Burnt Devotion (Imdalind, #5)(79)



“His magic is fine. He is fine…”

“But you just can’t wake him,” I finished his thought for him as he stood, the sloppy braid that trailed down his back only a foot away from me.

Ilyan nodded, and my stomach dropped. In some ways, I knew I should at least be happy he was okay, but then, why wouldn’t he wake up? I had hoped Ilyan would have been able to ascertain something besides what I had, yet it was the same.

“That doesn’t explain the scabs, though,” I grumbled, my mind still trying desperately to put the puzzle together.

“What scabs?” Ilyan asked in Czech, his voice rumbling with a fear I easily recognized.

“Perhaps scabs is the wrong word.” I said nothing more as I moved to the other side of Thom, his hands soft against mine as I turned them over.

The palms were covered with the same open wounds, each one a perfect circle. The red, angry marks were raw, the flesh looking like it had been burned away, as though someone had dropped acid onto the tender skin and melted it.

Ilyan’s face hardened as he looked at them, his jaw tensing into a tight line. “P?etí?ení dávka.”

My heart seized. I had heard of this. Although, I had never seen it, and now, seeing it on Thom… The world must have stopped spinning on its axis. I was positive of it.

“But how?” I asked even though I knew there was only one way to get p?etí?ení dávka.

An overstimulation of magic.

It was much like what could happen if you pushed too much magic into someone who couldn’t handle it. They would drown in it, their bodies essentially exploding from the inside out. I had done it a few times on weaker opponents, and it was a fascinating way to die.

This, though... This was the equivalent of a magical overdose. If magic was heroin, this would be the outcome of taking too much, of stealing too much. I had seen the same sores on Edmund for years as he gorged on the magic within the hearts I had brought him, strengthening as he pushed himself right to the limit, only to bring himself back, stronger than before.

But Thom?

Even after all the centuries we had lived and worked by Edmund’s law, I didn’t think he would ever stoop to that.

“He wouldn’t.”

“I do not see Thomas engaging in such darkness.” Ilyan placed his hand over his brother before he stood, his voice heavy and distanced as he spoke more to assure himself than me, I believed. “But there is only one way for this to happen…”

My teeth clenched together in adamant refusal as I stared at him, waiting for him to give another explanation that I was sure was not going to come.

“I don’t want to believe this, Ilyan.” The words barely made it out.

“I don’t know what else it could be. The boils, the inability to wake…” Ilyan’s voice faded into nothing as he stared at me, both of us silently wishing it was anything else.

Sain, on the other hand, stayed strangely quiet from where he stood, the fear that had plagued him seemingly gone as he stared at his best friend. They had been through so much together, knew each other so well, yet…

“Did you know, Sain?” Awe, disbelief, and a hurt I didn’t think I could fully explain rushed out of me.

The old man’s focus snapped to me before moving back to the limp body of his friend, his head shaking sadly in a silent answer.

It should have calmed me, but something about his lack of emotion was unsettling, especially given the last few minutes with his panic and need to run.

Drak were only bland vessels for magic, but after Sain’s terror of the last few minutes, I would have expected more. As if by proving he could feel, he should from now on.

Ilyan said nothing as he moved over to check on Ryland again, shifting the two men around until they lay side-by-side like bodies prepared for burial, a fact that only twisted through me more.

“We need to move,” Ilyan announced. Joclyn came through the door as he spoke, as if he was announcing her arrival and not our immediate departure.

“Move?” I asked, my focus drifting from my best friend to her mate so fast I could have sworn I was seeing double. “Move the bodies? Move from the city? Or move to a new safe house? Because, after everything we went through, I would be all for leaving the city and letting me burn it to the ground. We can rebuild. But not with the flying rats trying to rip our throats out at every turn.”

Joclyn and Ilyan stared at me as though they were somehow softening the blow, and while I was sure that was part of it, I could see their minds working far too quickly for them to merely be standing and not having one of their ever-irritating mind-meld sessions.

“Spit it out, you two,” I scoffed, unable to keep my irritation at bay. “The whole internal talking thing is fun and all—”

“We can’t leave the city.”

They were five dumb words, but they sliced through my ramble like a knife. I had known it was a possibility, but I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t expected five ridiculous words to seep from Joclyn’s lips and crush me.

“What?” I couldn’t keep the alarm out of my voice.

The shrill sound cut through the stagnant air, sending swirls of dust into the shallow light beams we were surrounded by. I cringed at the noise as the sound of the Vil?s outside the window picked up, my noise reawakening their attempts, and the scratches picked up along with the shrieks, the sound echoing loudly around us.

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