Burnt Devotion (Imdalind, #5)(64)

I had never truly comprehended that one man could cause so much destruction. So much death.

That one man could hate so much he would destroy so many.

I understood now.

I watched the bodies, watched the blood flow, and all the while, the magical army Edmund already had at his disposal rejoiced at the destruction.

At the carnage that they had created.

“How far does it go?” Ilyan asked from beside me, his voice distanced as he spoke.

I felt the pressure of his hand against mine as his magic surged with me, the connection not necessary yet so very welcome. I rejoiced at the warmth of his touch, at the strength of that security, and followed my magic as it sped away around the wall, moving through the endless destruction, the endless line of Edmund’s men, the constantly flowing rivers growing, the color only enhanced by the shield Edmund had surrounded us by. It never ended.

It was a solid mass of men, of wall, of death.

My head spun at the understanding, the finality making me sick.

Ilyan. The world was a plea for understanding that I knew I would never get. Not with the way I could feel the thunderous pulse of his heart within mine.

He only clung to my hand tightly, his free hand pulling me against him as my magic pulled back into me, my head spinning wildly at the recoil.

My eyes opened to the dark room, to the kind face of the woman who sat across from me. I didn’t see that, though. All I could see was the destruction I had come from, my head spinning with recollection, my body weak from exertion.

“They are lining the wall,” Ilyan’s voice rumbled in English as he held me against him, his voice filled with the same anger I felt rule him.

“The wall?” The heavy accent in Risha’s voice made it to where I could barely understand her. No wonder they had been speaking in Czech.

It was obviously more than a familiarity issue.

“My father has turned the freeway into a barricade. Nothing is getting out of the city.”

“You mean we are trapped here.” Risha slipped into Czech at her alarm, but Ilyan’s mind translated it for me instantly. Not that I needed the help—her tone was enough, the fear behind it almost crippling.

“Ano.”

Yes.

The room shifted into panic at the knowledge, the already battle worn refugees’ hope squashed only moments after it had been fed.

Ilyan lifted his hand, and without a word, the room fell to silence with the command.

Everyone looked at him in expectation, in fear, in reverence, in emotions I didn’t understand and emotions I felt in myself. Ilyan sat beside me in silence, his eyes closed in calm, though I could feel the waves of uncertainty and panic move through him.

I let my magic fill him on instinct, the warm tendrils moving through him and wrapping his fears in a mask that, while it did not calm him completely, made the tension in his body loosen. His eyes opened to look at me with that deep admiration that always took my breath away.

“That doesn’t mean there is no escape,” Ilyan’s somber voice rumbled through the silence. “We came here fully expecting to fight. We fought in Rioseco, and we will fight here. Even if it ends in our death. We are Sk?íteks. We have been born to protect the magic of the world, to protect the wells of Imdalind. That is why we have come. That is why you still live. It is our duty to protect this world and all the power it holds. We may be trapped here, but it is not in vain. It is for the safety and security of all.”

I tensed at his words, at the admission, at the possibility. We had only barely escaped in Rioseco, and the idea that we would flee only to come here and die without reaching our end goal—without killing Edmund—rattled me.

It was the fear of the prophecy that I had been fighting for so long.

I cringed against Ilyan, while everyone else seemed to relax, the heavy fear that had impregnated the room lifting with each word he spoke. Now, I understood why.

It was as Ilyan had said.

They were the Sk?íteks—the warriors and protectors of magic. They had been born for this. They had trained for this. It would be easy to say that I was not one of them, that this was not my fight.

But it was.

Because I was one of them.

I held their magic in me, not only through the Vil?’s bite that graced my neck, but through the bond I shared with Ilyan. It was a powerful force so strong that, despite rebelling against the words Ilyan spoke—rebelling against the possible death—I felt my magic react. I felt it rumble in the same desperate understanding.

“What do you suggest we do, my lord?” Risha asked, the fear gone from her voice. She leaned across the table through the dark, her eyes wide as everyone moved closer, waiting for instruction, and with that look in their eyes, they were ready to begin.

“We know where Edmund’s men are, and I think we can ascertain his plan based on how he has acted and what he has done. If we gather who is left of our kind together, we may be able to find a way to infiltrate his ranks and get Joclyn and I close enough to defeat him.”

My magic surged at the power in his words, the rumble of certainty coming stronger with each syllable.

Murmurs of excitement swirled around me as my magic continued to grow, the force drowning out the quick Czech that had sprouted around me.

Risha and Ilyan moved to fortify a plan and find a safe space large enough for all of us on the odd, makeshift map.

I knew I should be paying attention. I should be picking apart the words and understanding what came to everyone else so easily, but I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t think beyond the force of my power and the way my head had begun to spin and turn above and beneath me.