Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(62)

“Shall I tell you what I really saw when I peered into your friends’ realities? Shall I tell you of the secret meetings held in old closets and the attempts to overthrow me?”

Alojz’s eyes widened with each word, his jaw snapping shut in an attempt to keep the scream hidden. His last whisper of pride quickly disappeared.

“Shields, barriers—any magic you throw my way cannot block my sight,” I hissed, stepping toward him as saliva sprayed over his face, my anger dripping from me. “I see everything.” I paused. “Shall we see what you show me?”

Another shriek ripped from him before the water even hit his hand. This time, I poured a waterfall over his palm, over his arm, dripping it over his face and neck.

The skin smoldered as it burned, the flesh melting away. Sight developed stronger within me, dancing to the sound of his screams. My eyes plunged into sights’s ember burn as I took control.

My magic swarmed the room, pressing against every wall, every bone, every rock. I felt them all. I memorized them. And then I controlled them.

The same way the sight of my kind projected onto Black Water, the magical surface shimmering with sight so those who sought council could see, I projected the sight into the room surrounding us, the true form of my restricted magic flying free.

From smoke and ash, the haunted imagery of the coming opening of the pits began to form. The high seats of the stadium surrounded us, the images distorted like looking through water, but clear enough that, with one strangled gasp from my captive, I was confident he was questioning the reality before him.

Together, we stood in the center of the pits, a few battered Chosen wrestling in the blood-soaked mud as the packed house exploded in screams and cheers. The volume was so loud it pounded within my head like a bass drum.

The black of my eyes stared at him as both the prescience and the room around us played in perfect tandem. Ghostly images of his conspirators walked past us, their eyes full of hope for success as they prepared to begin the coup I had seen again and again.

Alojz watched them, confusion settling in beside his fear as the scene played out.

One move from Georg caused the crowd to rise up as one, the assumed success of the coup seemingly imminent.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I sneered as the black drifted from my eyes; albeit, the apparitions surrounding us remained, the scene continuing to play out as the battle rent the stadium apart, blood spilling as those loyal to Edmund began to kill my followers mercilessly, the screams of enjoyment turning to those of fear and death. “Although, it is odd how subjective it all is.”

With those few words, the scene that surrounded us froze in place, blood freezing in the air as it fell around us like rain, the wide open scream of a woman stitched into memory as it paused.

Alojz’s fear grew as his vision followed mine, the panic in his eyes drowning him.

“Isn’t it odd how part of the story can be construed as the whole?” I smiled at him as the vision began to move in reverse, blood rising into the heavens, a scream sucked back into a throat, his friends stalking back toward us, translucent images that moved around us, amongst us, back to where it all had begun. “A reverse usually whispers of warning and certainty. It’s a sign of importance within sight.”

Once again, the images froze around us, the two Chosen awkwardly posed as they fought; the crowds tarried in cheers. Bronislav and Georg flanked the restrained Alojz, their eyes eager as they spotted the man they were positive they were going to kill before they looked up into the stands toward me.

“But this time, a reverse means something different.” I smiled.

Alojz’s focus pulled away from the shadowed images of his friends to me, his eyes widening as they began to move.

“It means I lied.”

Eyes fading to black, the scene we were trapped in continued forward. The Trpaslíks stalking to begin the coup, their laugh a hollow sound as my magic brought everything to life, as the battle began again and the blood began to spill.

This time, it was not the blood of my loyalists as Alojz had assumed. It was the blood of the Trpaslíks. It was my laugh that echoed around the stadium.

They were losing. There was no way it could be another way. It was a realization that shone clearly within their expressions.

If only they had not been raised to be the defiant Trpaslíks they were, if only they had a need for self-preservation above that of killing their enemies, their bloodlust making it impossible for them to see.

So they fought, they bled, and they screamed.

Magic flew uselessly around them until, one by one, they fell. Lifeless bodies heaped over rubble and carnage, while my stoic figure still stood in the high box of the stadium, not so much as a scratch covering my body.

I froze the image there, letting it fade away, leaving the three headless corpses on the stone floor and allowing the wide, frightened eyes of the tiny man before me take them in.

“Did you really think you could defeat a Drak? Did you really think that your silly little games would be enough to defeat me?”

Alojz’s focus snapped back to me, the dark pupils of his eyes shaking in fear.

“Your friends will be punished for their wrongdoing. Whether they sense the punishment or not, whether they sense the betrayal, they will fall.”

I stepped away from him then, walking across the hall and amidst the shadows of his friends. The magic dissolved back into stone at my touch, leaving us standing in the hall once again. Alojz still stood frozen beneath my ever-present magic.