Scorched Treachery (Imdalind, #3)(75)

“I will retrieve both of their souls, Edmund, right before I rip your heart from your body.”

He balked at my statement, his face going white before the lid to the coffin dropped, enclosing us in the dark space.

I listened to Sain’s breathing equalize alongside mine as we waited for a sign that Edmund was trying to follow us, as we waited for his attempt to break through the barrier Ilyan had placed around the tomb.

But none came.

A deep green light flared in Sain’s hand, and I looked toward it, my heart calming to see the relief in his face. We just looked at each other, neither of us having the words for what had just happened.

Sain turned toward the tunnel that opened up behind him, the long dark abyss that would lead us safely underground and right into Italy. His light flickered along the walls of dirt and stone until the tunnel faded into an endless stretch of claustrophobic black.

In any other situation, I would have been scared at seeing an endless enclosed space. Instead, I felt my heart relax at the promise of safety it held for us.

“We’d better hurry,” Sain whispered as he stepped into the tunnel, the first step of a long journey.

I rushed to catch up with him, his words sending ice down my spine.

“What do you mean?” I asked, dearly hoping he hadn’t seen anything else.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Sain didn’t look at me as he spoke; he simply continued walking, his slow pace taking us straight forward.

“Is he coming?” My voice slithered over my tongue, the fear rushing right back to the surface.

“No,” Sain said as he turned to face me, “but you have less time than I originally thought.”

Sain reached forward and grabbed my left hand, lifting my arm to eye level. I looked at him in confusion, trying to make sense of his words. His eyes darted to my arm.

“Sain?” I asked, my eyes following his to my arm and then returning to him as I tried to make sense of what he was saying.

“Edmund has plans for your brother. We must get you to Joclyn before it is too late.”





Ilyan





Chapter Twenty-Three





The large map of the grounds that surrounded the Abbey took up the majority of the expansive table that stood at the end of the long kitchen. I stood over it, facing the crumbling stone ovens and fireplaces that had once been used by the monks of Rioseco for food preparation. I stared at the map, ignoring the twinge of guilt from using this room as a planning room for the battle that was coming closer and closer.

It had been seven days since we had been found and the first eight camps appeared. Now we could see twenty-two. Each one was marked by a small red dot on the map, the number of how many we assumed to be in each camp marked in quill pen beside it. The camps kept coming, and still no Ovailia.

Joclyn had been trapped in the T?uha for almost two weeks...three months for her. For three months, Edmund had been torturing her. I had healed her after every attack, but the injuries still kept coming. Last night they plagued her over and over until, in the end, I had to restart her heart, my magic manually pumping it in an attempt to keep her alive. Futile, that’s how it felt.

My only hope for her now was Ryland.

I scanned my eyes over the paper, trying to find a rhyme or reason to the pattern, but once again finding nothing. That didn’t necessarily mean anything though. It could simply mean that the Trpaslíks did not follow instructions, which was common. I snatched a strawberry out of one of the bowls that held down the massive paper, moving around to the other side of the table, hoping another angle would help.

“One new camp last night,” I said as Dramin walked in, his energy slow and lagging from having just woken up. He came up beside me, and I pointed to the newest red dot, the ink on the number six still drying.

“One is better than ten,” he chuckled, his reference to yesterday’s surge making me cringe.

Yes, one was better than ten, and after they had come so steadily, it only left me worrying about what was coming. I stretched my hands out to hover above the map, trying another view, but nothing jumped out at me.

“Do we have a plan yet?” Dramin asked, but I only laughed humorlessly at him.

At this point, if Joclyn didn’t wake, it would be me against upwards of a hundred Trpaslíks with a little help from Thom. While I had defeated that number before, it was not without grave injury, something that would take time to recover from, and I had been alone at the time. There were many other considerations when I had to protect the people around me. With the impending assault my father had planned, I doubted I had any time on my hands for either healing or complicated strategy.

“Does all this happen before or after Joclyn wakes?” I asked.

“Does it matter?”

“It might,” I prompted, careful to keep my voice light. “When does she wake?”

“Soon.” Dramin grunted a bit and sat down beside me, his hands already wrapped around a full mug of Black Water. I stared at the water as if it had offended me. We had given Joclyn the water for the past four days and nothing had happened. No waking, no more sights. She stayed still every time, laid out on the wide couch that had been placed in one of my side rooms years ago, now used only to supplement Joclyn’s nutrition.

I sat down heavily next to Dramin, my eyes still focused on the poison in his hands.