Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(79)

“How many are left?” Ryland asked as he finally looked away from the ceiling, pulling the conversation away from Wyn’s murderous tendencies and back to the new complication.

“Less that twenty,” Ilyan answered.

This time, I joined in Wyn’s over-exaggerated frown. That was worse than I had thought.

“Did you let them go?” I asked, knowing he had no other choice.

He nodded, his lips a tight line of defeat, of fear, of acceptance. It was a simple move he could not control and one that might have sealed our fate.

“Good riddance, I say.” Wyn smiled through the dark cloud that had covered us. The usually joyous expression was full of far too much savagery to be comforting. “If it’s only the four or us, we can get in, kill your dad”—she pointed at me—“and all y’all’s sister”—she waved toward the boys—“and we’ll be set.”

“Excuse me. There are five here,” Thom interjected, pulling away from Ryland in an attempt to stand on his own.

“Are there?” Wyn asked, her banter loud as she placed one finger against his chest and pushed him back into Ryland. Luckily, his brother was ready for him. “I see four unless you were planning on me pushing your wheelchair into Imdalind …”

“I will walk on my own, thank you.”

“You can barely stand!”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t fight.”

They continued to bicker, Thom’s smile deepening as Wyn’s exasperation grew.

Poor Ryland was stuck between it all, looking as lost as a child in a theme park.

I was looking at them, but I barely heard. I barely saw. My mind was locked with Ilyan’s, running over the map of every possible scenario, running over what Wyn had said.

There were four, possibly five, of us. Not many. Too few to really be noticed if we went in under a shield. Too few for anyone to know what was going on before it was too late.

Just like in Rioseco.

Just like now.

“If what we have heard is true … Edmund’s men don’t like him,” I spoke aloud, forgetting that a million other things were happening around me.

The battle of the banterers ceased, everyone looking toward Ilyan and me in confusion.

They are planning something, Ilyan said, his eyes intense as he caught up to where I was.

If only I could see into his camp … if only my sight would show me something!

“But even if it can’t, my love,” Ilyan interrupted, “it still shows that he does not have full control. They are fighting him.”

“We could slip in and out. We could cause havoc, and no one would know we were there.”

“That’s it!” Wyn yelled, pulling me from my reverie to look at her. All three of them looked slightly uncomfortable. “No more secret conversations. I’m done. You two are driving me mad.”

I was ninety-nine percent certain at this point that was she was about to explode. I could feel the heat coming off her skin.

“Spill.”

“You’re right, Wyn,” I said with a smile, the emotion feeling odd against the painful puffiness of my eyes. “We can all sneak in and destroy him—”

“Take note that the Siln? said all, Wyn. That’s important,” Thom interrupted.

I ignored him, plowing forward.

“No one would even know we were there. We could end this.”

Wyn smiled before her face fell, the manic bloodlust falling right beside it. “You are forgetting one thing,” she said, pointing her finger toward the ceiling. “We are trapped here.”

Plan foiled.

Sighing, I squished my face up in frustration. My heart, however, didn’t really stop fluttering in my chest. My breathing didn’t really slow down. My sight flared with one image of Míra before she vanished in Dramin’s, one image of my father underneath the cloak as he vanished from the streets of Prague.

“They got through,” I said to myself, grateful for Ilyan’s understanding sigh behind me. At least someone was paying attention.

“So can you,” he said, his voice the same powerhouse it always was. The power and strength in the man swept over all of us. “Tomorrow, we will have the ceremony of farewells,” Ilyan continued.

Ryland’s tears came back in full-force, yet I didn’t understand why. It was only when Ilyan replaced the words with the more familiar “funeral” that everything began to swim around me uncomfortably.

No.

Before the one word could seep into my mind, my tears had swollen to match Ryland’s, Wyn’s, and Thom’s.

Ilyan stayed strong, the strength of a king shadowing all of us. However, I could feel the tremendous loss that was crippling him.

“Then we will fight,” Ilyan continued, his voice breaking. “We will find a way in, and we will destroy them all.”

“It’s time.”





19





Our steps echoed around the empty courtyard like the slow tolls of a bell at midnight: solemn, rhythmic. The tents were gone. Those who had inhabited them had already been removed from underneath Ilyan’s barrier. All who remained had been placed in the hospital, both to help the sick and guard the dead before they were laid to rest and their souls returned to Imdalind. All told, there were twenty-three of them. Twenty-three against an army.