to come begins now.”

My focus drifted back to Alojz, the man’s face now a stone mask, the fear clear.

I couldn’t stop the smile. I couldn’t stop the wicked gleam from moving over my face, the malice so clear he flinched.

Still, I didn’t look away. I let the glare seep into the defiant man before me as the echo of the door Bronislav left through reverberated around us.

“Georg,” I said, holding my hand out to him in expectation, my fingers waggling like I was going to give him a sweet.

“My king,” Georg began, his voice quiet as he took a step away from me, “I do not wish to know my sight … I believe you … I do not question your power.”

Alojz flinched at Georg’s insolence, his own fear clear as my focus snapped away from him, going right to the cowering man beside him.

The man pulled at his long beard in nervousness.

“Georg.”

A snap, a steady hand, a glare, and the man stepped forward, shaking from head to toe as he placed his hand in mine.

His scream became a loud echo as I splashed the water over his hand. A large amount covered his palm, drifting up his wrist in a burn that would haunt him until I removed his life.

While I gasped in ecstasy, my magic connected with his soul, feasting on the sights of his past, of his future. Letting them run over me, I watched his youth, watched him lust after a woman I had seen several times before. Watched him kill many Sk?íteks in battle.

He was a good, useful soldier. I reconsidered sending him to his death, but then I saw the image of his head rolling across the sand right alongside his friends, and I sighed. The image was so beautiful I couldn’t possibly part with it.

“Your future is set, your path true, and glory will follow you until your last breath, your days filled with regality, with accomplishments.” My eyes snapped back to green as the last of the false words left my lips.

The man still heaved before me as he fought the need to scream.

“Damek. Now.” I didn’t need to tell him twice before he tore from the room, whimpering in a desperate attempt to keep his cries at bay.

Joy pressed against my skin as he left, my magic vibrating within me in anticipation. I couldn’t keep the wicked smile from my face.

The door closed with a snap, and my focus slammed back to Alojz, the once defiant man jerking with power.

I said nothing. I simply lifted my hands in expectation, my request clear, my eyes hard in a warning he could not ignore.

His eyes were hard as he stepped forward, placing his hand in mine without hesitation. Then he hissed in pain as the residual water in my palm pressed against his skin.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” I hissed, clamping my hand around his as my magic began to move into him, twisting inside him and freezing him in place. “It’s a beautiful burn … Black Water. It gives me life, gives me sight, and hurts anyone weaker than me. Burns my enemies.”

Tightening my hand around his, I lifted the pouch above his hand, letting it hover as I looked at him, drinking in the fear in his eyes as if it were a fine wine.

“I know what you are asking,” I whispered, now so close to him I didn’t have to raise my voice to be heard.

“Wh-what … am I asking? I don’t understand.” He could barely get the words out past the pain.

I narrowed my eyes at him, the silent warning hitting him square in the chest.

“My … my king.”

At least he was catching on quickly.

“Your perceived cleverness is thinly veiled. Even without my magic, it is as translucent as a windowpane. You have been a curious little beast, asking everyone you can about the magic of a Drak. About what we are, about what I am. About what I can do. Testing my abilities with pathetic little attacks.”

His eyes widened as I smiled, his fear adding to my joy.

With the tiniest flick of my wrist, I let another drop fall onto his palm, the burn hissing beyond the silence before his scream rent the air.

He twisted and contorted his arm in an attempt to move away from my grip around his hand, only to realize I had frozen him in place, his body and magic ice and steel.