Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(71)

The precious memory was shattered by the sound of the large wooden door at the other end of the hall. Air rushed past us as Ilyan and Joclyn ran in.

Ilyan’s arms were full of a large sheet, the formerly white fabric covered in crimson stains that spread over the fabric like blossoms.

Several of the Sk?íteks who were tending to Risha ran toward Ilyan, their hands over their mouths as the panic in the room increased, the agonizing tension pressing against my chest.

I wanted to tell them to stay there, not to leave Risha, that she needed them. However, I couldn’t get the words out past the lump in my throat.

Besides, Jos was already bee-lining right for us, her eyes as puffy and swollen as mine; her skin and clothes as blood colored. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said the red sky Edmund had covered us with had fallen down upon us and drenched us all.

“Jos,” I gasped, my voice coming out in a stutter she didn’t even seem to notice.

I finally let go of Jaromir’s stiff, curled fingers and ran around the bed to meet her, my tiny best friend whose head was a full foot below mine.

Jos ran right into me, her arms wrapping around me as mine did her. “I’m sorry, Ry.”

It was all she said, three words that slammed against my heart and twisted my gut so tightly the tears came again. They rushed from me in loud, obnoxious sobs. The emotional breakdown was made worse by the pressure of her body against mine, by the feeling of sorrow that we both shared.

It ripped through me, tensing every muscle and tightening my lungs. I gasped for breath, desperate to get air but also not caring if I ever breathed again. Everything hurt too much. I didn’t want to feel it anymore. And from the way Joclyn sobbed and clung to me, I knew that pain, that desire, was not only mine.

“I’m sorry, too,” I gasped out past the tears, the words broken and painful.

Her arms fell away from me as she took a step back, turning toward the girl I could now see clearly. For the first time since I had put her on this cot, I could see every injury: the way her arm twisted the wrong way, the way the skin on her stomach was ripped open, the way part of one of her legs was mostly detached.

I swallowed, willing the bile threatening to come up back down, and pushed my way to her bedside, leaning against the wall as I pressed my hand against her blood-soaked hair, too scared to watch Joclyn as she went to work. Too scared to look at Risha. Too scared to admit that this might be the last time I saw her. That this would be my last memory of her.

This broken, beaten, blood covered girl.

I didn’t want this to be my last memory. I didn’t want this to be the end.

“Try, Jos,” I said more to myself than to her, but she heard me, anyway.

Her silver eyes took one long look at me before she went to work, her voice echoing around me as she began to order the others around.

I barely heard her.

Everything was inaudible over the fearful buzzing in my ears, the sound of my heartbeat rumbling in my throat. I could see Joclyn talking and see the others rush around.

In the overwhelming static, Ilyan ran up to us, wrapping his hand around Risha’s wrist as he looked at me, his face intense with something I would never hear.

It was merely buzzing.

Merely heartbeats.

Merely pain.

Say your good-byes, son.

The voice was a taunt. It was wickedness. But for the first time in a year, I listened to it.

Leaning over Risha, I pressed my cheek to hers, feeling the surprising warmth of her skin against mine and the warmth of her blood.

Wiping away the crimson stain, I kissed her for the first time. I pressed my lips to her cheek, letting a tiny spark of my magic flow into her, wishing her magic would respond to it and that I could feel her magic against mine. Nevertheless, there was nothing except the startling heat of her skin, the fever that was ravaging her already broken body.

Not caring who saw, I let my lips linger there before I shifted, whispering in her ear the words I should have said weeks ago. I hoped she would hear.

“I love you, Reesh.”

I didn’t know if I had expected a Míracle with those words. I didn’t know if I expected anything. But with that single admission, the buzzing that had filled my head ceased, and the sounds of the room flooded me as the panic and fear I had tried to escape came back, slamming me in the chest and flattening me against the wall.

What did you expect, you stupid boy?

I said say good-bye.

This isn’t a fairy tale.

The words were stuck in my head, no matter how hard I tried to push them out. They were as stuck as I was while I watched Joclyn and Ilyan standing on either side of Risha’s bed, their hands wrapped around her, eyes locked, magic locked, tears streaming over their cheeks.

Stuck as Joclyn gasped, her lips pressing into a tight line.

Stuck as Ilyan turned toward me, his wide eyes sad, apologetic.

No.

Not apologetic. It couldn’t be. I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to admit I knew what that look meant. I didn’t want to admit I knew what was coming.

Yet, I knew.

I knew the second Ilyan let go of Risha’s hand, the second he let it fall back to the bed with a thud that rumbled through the air and smacked against my chest.

Ilyan said nothing as he stepped toward me, before hugging me the same as Joclyn had done before. Except this one was different.

It pressed against my heart and soul and held me in a way I had never been held before. A hug so tight I could tell he was trying to hold me together while I tried to fall apart. It was a hug that tried to give me strength, that tried to make everything okay.