Scorched Treachery (Imdalind, #3)(95)

It was him. I spat as I pushed Ilyan away, as I let the anxiety mix with the hate. I could feel my magic surge and pulse, but it wasn’t like when I had healed Wyn; this was uncontrollable, like I myself was the danger, as if I would explode.

“No, my love,” Ilyan said calmly, his eyes scanning me as I continued to try to move into myself and my breathing picked up. “It was a farce, a projection in Cail’s mind meant to confuse you so that you would kill him if you ever got the chance.”

I could feel Ilyan’s magic move into me and take away the frayed edges of my panic. I wanted to hold it to me, and relax in the pain, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tear my mind away from what Ilyan was saying, what he was trying so foolishly to get me to believe.

I couldn’t ignore the pulse of anger that moved through me. I couldn’t ignore the way that just talking about him was awakening my panic, causing my body to shake and curl into itself. Ryland needed to pay for what he had done to me.

It was him, Ilyan. I know…

“How do you know it was?” The desperation in his words stopped me, my eyes widening. Why did he doubt me? Why was he pushing me? What had Ryland told him? What had my father said?

I had shown Ilyan everything; I had filled his mind with those memories. Why couldn’t he see that I knew? I knew by the way that he had walked, the way that his hair curled. I could have admitted that there had been something different about him, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I didn’t want to.

I twitched as I focused on the memories, the images letting that strong fear back into my heart. My body moved even further into the wall as I tried to keep the fear at bay, as I tried to hold onto reality.

How do you know that it wasn’t? I countered, my voice snide in his head.

Ilyan closed his eyes for a moment, and I could hear the replay of the last hour in his mind, the conversation he had had with Sain. I didn’t want to hear it. Even though I could tell he was trying to give me the thoughts, I wouldn’t let them in. I wasn’t interested.

“They did the same to him, Jos.” He sighed, his breath exhaling as he lifted his eyes to look at me again. “They turned him into a weapon to hurt you. It’s why he punched you. He still sees you as the enemy they haunted him with. He is trying to fight it, but I am not sure he can.”

I just stared at him, the words sinking into a place deep inside of me that I wanted so desperately to ignore. Ilyan’s eyes were soft, the truth behind them penetrating. I sighed as I leaned my head against the wall, not willing to except it, more willing to let my panic take over.

How do you know that I am meant to be a weapon now?

Ilyan stared and moved closer, his body folding as he leaned toward me.

“It’s what my father does, Joclyn.” His fingers twitched in desperation to hold me again. “It is what he has always done. You know this.”

I did. I had seen it even before he had done it to me. I had seen it in Thom, and I had heard the stories of my father. I had no reason to doubt any of them.

“You need to let go of that anger, Joclyn,” Ilyan continued when I said nothing, his hand finally moving to rest against the blanket that covered me. “You can’t let the pain control you.”

I can’t, Ilyan. If I let go of it, then there is nothing left. I have nothing behind that. It’s all I am anymore.

“That’s not true,” Ilyan said, his hand moving to rub my body in comfort through the blanket.

It’s all I feel. I sighed, pulling the blanket around me tighter. I felt the jagged edge within me as it threatened to turn into panic. I pushed it away as I buried my face into the wall, refusing to look at him. I knew the look he would have if I did.

“You have to look beyond it, my love,” he whispered, his voice soft as his hand moved from the blanket to the skin of my face. I fought the temptation to lean into the touch, to bask in it.

There is nothing behind it. I said, the voice in my head breaking in my sadness.

Ilyan sighed, and his hand moved over my skin before he dropped it, before he leaned away from me. The movement scared me, and I looked toward him. But when I did, his eyes were looking right at me, the bright blue shocking as they raged with a heady emotion that took my breath away.

“My father hung me from a tree shortly after it became obvious that I was the one challenging him. He caught me, whipped me, and burned my skin with irons. I thought I would go mad. But I didn’t.”

He didn’t move as he spoke, his eyes never leaving mine. I had always excluded Ilyan from the pain Edmund had caused his children. I didn’t know why, but Ilyan seemed untouchable. Now he was telling me that he had been hurt. He had thought he would go crazy. But he didn’t

How?

He smiled at my question, and for the first time since I met him, I could tell he was nervous. I could feel the anxiety in his mind; hear the thump of his heart.

His heart called to me, and I leaned toward him, the heavy blanket moving away as I reached for his hands and wrapped my hands around his.

“Ilyan?” I asked aloud, loving the way his name felt on my tongue.

“I thought of you, of the vision. I basked in the way you felt in my arms, the smell of your hair. I thought of every vision I had seen in the sight and I knew I was bigger than the pain. I looked beyond it, and I found love.”

Love.

The look in his eyes, the way his magic felt within me, none of it was wild, none of it was scary. Everything about Ilyan was calm. He was love.