Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(64)
I had thought I had heard something—some sound, some whisper of magic—but no one was here. No one except me, a prisoner locked in a glass box.
Eyes narrowing, I turned back to the dresser, my magic on high-alert as it infiltrated the room, searching for some sign of magic, of some concealed army.
There was nothing.
I had never been able to sense magic like my brother did, a skill that would have come in handy in times like this.
I let my magic wrap around me, strong ribbons bound around me like a shield. One short glance up at the mirror to verify I was gone from sight and I moved out of the room, toward the large bathroom attached to the suite. My magic lifted me above the ground enough that my heels against the stone could not be heard.
No sound, nothing other than the tiniest flutter of a breeze.
I wasn’t foolish enough to think that, because I didn’t see anyone, no one was there. You couldn’t see me at the moment, either. Just like I couldn’t see Sain, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching my every move.
The thought moved up my spine in a slither of ice, a slow snake that shivered within me no matter how hard I tried to stop the disgusting convulsion.
Pathetic, disgusting emotion. I had better things to focus on.
With a roll of my eyes, I escaped into the lavatory in silence. The room was exactly as it had been built centuries before, all except for the addition of the toilet. Even that was archaic, having been installed in the 1920s, a pull string for flushing and all.
Yellow polka dot heels appeared out of nowhere as I slipped them off my feet, letting them sit in the middle of the floor as if I had just stepped out of the tub.
Restraining a hiss, I placed my bare soles against the icy tile of the mosaic floor and then ran past the large inset stone tub, attempting not to think of how many germs were now attaching themselves to my perfectly manicured feet. Moving past the large closet still full of Ilyan’s council clothes, I guessed neither my father or Sain could part ways with them. They were as old as both their reigns. Funny, considering they would be the first to go if I took control.
When I did.
I needed to find that blade.
Lips pressed into a hard line, I straightened my back, sweeping unseen amid the museum of clothes, coming face to face with the wall I had seen Sain stand before.
I knew at once the wall was not really there.
My magic jumpstarted with every step I took toward the thing, the shield dropping from around me as my hand drifted into view. Manicured fingers raised before me, shining like drops of blood against the surface of the rock, I hesitated, frightened of what lay behind the stone, of what would happen when I pressed my palm against the rough-hewn edges of stone.
With a gasp and a roar of fear, I pressed my hand against the stone, expecting the chill of the rock, the rough edges of the quarry. Instead, my hand moved through it, my entire arm plunging into ice water as the solid surface I had been expecting swallowed it, my arm disappearing from view.
Gasping from the chill, I stared at the waving line of magic that shimmered around my forearm like a circlet, a delicate embellishment begging me to step into the stone, begging me to find more.
Before I could take a step, the feeling of ice moved up my arm like an infection, a slow slither that crackled in the air in a pressure that pulled me into the void. It was more than the feeling of ice, however; it was ice. It glided over my skin in blossoms of crystals that flowered and thickened, holding me in place, freezing right inside of me.
“Sain!” I growled past gritted teeth, shifting as I attempted to pull my arm out of the wall. However, the ice continued to move up my arm, nearing my shoulder.
Each pull that I gave against the ice hold was unyielding, the grip increasing. I was stuck there.
Anger replaced the disgusting fear as I pulled against the ice, my magic building into an immense roar as my anger fanned my blood.
Placing my free hand before the false wall, I let my magic surge, a powerful stream of red light flying through the air to hit against the magical wall with a smack. A bolt of lightning moved over the surface like a web, burning away the fa?ade. For one brief minute, the false wall vanished, revealing the large room behind it and the glistening shard of the Soul’s Blade lying on a countertop in plain view.
“Found you,” I hissed as the wall rebuilt itself.
My mind was still focused on the spot where the blade lay, even though all it was now was the Mírage of uneven gray stone.
It was right there, inches from me. The soul of my father, his magic, ready for me. All I needed to do was take control, and then Sain would be as good as dead.
A wide grin swept over my face, teeth glistening in the muted light of the closet as I lifted my now thawed arm, spreading my fingers wide in preparation to shatter the pathetic attempt of a barrier into a million fragments of magic and ice.
It was nothing more than the pekelny.
Nothing more than what a child could do.
The smile grew as my magic did, charging through me to drain into nothing as a noise sounded clearly behind me.
I turned, knowing that I was no longer alone, only to come face to face with Damek.
His eyes were wide with the same fear he always had, his body shadowed on the other side of the clothes forest.
“I’ve been calling you, my lady,” he simpered, his voice a shriek as he took a step forward, toward the dim ribbon of light that fell from the mirrored skylight between us. The light fell over him in more shadow than gold, making him look distorted and broken.