Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(76)

“Maybe I am.” I shrugged, my hand finally leaving his as I lay back down next to him.

The deep laugh I loved so much filled the depressing space and sucked the ominous pressure out of the air.

“All we need is a clown,” I quipped.

“Or pony rides.”

We laughed at that, but it was shallow, full of all the fear and trepidation our world was surrounded by.

Ignoring it, I curled into Thom, letting all the crap pass us by. I wasn’t going to move anytime soon. I would stay like this for the rest of my life if he asked me. Of course, that required Thom never leaving the bed and me not beating him in destroying the mysterious Edmund slash Sain combo, both of which were not going to happen.

“You better not go anywhere else,” I gasped out, knowing how pathetic the worry sounded in my voice and not really caring.

“Where am I going?” he teased, poking his fingers into my side. “Guam?”

“You know what I mean.” My voice was barely above a growl.

“I could say the same thing, Wyn,” he said, the grip he had on me increasing as he pulled me closer. “Before Jos saved you, I thought for sure you were a goner.”

“Nice to know you were rooting for me to pull through.” It was hard to keep the irritation out of my voice. Though I knew he didn’t mean it the way I had taken it, I was suddenly on high alert, expecting the dream to turn into a nightmare or some such nonsense.

“I was, Wyn.” He sighed, his hand leaving my arm to run down the side of my head, his fingers soft as they glided over my hairline.

I shivered.

“Just as you were, I never left your side—”

“I think,” I said, my heart suddenly beating a million miles an hour, “that we have had quite enough of near-death experiences and bedside vigils.”

“I can agree with that,” he said with a laugh, his fingers tangling in my hair as I rested against him.

The tension in my neck and chest began to release.

“Good, because the less of those this world has, the more it can have of other things.”

“Other things?” he asked.

I was walking into a bear trap, and part of me didn’t care.

“Yeah … you know, like monster truck rallies and Styx reunion tours that go on outside of Wendover, Utah, and kisses and terrible books and—”

“Wyn?” Thom said as he pressed his finger against my chin softly, tilting my head enough to look at him.

Instead of the deep, passionate blue of his eyes, I was met by a mischievous glare and a sly smile. It was a look I returned, knowing Thom far too well not to realize something was coming.

“Yes?” I was understandably wary.

“How did you manage to destroy the cathedral and not be murdered by my brother?”

“Let’s say that Ilyan had more important things on his mind.” I snickered, leaning against him again. “That and I saved him from an army of undead corpses; that probably helped, too.”

“Undead corpses?” Thom gasped, obviously concerned.

“We have much to talk about, young kemosabe.”

“Thank God we have a lifetime to do it.”

“Indeed.”





JOCLYN





18





Everything was still in the drenching silence of misery that had taken over the camp, soaking into each of us until we were nothing more than a damp rag.

At least, that’s how I felt. And, with the way Ryland slumped against the wall next to me, he was a damp rag, too.

Damp and hollow and empty, like the long hospital corridor we sat in. Like our souls.

I might be mistaken, but I thought mine might have slithered away, off to find a land full of real sunshine.

I told Ryland that, and he tried to smile, but mostly, he cried and slammed his head into the wall we sat against.

“Don’t do that, Ry.” I moved to lean against him, but thankfully, I stopped myself from resting my head on his shoulder just in time. The familiarity of this position made that movement too easy.

“Don’t do what?” he snapped, his anger working hard to mask the crippling pain of loss. “Cry? Yell? Run out and find the little brat who did this to us?” His voice rose with each word as he gestured with his hands toward the large wooden door at the end of the hospital, toward the room that used to be a broom closet and now held the three sheet-covered bodies of our family.

I stared at the door as his fingers began to shake, my heart in pain that I tried arduously to dismiss. But looking at the door and knowing what was behind it hurt.

“No.” I felt the need to cry but couldn’t make the tears come. It was lost, just like my soul. “Crying is okay, especially right now. Hurting yourself, however …”

He cast me a sidelong glance. “Point taken.” His response was barely above a growl, one that spanned over the still silence of the room, over the soapy floors that some of the healers had desperately tried to clean before being ushered out by Ilyan, who was on his way to another council. The council would decide the fate of those who had chosen to fight against us. The council would also seal our fate for the battle that was coming.

You couldn’t win a war if everyone left. And that, if what Ilyan and Ryland had told me about the battle I had missed was true, was exactly what was going to happen.