Eyes of Ember (Imdalind Series #2)
Rebecca Ethington
One
I am going to kill Edmund LaRue.
I repeated the words to myself as a reminder that the thought was still there, that my conviction was still true.
The thought had started as an ember of possibility when I saw Edmund wipe the last of Ryland’s memories three nights ago. And with them went all the memories of me. If it had been more than an ember or if I had been more powerful, I would have killed him then. As it was, Ilyan had grabbed me and dragged me away.
Being forced to leave the one person in the world that I loved had snapped something deep inside of me, and the thought had grown, the ember growing into a spark.
That spark promised me I would be the one to kill Edmund. He had destroyed my best friend, the one person left for me to love. I owed him for that.
The spark became a flame when I went back and visited Ryland in our space between dream and reality for the last time. Inside of our T?uha I saw him as a little boy who looked at me and told me my eyes looked like diamonds. I could feel the flame in me then, an inferno of hatred, desire and power.
Although my mind was set on its course and my chosen path was clear, my heart and body had not gotten the message. I spent the next three days trapped in overwhelming heartbreak that I could not escape, try as I might. My body ached with emotional pain and erased any desire that I had to move.
I knew it was not a natural reaction. Something else was wrong. Somehow I knew that this was affecting me far more than a normal heartbreak should, but I still accepted it. In turn, I accepted my lack of determination to fight it. In the back of my mind, burning with a heat that scarred deep into my soul, the desire to strike Edmund from the earth still reigned.
So I lay still, an emotionless mask in place as my soul battled with itself. My mind planned Edmund’s demise while I ached for what it could not have, what had been taken from me.
I could have stayed locked in my torment forever if Ilyan had not been so persistent.
“Siln?, it’s time to wake up.”
His voice was soft in my ear, his hand resting against the side of my face. His fore finger rested softly on the mark below my ear, the mark that had destroyed my life. I pushed his hand away and covered my head with the thick comforter in an attempt to ignore him.
“You have to get out of bed sometime, prosím Joclyn.” He placed his hand over the blanket, the weight of it pushing into my shoulder. I wished he would move away. I didn’t want his comfort.
“Leave me alone,” I said, my voice harsh.
“I can’t do that, Siln?. You know I won’t.” Ilyan’s Slavic accent grew deeper as he spoke.
I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone. He had been trying to get me out of this bed for the last three days.
From under my comforter, I had watched him as he moved around the tiny studio apartment we were trapped in. My eyes followed him as he made bowl after bowl of vegetable soup, forcing me to eat and drink when I wouldn’t even bother talking to him. I watched him as he sat at the table working on some project or another. He had made a nest of blankets in the small space of floor near the bed, content to give me space and privacy but also too scared to go far. I had listened as he spoke on the phone with Ovailia, getting updates of who had arrived in Prague, every hour on the hour. Part of me wanted to be there, with Wyn and all the others like me, but the other part reminded me how much danger I was in and how important it was I stay hidden.
Ilyan had even called Wyn and prompted me to talk to her about what I was feeling, but nothing Wyn said had helped either. I ignored it all.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted, or what I needed. The desire to seek Edmund out right then was strong, but I still couldn’t dig that desire out from behind the oppressive wall of despair and pain I had built.
The pressure of Ilyan’s hand increased as he moved it around to rub my back. I shied away from the contact even more, it made me uncomfortable. He wasn’t supposed to be the one to comfort me. But the one who should was gone forever.
I didn’t want Ilyan to touch me.
“Joclyn.”
I pulled down the blanket enough to look out at him. His straggly blonde hair was longer than usual, hanging down to his shoulder blades, and his face was full of worry.
“Ahoj,” he whispered as I emerged from underneath the blankets. “How are you feeling?”
I closed my eyes, unsure of how to answer him. I was angry, desperate, lost, broken, in pain, and sad. It shouldn’t be possible for one person to feel so many emotions at the same time.
“I hurt,” I said, my voice cracking with uncertainty.
“Where?” he asked, alarmed.
“In my heart.” It was the best response I could come up with. While my heart did hurt, it was more than that. Everything inside me was shattered. Rather than a broken heart, this felt more like broken everything. My heart was constricted, but around it my whole body felt tight and like it was bound together with hot wire.
And underneath the lethargy... the desire for revenge burned steadily.
“I know how you feel.” I reeled and swelled with anger. I knew he meant well, that he was trying to connect with me, but it felt like he was invalidating my feelings.
“How could you possibly know how I feel?” I snapped. Ilyan didn’t back away from my harsh words. He continued rubbing his hand against my spine, the pressure somewhat dulled through the blankets.