Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(9)

He chuckled darkly, one hand still wound around my waist as he gazed down at me, his eyes soft, fingers a gentle caress against the side of my face. I, on the other hand, looked like I was about to be bowled over by a herd of wild buffalo. My heart definitely felt like that was imminent with the way it was thundering.

“I am aware, brother,” Ilyan said, pushing some of the strands of hair that had come free from the braid behind my ear, his eyes locked with mine. “I felt like you needed a small reminder that you won’t, in fact, kill Joclyn over small triggers. You are stronger than the crap he infected you with, both of you.”

Ryland’s jaw dropped in shock. I almost expected him to explode in frustration. Hell, I almost wanted to from being used in that way, but it had been a really good kiss.

The shock began to fade away as Ryland laughed.

Wyn bounced over to us at the sound, Risha sulking behind. Wyn was obviously ready to absorb whatever drama she had missed. However, Ryland kept laughing, Ilyan joining him while I stood sandwiched between them in confusion.

“Thank you, brother,” Ryland said around his laugh, his hand soft against my shoulder as he pried me away from Ilyan; the man in question chuckling as his brother pulled me out of the alley.

“We’ll be back,” he said with a wave of his hand.

I stumbled backward after him, my focus drifting between Wyn and Ilyan, both of whom were looking at me with varying levels of confusion and enjoyment.

I should be mad at you, I growled into Ilyan’s mind.

The widening smile on his face was the last thing I saw as the alley swallowed them, the stone wall and large wooden door of the hospital sliding before me like a stage prop.

But you aren’t, mi lasko. You love me too much.

Hearing those tender words inside my mind set off a warm soap bubble of joy inside me. It rattled my bones in a pleasant way that made me long to wrap myself up in it.

I do, Ilyan. I love you.

As I love you, my darling. His magic flooded me with his words, so dear, so warm and pure that I missed Ryland releasing me from his grip.

I came back to my senses as he waved his big hand in front of me.

“Sorry to interrupt the love fest, but we do actually have a job.” Ryland stepped away from me, moving toward the door with a light step. If it weren’t for the way his fists kept clenching and unclenching—one of his tells—I would say he was looking forward to this.

“What love fest?” I tried very hard to keep the guilt out of my voice as I followed him up the stairs, my worn sneakers squeaking against the stone.

Ryland turned, a sly smile on his face before he turned away. His shoulders tensed as he pushed the door open. “It’s painted on your face, Jos. It’s either you and Ilyan ogling each other, or you’re dreaming of a hamburger.”

“Ew.”

“What do you mean, ew? Sometimes, I wonder what you’ve done with my best friend.” Laden with truth and loss, his words hung between us as we began to move across the long, darkened room.

The tall windows that lined the space were covered with curtains so thick they kept the red light away. I could almost convince myself we had stepped back into reality.

Just my best friend and I, off on some epic adventure.

With that and the bright white lanterns that hung from the ceiling, everything in here looked almost normal, like a regular hospital … if that hospital were in eighteenth-century France.

The old metal-framed beds sat at regular intervals. The healing Chosen were curled up in white linens, moaning and groaning, not an IV bag or EKG machine to be seen. Just glass bottles of oddly colored medicines and bowls of assorted dried plants.

Despite the archaic nature, it was all so normal.

“You used to love hamburgers.”

Except for that, I could almost believe it.

“I used to not be a Drak, either.” I sighed, trying my hardest not to look at the people in the beds we passed. “Between your brothers, my brother, and my pain in the behind father—”

“Everything changed.” Ryland stopped in place as he finished my sentence, his eyes focused on the children ahead of us. Something more than fear and loss was etched in his eyes.

They sat, Míra tucked into one of the many iron beds, Jaromir sitting against the footboard, jabbering and laughing as if they weren’t locked up in a healing ward stuffed in the middle of a war.

Watching them, I waited for Ry to move, but he stayed still, frozen in a world I wasn’t convinced I belonged in anymore.

“Ry?” I asked after a minute, my heart rate beginning to pick up in fear. Everything about him seemed normal, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to turn on me and attack.

Ilyan, sensing my worry, pressed his magic into me via our connection, the warmth flooding me in an attempt to settle my fear. But there wasn’t any fear, only worry about what Ryland was going to do. My brain made battle plans about how to restrain him without hurting too many of the people around us.

“You’re a queen,” Ryland said to break the silence, my heart tensed at once.

As if I needed a reminder that I didn’t fit.

The words were so simple it should have been calming, but he was still frozen in dread, his eyes gazing into nothing. Even his magic had disappeared from my radar.

I hated when he did that. It was a nice parlor trick his father had left him with.