Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(90)

This girl was trying my patience.

“If you want to find your brother, you tell me.” She was defiant, stubborn. It boiled through me, and I gave a dark sneer as I stepped forward.

The effect was lessened without my heels, but she still jerked. I could see her debate whether she should step back.

I wished she would.

“We’ve been over this, little girl,” I taunted, keeping my voice high. “I saved your life, which means I own it.”

Her defiance faded, boiling back down into anger as I put her in her place. The death in her eyes twisted even further into the anger and revenge that fueled her.

She narrowed her eyes at me, her lips and nostrils flaring as she fixed me with a glower as deep as the ones I had mastered so long ago.

“Did you deviate from the plan?” she snapped, jumping over the large sleeping nests to get to me, her body moving fast.

“I did what was needed, little girl.” My voice swallowed hers as I stepped even closer. I stood over her, looking down at the child who looked up at me, her jaw set and eyes hard as she met my glower match for match, her anger rivaling mine.

“We had a plan, Ovailia,” she hissed, stepping so close she had to look straight up to attempt to make eye contact.

The image of her craning her neck to see me was comical. Unable to help it, I laughed, the noise dark and haunting as it filled the large tent. The sound danced with the steady beat of the canvas as it moved with the wind, with the sounds of battle that were slowly filtering through the fabric. I guessed it was in full-force now.

“I didn’t break it. It doesn’t need fixing. But now we are going to make it better.” I grabbed her arm, ready to pull her out of the tent and into a stutter, but she pulled away, jerking her arm from me.

“I am the last piece of your father’s magic,” she yelled, still looking at me with that same awkward positioning. “I am the magic you need in order to kill that man.”

Stiffening, the fear I had felt from the moment I had turned away from the stairwell ramped up, twisting in my gut and soul in an uncomfortable pain that ripped through me.

She was right, and I hated it.

I wanted nothing more than to rip this little girl limb from limb, teach her not to defy me, teach her not to stand up to me. Make her pay for thinking she was better than me. But I couldn’t, because she was right. I needed her. And as the smile spread over her face, the blood hungry glare returning to her eyes, I could tell she knew it, too.

“You are to get me to my brother, Míra,” I said, my voice strained beneath the iron clench in my teeth.

“Then we can kill Sain?” She smiled, seeming as innocent as a child asking for candy.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she stepped away from me, her eyes dancing with a look that banished my fear for the briefest second.

“You can kill anyone you want,” I answered, turning back toward the entrance, ready to begin.

One step into the chill, I knew everything had changed, more than the coup.

Panic had gripped the camp. The previously abandoned site was now full of people who were running and screaming. More than that, it was full of fear. I could see it on each of their faces as they sped past the camp, casting glances behind them in wide-eyed horror as though they were being chased.

As though they were being hunted.

Except, no one attacked. No one fought. In this camp of magic, not one spell was cast, yet the fear increased, the running increased. The cries rang in my ears, tensing the muscles in my neck.

“What did you do, Ovailia?” Míra asked as she appeared beside me, the tent flap closing and leaving us standing in the bitter wind. “Do your feet smell that bad?”

Normally, I would smack the girl down to her place for such a comment, but with the fear in their faces … Something was seriously wrong.

Gingerly, I stepped my bare foot forward, placing my tender sole against the ice-covered ground. A chill swept up my leg, frigid ice that was ignored as I continued forward, the running hordes spreading around me with each step.

Like the breaking of waves, they moved around me, hitting my shoulders and banging against my legs. I should have yelled at them. I should have commanded their allegiance. I almost did … until I turned toward what they were all running from and saw what they were all afraid of.

The glare that was so familiar to my brow faded, my eyes widening in panic.

“What is it?” Míra asked as she came up beside me, her eyes widening as she, too, saw the city, saw the soldiers who were streaming into the camp, saw the Vil?s that were not far behind.

The city, the encampment … It was free. The barrier was down.

The red dome was gone.

But we were also under attack.

“Well, great. What are we going to do now?” Míra asked, the question pulling me out of my stupor and back to the girl. The tiny thing was pressed against me as the wall of people jostled against her.

“I need to find Ilyan,” I snapped, everything falling into place as I forced myself to look away from the city and back at the girl, back to the plan that had suddenly become much more of a dire necessity.

“Then let’s go.” Míra grabbed my wrist, ready to stutter me past the barrier as we had discussed.

“There is no need for that, Míra.” I pulled my arm away from her grip with far too much force. “The barrier is down. I can get there myself. I need you to go into Imdalind. Find the blade I told you about. We need to get it before—”