He stood and began to pace, only moving a few steps in either direction as he ran his hands through his hair in agitation.
“Ilyan?” I asked after I could take no more of his uptight movements. He stopped at my voice and came to lean against the bed, his face only millimeters away from my own. I flinched back out of habit.
“The necklace is more than just a gift; Ryland has infused it with his own magic as a way to keep an eye on you, to protect you. Every time you have ever felt it grow warm, it signals to him that you are in danger.”
I nodded, remembering his sudden appearance at the Rugby field, and his apparent knowledge of my fight with Cynthia.
“But I am afraid it inadvertently became more than that. You see, the entire time you two have known each other, Ryland has been infusing you with his magic—to calm you, to heal you, to protect you, to comfort you.”
I nodded before looking down at my lap. “The warmth,” I sighed. “I pushed you out the first time you tried to heal me because Ryland’s m… magic…” I struggled to get the word out. “It had just left me and I was scared.”
“The day we went to the fire pit,” Wyn interrupted, her voice low, “he healed your hand after you hit him, he used his magic to calm you when you were jumping over the fire, and you… you used his magic to help you climb the tree.”
“What?”
“When you climbed the tree,” Wyn continued, “you drew his magic off him and used it to sharpen your senses. It’s why you are so fast. Why it feels so natural.”
“Ryland did it all without knowing that you possessed your own unharnessed power,” Ilyan continued. “So the more your magic mingled, the more they became dependent on each other, the more they became one. When Ryland gave you the necklace, he made it so that his magic would always be close to yours, and with that, he inadvertently sealed your fate. He permanently fused the magic, and in turn, your lives together.”
“What are you saying? That Edmund could infiltrate my mind as well?” I couldn’t keep the panic from seeping into my voice. I needed to save Ryland, but now it wasn’t just him—it was me as well.
“I do not think it will come to that,” Ilyan said. “Mostly what this means is that you can draw off each other. In essence, your magic cannot survive without his and vice-versa.”
“In the apartment,” Ilyan spoke solemnly, “it was Ryland controlling his magic through the necklace that saved you. In the alley, it was his magic that was taking the pain away. He consciously saved and protected you, even though his father was torturing him at the very same time.”
“Torturing him? But in the dream he looked okay… Why does he look like he has been beaten, Ilyan? What’s happened to him?” My thoughts strung together before settling on the brutal image of him that still flooded me.
“He
has
been beaten, Joclyn; possibly more than the television images show us. They can cast a spell on him, make it appear that he is not as injured as he is,” Wyn spoke plainly, the truth cutting me.
“What worries me the most,” Ilyan added, “is that Edmund is not allowing Ryland to be healed, or even allowing him to heal himself. He is kept in pain to weaken him, so that he doesn’t fight back.”
“Pain?” I asked, remembering my first assumption that he looked like I had felt the last few days.
“Yes, Joclyn, agonizing pain. Almost the same type of pain you felt when you first received your kiss. He feels that every second of every day and must live with it.”
“But he didn’t look like that… in the dream, I mean.”
“That’s because you were seeing with your heart.” I turned to Ovailia’s acidic voice. “If you had taken the time to see with your mind, you would have seen the true extent of his injuries. Then perhaps we could know with more certainty how much time he has left.”
“Enough, Ovailia,” Ilyan commanded, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from her.
“So, Ryland is dying inside. His father is trying to
delete
his mind. So when you say he has maybe two weeks—”
“I mean in a week, maybe two,” Ilyan whispered, “Ryland will be no more. He will only be a shell to be manipulated by his father.”
I clutched my necklace, pressing the cold stone against my chest. I felt my heart beat wildly against my fingers. Once again, the mark had destroyed everything, everything I needed and wanted within my life. However, this time I knew the truth; the mark had truly given me the power to get everything back, the power to fix it.
“I will save him.” My voice was quiet, but still confident. I knew I would do whatever it would take to save Ryland, to honor my mother, to change my life.
“I know,” Ilyan whispered.
I turned to him, unsurprised to see that wild anticipation and crazy confidence he had had in the car. It wasn’t the joy I had originally mistaken it to be, though.
It was power.
Ilyan had excused himself a short while later, saying that there would be a council in an hour, and he needed to prepare. Ovailia had followed close behind him, her nasally voice whining about something I didn’t understand. The second the door had closed, Wyn rushed to me, flinging her arms around me in a tight bear hug.
“I am so sorry, Jos, so sorry. If we could have gotten you out earlier, this never would have happened. If we…” Her voice caught and I could tell she was crying. I returned the hug, my arms hesitantly wrapping around her.
“I wanted so badly to just run away with you the night we watched the movie at the apartment, but someone had caught sight of Ilyan that morning, and he didn’t want to risk being followed or trapped. If only we had...” She jabbered on and on, and even through the accent, I could tell she was the same old Wyn. Hearing this bit of normalcy made me smile. It took the edge off the desperate panic I felt with Ryland’s situation, and the crushing depression over my mother. I sighed deeply and leaned into her, grateful for the emotional support.
“Can you forgive me?” she pleaded, pulling me away from her to look at me. Her eyes were so off putting; the all-encompassing blackness of them, combined with the dark tattoos, made her look ominous. I moved my hand up a fraction of an inch, as if to touch her skin, but put it down again. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.
“I know I look a little... odd. You’ll get used to it. It took me a hundred years to come to terms with my new face, so take all the time you need.” She smiled widely at me, but I could tell it still made her a little sad.
“A hundred years?”
“Yeah, I am a ripe old lady. I was born in about 1795 and received the marks on July tenth of 1867.”
“1795?”
“Yeah, and exiled before my hundredth birthday. That’s why Ryland didn’t recognize me; we’ve never met, and I highly doubt Timothy ever spoke of me after he marked me. So in a century or so you can tell me if you think they suit me or not.”
“Wait, what? A century? I can’t possibly live that long.”
“All magical beings possess some realm of immortality, Joclyn. But it’s kind of contingent; if you don’t use it, you die. So, I guess, no, you won’t gain your immortality unless you actually start to use that magic of yours.”
I had accepted the fact, almost without question, that Ryland and Ilyan, and even Wyn, had and used magic, almost without question. In the back of my mind, the idea that
I
really possessed a magic of my own still felt like some kind of joke.
“But you won’t be living until the world ends unless your back is healed. I apologize in advance.”
Wyn lifted my sweater and placed her hand firmly on my bare back and instantly began to spread her magic into me as she checked my spine. I shuddered involuntarily. Her magic felt like ice inside my veins; it was the polar opposite of the relaxing warmth I got from Ilyan and Ryland.
Ryland.
“Will Ryland be all right?” My question was that of a child, and I knew it. I needed answers; I needed to know exactly what was going on so that I knew how to save him.
“He will if we get to him in time.”
I shivered, my shoulders jerking uncomfortably. I wasn’t sure if my jolt was due to Ryland’s fate or to the icy magic that was moving through me.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “The magic of a Trpaslík tends to be very cold. Of course most of my kind use their magic to kill rather than to heal, so that may be why.”
I could almost hear the sarcasm in her voice.
“A Trpaslík?”
“Yes. Once, a very long time ago, my kind were the keepers of the fire magic.”
Ironically, I shivered as the icy cold of her magic continued to move into me, chilling every part of me.
“Sorry, I’m almost done.”
“Why is your magic so cold if you used to keep the fire magic?”
“I was told as a child it was taken from us by the Skȓíteks, and in the absence of heat, we froze. But I don’t believe that anymore. Everyone here is a Skȓítek; I am just the odd man out.”
“A Trpaslík.”
“Yep.”
“So why have different names at all, if you all look so much like humans?” I asked.
“It relates to our magic. Skȓíteks are the keepers—or the warriors—of all magic. They were once a powerful army that kept balance over the rest of us, but have since been almost driven to extinction. The Trpaslík are destructive by nature; our magic relates more to earth elements, and we can control them at will. Vilỳs were the givers of emotions, and kept the humans from their vices. The names relate to what we do, not who we are.”
“Then why do you still call yourself a Trpaslík if you no longer live with them?”
“Because I am destructive above all else.” She grinned menacingly. “Trpaslíks are very good at making things explode. I’ll show you sometime.”
I couldn’t help the shiver that spread up my spine. She enjoyed that reaction and smiled even more.
“Well, your back feels fine.” Wyn jumped off the bed and flung the covers off me. I still wore the mysterious fleece pants and Ryland’s sweater. I sat and picked at the soft fabric. Thinking of Ryland had made me edgy, like I needed to go run a marathon. My soul called for him, begging him to be okay, to wait for me.
“Broken back, huh?” I asked quietly.
“I know, hard to believe, isn’t it? It actually broke in two places. Right here,” she placed her hand at a spot right between my shoulder blades, “and here.” Her hand slid down to rest a bit above the small of my back. “If it wasn’t for Ilyan, you would have died.”
I only nodded. Ryland had saved me, too. The images of Ryland’s beaten face and my mother’s broken body filled me. I felt my heart constrict again in its futile attempt to control the waves of emotion behind the dam I had built. I tried to push the heartbreak away; I needed her to be proud of me, wherever she was.
“Are you okay?”
I could only nod, my emotions moving far too slowly back behind their fortification.
“Where are we anyway?” My voice broke uncomfortably at the attempted subject change. I obviously couldn’t handle thinking much about my mother just yet.
“This is one of our safe houses; it’s an old motel that Ilyan bought and remodeled in 1968, hence the décor. We call it ‘The Motel’ strangely enough. Most everyone has updated their rooms, but this one and a few others have kind of been left alone.”
Wyn helped me to swing my legs over the side of the bed, her hands assisting me to stand. My spine creaked, and I inhaled sharply as pressure was placed on it. Although the sensation was uncomfortable, it didn’t hurt. It felt like I had never stood on my legs before.
“Come on,” Wyn coaxed. “I want to show you something.”
Even though stiffness had replaced the pain, I still needed help to walk; my legs needed to be reminded how to do it. Wyn helped me, step by step, as we moved slowly forward, stopping after a few steps when Wyn turned me to face the window.
The window opened to a beautiful courtyard that was surrounded on all sides by other rooms. It was full of flowers and vines that covered stone paths and beautiful wrought-iron patio furniture. And in the middle of it all, stood a giant tree. I had never seen one so large. It wasn’t a pine tree like the massive redwoods; it almost looked like an oak. Its broad leaves stretched up and out, covering the courtyard in a relaxing canopy of quivering leaves.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I know. The view in Prague is just as nice, too. You will see it when we get there.”
“Get there?” I couldn’t help the panicked edge that crept into my voice. I couldn’t go anywhere without Ryland.
“Prague is the city where all magic originates; it’s where we live. I am sure we will go home after we get Ryland out.” She smiled sadly as she answered my unasked question. I couldn’t help but feel the waves of uncertainty she was broadcasting, like she didn’t think rescuing him was a possibility.
“When do we go get him?” I could feel the jittery feeling coming back.
“That’s what Ilyan is in council right now to decide, Jos.” She moved some of my hair behind my ear, and I fought the urge to yell at her, not because she had touched me, but because I felt the need to leave to save Ryland right then. It bothered me that this need to rescue him had come on so strong, so fast.
“Can we go for a walk?” I asked the first thing that had come to my mind, hopeful that my anxiety would dissipate with the movement.
“Ummm, yeah. You are not allowed in council, and everyone else will be there. So, we can both go sit in the courtyard and wait for Council to be released, or we can go get some food in my room.”
It didn’t take much thought to decide which I wanted. I would probably never be in the mood to meet new people. The thought gave me an overwhelming urge to pull the hood of the sweater up over me and hide, but I fought it.
“Food sounds great.”
Thankfully, the hall outside the room did not stink so much of the sixties. It had been covered in wood paneling, but painted a nice cream color and carpeted in a plush Berber that helped it to look much more modern.
As we reached the end of the cream-colored hallway, I noticed that only this hallway was covered in the lightly colored paint and carpeting. The new hall we approached was a deep green and had hardwood floors. Right at the transition, Wyn stopped and turned to a man I hadn’t noticed. He stood tall and still, right at the entrance to the hall, his focus down the hall ahead of us. At Wyn’s approach, he turned to her, but said nothing.
“Tell his lordship we have gone to my chamber. The Chosen Child has requested a meal and he is welcome to join us when Council concludes.”
The man clicked his heels together, and Wyn bowed before turning and guiding me down the green hallway in the opposite direction. I looked back at the man to see him still against the door frame.
“What was all that about?”
“I hate talking like that,” Wyn said. “I am so much younger than everyone else, and they all get stuck up on rules, regulations and traditions. I’m lucky I have you; now we can be the irritating rule breakers together.” I looked at her sharply; she hadn’t answered my question. She sensed my gaze boring into her and stoically kept her vision forward.
“Wyn,” I pleaded.
“Okay, they get stuck up on tradition, right? You have to address Ilyan in a certain way, bow to Ovailia in a certain way. You have to use the right verbiage in order to be properly understood,” she sighed.
“Address Ilyan in a certain way,” I repeated in a whisper. My Lord. His Lordship. “So, Ilyan is like your ruler.”
“King,” Wyn corrected. “King of four hundred people, yes, but still king.”
My chest seized at the new information. Of course it made sense, but now I couldn’t stop worrying about how I had acted around him, and if I would get in trouble for it.
“Considering they are the last of their kind, they take it very seriously. Well, everyone except Ilyan anyway,” Wyn said.
“Does Ilyan not take his role seriously?”
“Not really. You’ll see what I mean soon enough, though. Here we are.” Wyn turned me toward a door that had been painted a green so dark it was almost black. In the middle of the door were two handprints, one small and bright purple, and the other large and dark red. She smiled before pulling me into the brightly decorated apartment.
I couldn’t help but smile, too; the room was so Wyn, it was infectious. The bright bubbly colors made the last of my anxiety evaporate. A large king bed covered with a squishy leopard-print comforter occupied most of the space. The bed had an intricately carved footboard, but instead of a headboard, a gigantic Styx poster covered the light, yellow wall. Wyn guided me to an oversized, upholstered, purple chair that sat in front of the window that overlooked the courtyard.
“Food,” she chanted and bounced away to a half-sized refrigerator that sat next to the bathroom door.
“I like your room,”
She turned and smiled at me.
“It’s so bright and fun,” I said.
“Thanks! It’s probably a little too much, but out of all the time periods I have seen, I could live in the 70s and 80s forever.” She sighed as if caught in a silly memory and then turned back to the fridge.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I wasn’t even alive in the 80s; but from what I had seen, it probably wasn’t a time that I would have wanted to have participated in anyway.
“I probably don’t have much that’s edible for you.” Wyn had buried her head in the fridge, her voice coming back to me muffled. “Talon doesn’t keep this thing very well stocked when I am gone.” Her head emerged from within the tiny fridge, her arms laden with a few things.
“Talon? Do you share a room or something?” I had almost forgotten about Wyn’s boyfriend.
“Uhhh… yeah… I’m over two hundred years old, remember? I like to sleep with my husband as much as anyone.”
My jaw dropped just as Wyn giggled and looked down. She was so much like a bubbly teenager, it was hard to think of her as quite literally old and, I guess, married.
“So,” she placed the containers on the table next to me, “we have Maso, which is kind of a casserole made with berries, and lentils. This is Listy, which is a leaf stew made with root vegetables. Or, I found some cheese that I think Delia made a few months ago.”