Scorched Treachery (Imdalind, #3)(58)

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek, the warmth of her skin shooting sweetly through me in an electrical current that caught my veins on fire. Before I could let my heart linger on my words, a soft knock filled the room, echoing off the stone walls.

Not a moment passed before Dramin walked in. As much as I hated the ritual bows and formal speeches, there were times when I missed the formalities my position usually accounted me, this was one of them. I had to remind myself that those luxuries were gone forever, as were my people. My father had massacred the ones I had been chosen to lead. I was all alone now, the last of the Sk?íteks, save my sister. Even at that, we were only half-breeds of the once powerful race.

Dramin smiled as I stood to face him, a mug of Black Water balanced in his hands. I couldn’t ignore the banging in my chest at the possibilities feeding her might give us.

The water had awakened her true ability not too long ago; perhaps it was the key we needed to wake her up now.

“You ready for this?” Dramin asked, his dark green eyes looking at me over the mug.

I nodded once. Dramin needed someone to hold Joclyn still and upright. I had agreed without complaint, although it meant that I might get some of the poisonous water on my skin. The thought caused my muscles to tighten. I could still vividly remember the pain of the water as it lashed against my chest, the internal burning that plagued me for years afterwards. It was worth it, as this would be, if it was done for Joclyn’s sake.

We moved toward the large couch, Dramin setting the heavy mug on the ancient table that sat next to the upholstered couch. I followed him, moving to shift Joclyn onto my lap where Dramin would need her.

“You are good man, Ilyan.”

I only nodded at him, unsure how to respond. His simple statement was loaded with the implications of both past and future. I let the ire wash over me, before arranging Joclyn on my lap, her head lolling against my chest as Dramin placed a towel beneath it. I only hoped the flimsy fabric would catch enough of the Water to prevent too much of an injury.

Dramin moved to the side of me, his jaw tight as he moved her head a bit. I held her head where Dramin had placed it, my skin warm where it made contact with hers.

“You can’t move, Ilyan, even if it burns you. You move, and it will only burn you more.” Dramin lifted the mug, and I cringed as the putrid smell of the deep brown fluid hit my nose. It smelled like rot, the heavy death smell of the body pits that had littered my home while the black plague ravaged Europe. The images of the time floated to mind, their suffering still fresh, even though the travesty had happened in my youth.

I closed my eyes against the imagery and held Joclyn’s body closer to me, my body tense as I held her still. Thom had suggested we just restrain her magically, but I had swatted the idea away, wishing instead to be near her, wishing to help her physically. Now, I was second guessing my decision.

Dramin placed the mug against Joclyn’s lips, his thumb and forefinger pressing against her mouth to open it slightly, the sag of her jaw making her look deathly and vacant. I looked away, not wanting to think of being that way, of being vacant. Gone.

I looked out the high stone archways that led to my wide balcony and to the misty Spanish countryside that lay beyond that. It all looked the same as when we had built this beautiful building. This place was like stepping back in time for me, one of the only places that felt like home. I couldn’t deny the heady feeling from being here that was seeping into me. Of course, it didn’t hurt that so many of the images in the original sight took place within these very walls.

In the sight given by Sain all those centuries ago, I had seen Joclyn battle powerful enemies. I had seen her bloodied and beaten, and I had seen her crying – tears streaming down her face before she kissed me. The images flashed before me now, and I could tell where each of them would occur, what corner of the ruins of the Abbey she would stand in - many of which were only a few steps away.

The beautiful images were stolen from me as the deep burning sensation of the Black Water shot across my arm. I called out, my voice loud and deep as I tried to keep my body still. I let my voice yell and swear, the rough Czech words bouncing off the stone, while keeping my body still as Dramin continued to work.

The burn moved deeper into me, the acidic fire burning into my blood stream where it ignited and moved all over my body in a matter of minutes. The pain was not as intense as I had remembered, but still it caused my muscles to tense as it passed them, the deep magic reacting with my blood. My magic tried to heal me, but it wasn’t fast enough to fight the burn that shot through my veins.

There was a reason few of my kind had ever sought council from the Drak, and now I was being reminded why. I continued to yell, my only outlet in the battle against my own body that was desperate to move and flee the pain.

“H...he will...willl t...tear usss ap...apa...apart.” The quiet, feminine stutter rocked through me. The hope that I felt filled me faster than the burning pain had. Dramin stepped away, the mug returning to the ancient table. Joclyn’s body twisted easily in my arms, falling down to my lap as limply as she had been before. Was she coming back?

Her eyes were open, the endless black depths seeing something neither Dramin nor I could see. The pain and fear in her voice was strong, and I hoped the timbre of her voice had more to do with the sight than whatever was happening where she was.

My fingers curled against her skin, desperate to pull her to me, but also afraid of missing her awakening or that the sharp movement would hinder whatever progress was being made here.