Eyes of Ember (Imdalind Series #2)(8)

I cringed at the thought.

I looked up to Ilyan again, unsurprised to find him watching me, his eyes lifted from his work.

“I was saying,” Wyn said and I was sure she was rolling her eyes, “I have finished your room in Prague for whenever Ilyan lets you out of that jail he’s trying to pass off as living space. Nice white bed, a huge loft you can fly up and down from all day long. Talon insisted that I make it brown, though.”

“No I didn’t!” I heard Talons voice break through the speaker phone, having obviously grabbed the phone from Wyn. “Don’t you dare listen to her, little girl. She wouldn’t even give me a say in the matter.” I heard Ilyan laugh from across our small living space. I couldn’t help but laugh along with them but the action sent a sharp pain through my chest and I winced.

Ilyan set down his work and moved over to me, his hand pressing against the skin on my hands the second he was within distance. His magic pulsed into me.

“We don’t need your lungs to collapse today, do we?” he said low enough the phone couldn’t pick it up. He smiled sadly, a look I returned. I didn’t like the reminders I was going to die, but putting a light spin on it seemed to take the edge off. At least I wouldn’t die alone. I reached out, grabbed his hand, and held on. I needed contact, and I was learning to accept Ilyan. It was odd how the advanced knowledge of my death had made me desperate to know I wasn’t alone. That I wouldn’t die alone.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Wyn said after having wrestled the phone away from Talon. “It is brown, but there is no orange. It looks nice. You’re going to love it.”

I smiled a bit and turned to Ilyan who shook his head. We hadn’t told Wyn what was going on, mostly because we didn’t want her to worry or run back to the United States. She was safe in Prague. She needed to stay there.

“I bet I will,” I agreed. “Unless it’s too brown, then I may never talk to you again.”

Wyn laughed and I tried to follow along, but my chest hurt too much even with the magical crutch that Ilyan’s magic gave me. He let go of my hand and reached up to touch my cheek.

“Wynifred,” Ilyan interrupted, his eyes not leaving mine and his hand resting against my face.

“Yes, My Lord.” I smiled at how her demeanor changed at Ilyan’s one word.

“Joclyn needs to work on her magic now. We are going have to continue this conversation at another time.”

“Goodbye, Wyn,” I said softly, cringing as my chest pulsed with pain.

“Later, Jos. My Lord.” Ilyan didn’t give me a chance to respond. He simply pressed the button to end the call and let his magic surge a bit more.

“They do seem to come in waves don’t they?” Ilyan said. I nodded in agreement, my head spinning as I did so.

“So, tell me,” Ilyan began, and I knew what was coming.

At my insistence, Ilyan had begun mentally training me the morning after my first nightmare. He recited different ways to use defensive magic, the process of building shields, and every other bit of magic he hoped could help me defeat Edmund. Once he recited it, I would recite it back. I’m not sure who held out more hope for my survival, me or Ilyan, but I couldn’t deny the burning desire to defeat Edmund that still glowed bright inside of me. After all, on the slim chance I survived this; I still needed to be ready. Either way it was still a good way to get my mind off of what was happening inside of me.

“What happens when two fire based, water bound orbs collide?”

“A fire wall.” I said, giving him the simplest answer.

“Good. And redirection of objects without the use of wind?”

I cringed as I felt his magic snake its way up my spine, the warmth wrapping around my bones like a blanket.

“Is based in the thoughts of the mind and the second tier of energy storage. Both must work in succession for the task to work.”

“Good,” he said with a smile. “And the magic of the Vil??”

“It awakens that hidden magic that humans possess. They can manipulate that magic for the human’s benefit. Magic is only awoken in mortals by the bite of a Vil? or the bonding with a magical being.” My voice caught as something shifted inside of me. Ilyan froze for a moment before asking another question, his deflection weakly covering up his worry.

“What else is based in the mind?” He didn’t look at me, and my fear increased.

“Internal sight, movement of thoughts and images from one person to another…” I stopped at the look on his face. He wasn’t overly concerned or angry, he simply looked heartbroken, the misery in his eyes taking my breath away.

“Ilyan?” I whispered his head turning toward me. “How much longer do I have?”

Ilyan hesitated; I squeezed his hand hoping to prompt him to tell me. He returned the gesture, looking away from me.

“Your kidneys have failed; your lungs attempt to collapse every time you are pained there. You have what I can only relate to a tumor snaking its way up your spine. So, not long.” I cringed and clung to his hand tightly. Hearing him actually say what was going on inside my body made it more real.

“I can survive a broken back, but being separated from my mate is what kills me.” I tried to smile. “Go figure.”

“Go figure,” Ilyan repeated, the American saying sounding awkward with his accent. He smiled slightly and reached out, running his fingers along the mark below my ear.