Burnt Devotion (Imdalind, #5)(89)

“Accepted,” Ilyan said, his voice a deep groan through the room.

“He has taken his place,” the voice came again, not so much of a beat following before the reply resounded through the space. The words in Czech reminded me so much of what I had seen and what was going on that I forgot to respond.

“Speak, Our King.”

I am the king.

You know this, son. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.

“Ilyan, son of Edmund, third of the first of the Sk?íteks, and savior of our city. He stands before us, ready to rule, and as one, we will accept him. Do you accept him?”

The deep rumble of the voice continued, but I didn’t dare look away from my brother. I didn’t think I could if I tried. In that one moment, I saw my brother for what I had always known him to be, for what everyone else in this room saw him as.

More than king.

More than ruler.

More than brother.

He was their guide.

I accepted that as they did.

As one, everyone in the large space raised their hands above their heads, one loud clap smashing through the revered silence as the sign for acceptance rang loud.

“It has been accepted,” the voice came, followed by a silence that, given the situation—given the way everyone stood, staring at the man before us—should have been awkward. It should have been driven with an impregnated anticipation. Regardless, it was only calm. It was only still as the power in the room trembled into a calm.

“Speak, our lord,” the voice echoed loudly in Czech as Ilyan shifted, his eyes moving over everyone—over the last of his people, over the confused child who stood beside me—before finally resting on his mate. It was an acknowledgement that didn’t smother me for the first time.

He as I waited alongside everyone else, waited for him to speak, as the dim, red light of day became nothing more than shadows.

“My people,” Ilyan began after a moment, the power in his voice carrying over us, “we have been scattered, but now, we have been found. While our numbers are few, they are still strong. We are still strong. And now we gather not only to cement the rule of my people, but to strengthen our numbers and to move toward our goal, our birthright, and our heritage. We have been graced with magic for a reason. For this reason, we will take back the wells of Imdalind. We will defeat Edmund Krul, first of the Chosen, and take back the magic of the world.”

It was a powerful speech, and I could feel my magic boil in excitement and anticipation. I fought the need to scream, yell, and stomp my feet as was always done in the councils my father held. Instead, I raised my hands above my head, clapping once as everyone else did, sealing the words with a calm agreement, a powerful bind falling over me as I did so.

I could feel the weight of the ancient magic shift over me like a warm blanket, the calm looks on everyone else’s faces making it clear that they felt the same things I did. The magic was affecting them the same way.

“Edmund has taken control of not only the wells of Imdalind, but also the city. He has plagued the calm creatures, the Vil?, with a poison that infects not only the precious magic they hold, but also the magic that is awakened in the ones they bite.

“Joclyn, daughter of Sain, first of the Drak, has found a way to reverse the poison in these souls, making their awakened magic as safe as the magic that was awakened in her and in all the other Chosen Children to date. This can be shown in Jaromir, the child we pulled from the streets. Not only is his magic pure, but he awakened much faster than is usual, his power a strong force within him.”

Ilyan’s voice was strong yet still not enough to drown out the excited babble that filled the space. The urgent whispers grew into a fountain of sound, the noises growing as they bounced off the old, stone walls.

I looked around as the sound continued to swell, my own excitement lost as the small boy in question took a step into me, his tiny frame almost trying to blend into mine.

“Hey, there,” I said in Czech, my voice soft as I bent over to him. “It’s okay.”

“They are scared of me.” His voice was so small.

“No,” I said, my voice a little louder as he looked at me with scared eyes. “They are excited that you exist.”

I didn’t expect him to understand right away, and judging by the wide eyes that looked up at me, he didn’t.

I smiled softly as my focus left the scared, little boy and went to the strong woman who stood beside him. The parallels between them were so funny I couldn’t help laughing.

“What?” He was obviously upset at my laughter.

I stopped right away and looked at him, jutting my chin toward Joclyn so he would know what I was talking about.

“She was the same way. She hid her mark for years. She hid herself for years. Now look at her. She will be queen today.”

She should still be your mate.

No. Not anymore.

Don’t forget what Ilyan has stolen from you.

You need to make them pay.

His eyes grew wider with each word I spoke, the large saucers full of so much disbelief. He looked at me before turning toward her tall, sure frame, the mark on her neck proudly displayed for all to see.

“Silence.” The command in Ilyan’s voice rumbled through us, silencing the room on command as Ilyan’s magic sealed it, and everyone was forced to follow orders.

While the use of his magic in such a way boiled under me a bit, it was short-lived. After all, I could see the same irritation in Ilyan’s face. He didn’t like using it, either. Everyone else, however, now stood in a humbled silence, their heads bowed low as they waited for him to continue.