Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) (22 page)

“Good. Focus, Joclyn. Listen to the beat of my heart. Focus on the flow of your magic.” I cringed at Ilyan’s words; no matter how soft and gentle he made them, I knew what was coming. He was going to step away and leave me standing alone as the pipes clanged, the wood creaked, and the screams filled the air. My soul seized at the thought, the fear of the pain that would come filling me up and turning the soft flakes of snow to freezing rain almost instantly.

“Calm, Joclyn,” Ilyan soothed, his emotions raging through me as his thoughts echoed his words, the strain deep as he replayed the memory he had chosen to be my anchor. But it wasn’t an anchor anymore, and the rain stayed, the storm growing into a torrent wind and freezing rain. It soaked the blanket and my hair until it hung limply against me and I began to shiver.

The memory of salsa dancing left as Ilyan quieted the haunting sounds, leaving me standing in only the sound of the wind. Ilyan’s hand ran over my skin, the heat of his touch warming me until I calmed and the rain stopped, leaving us drenched as we clung to each other.

We just stood there, damp and cold, our arms wrapped around each other as I waited for Ilyan to point out what I needed to work on. The scolding never came, however, which only worried me more.

I wanted to master this—I needed to—we were running out of time, but it wasn’t working. Every time he moved to pull away, my anxiety moved in. The horrors that haunted my subconscious ran rampant through me, the sounds Ilyan’s magic produced only heightening my fears.

I shuddered as the last of my tortures ran through my mind, unsure if the chill came more from the horrifying memories, or from the cold water that dripped down my spine. Ilyan’s grip increased as his magic surged, drying and warming me.

“I have an idea, Joclyn, although I am not sure if it is going to work,” Ilyan whispered, his apprehension a steady thrum through the air.

“Nothing has worked so far, Ilyan. At this point, I’ll try tight rope walking if you think it will help.”

Ilyan chuckled, the sound rich in my ear as it vibrated through his chest.

“This will work,” he said as he pulled me away from him, his hand steady when he unwrapped the soaking wet blanket from around me.

I bit my lip as the chilled morning air hit the skin on my arms, the breeze tugging at the thin fabric of the pajama pants I still wore. Ilyan didn’t seem to notice, however. He only stripped off his shirt, revealing the dozens of criss-crossed scars on his chest. I held my breath as I attempted to focus on his eyes, fighting the need to run my fingers over the scars.

“Ilyan?” I asked, still waiting for him to provide me with the insights into this idea, yet none came. He only smiled and pulled me back into him, his arms wrapping around me like I was as fragile as glass, the heat from his chest and hands shooting into me. I could feel the raised skin of his scars against my face, my soul seeming to move closer to him, to connect to the places where the Black Water had burned him. My magic moved into him on instinct, his doing the same, as if the increased skin connection gave them permission to mingle where they hadn’t been allowed to before.

“Focus on me, Joclyn,” he instructed, his voice tense, making me wonder what I was missing.

Aren’t you going to tell me this mysterious plan?
I asked into his mind as I pulled away to look at him, my eyebrow raising. He didn’t seem too interested in filling in the gaps of whatever crazy idea had sprouted in his mind; he just smiled in that coy way of his before leaning down and kissing my forehead, sending a little jolt of pleasure through my spine.

“Focus on me, Joclyn.”

I heard the thrum of his heart as I leaned against his bare chest, my own a pulse that moved in perfect time with his. I focused on the steady beat, the sound filling me as his hands moved over my skin, leaving a trail of ice and fire behind it. The touch mingled with his magic, warming me, comforting me. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t distracting; it was perfect.

I exhaled in bliss as I floated away in Ilyan’s arms, the sounds of my haunted nightmares coming again without warning. I expected the anxiety that would come with them. I cringed in expectation of the fear. Both wound around my spine, threatening to break through the calm I had so recently found

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered to me, his voice as soft as the breeze in my ears.

I closed my eyes as Ilyan’s emotions began to flood me, the need replaced by dedication; the love and passion only increasing. I felt them flow through me as my own emotions matched in time, his thoughts following close behind.

It wasn’t like before, when I saw snippets of his memories and portions of his thoughts. Everything was clear as it played inside of my mind. I saw the new memory as he did, heard every word as he thought it.

Except it wasn’t a memory.

It was a dream.

The dream that Ilyan had imagined from that very first day he held me in his arms eight hundred years ago. A day of bonding.

Our bonding.

The whispers of pipes and screams faded into nothing as I focused on the image Ilyan lent me, the vision so strong it was all I could focus on.

We sat together in a darkened room. His hands were soft as he held me in front of him, the touch of his lips soft against mine. I wore a long dress of gold, he in one of those medieval outfits I had seen in his closet so long ago. My breath felt caught between reality and fantasy as I watched him braid long ribbons into my hair, his touch gentle as he worked tirelessly on the intricate weaving. He was so focused as he worked.

He spoke in rapid Czech before I returned the phrase, the unknown Czech words sounding odd in my voice, the vow spoken before he wrapped me in his arms and fused his magic to mine. I could almost feel the way that would feel, the power of it rocking through me, taking my breath away.

I gasped as the emotion filled me, the clarity of the dream departing as I was left in the swirling winter air. I could feel the snow I had brought dance on the breeze, the flakes soft against my skin as they made their way to the ground. I lifted my fingers to my lips as the dream faded, my calm overtaking me, even though he had gone.

Ilyan had gone.

My fear spiked at the loss of his warmth, the loud moan of a pipe that wasn’t really there cutting through my calm. I cringed as I heard it, my magic wavering as the fear threatened to move into me.

“Focus, my love,” Ilyan whispered from somewhere behind me, his voice barely louder than the haunted whimpering that came from somewhere before me.

I cringed at the sound—at the fear it held—before Ilyan’s thoughts repeated the future he had shared with me and I could move beyond it.

I exhaled shakily as I pushed the fear away, grabbing the dream and bringing it into me as the air around me warmed. The once cold winter breeze became as gentle and warm as a spring rain. I focused on Ilyan’s dream as the terrifying sounds continued to play, but my emotions remained steady, my fears now locked away.

I stretched my arms away from me, my back straightening as I reached to touch the snow that danced around me, the breeze running through my fingers like a silky ribbon. I stretched my body out, extending everything further than it had for months. Since before I had been trapped; from before I had been beaten.

I could feel my joints creak as my body straightened, everything in me feeling more human, more alive.

The soft flakes ran over my face as I inhaled the crisp air, the sound of thunder filling my ears as it took the place of the now silent horrors. Everything felt so light, so free, and I couldn’t help smiling.

“Open your eyes,” Ilyan whispered in my ear, his hands gentle as he pulled me back into the heat of his chest. My magic bubbled at the contact, the clarity in my mind making the surge that much stronger. I smiled at the sensation, my eyes fluttering open to the white world before me, and I gasped.

It wasn’t snow.

I extended my hand out as a soft, white rose petal floated into my hand, the perfect petal resting in my palm as thousands more floated through the air around us. I could see them as they floated from the stormy sky and drifted over the forest. They covered the ground in a bed of silky white, filling the air with the desirable aroma of life and love.

I looked at the rose-covered world, my stomach tightening in awe at the miracle that I was surrounded by.

“How is this possible?” I asked, my question hanging in the air as my hands extended again, the rose petals floating over my skin as they danced to the ground.

“You are doing this, Joclyn. Your magic. Your heart.” Ilyan’s breath grazed the skin of my ear as he spoke, his lips brushing against my neck. “I gave you my most cherished dream, the one thing that I have held onto since I first laid eyes on you. I shared it with you to help heal you. And you created this.”

“
I
created it?” I stammered, my eyes still scanning the beautiful image in front of us.

Ilyan chuckled as his hand interlaced with mine, leading me through piles of petals that covered the floor. We moved them aside like a fragrant snow drift as Ilyan led me onto the balcony, the air filling with their perfume as we moved.

The petals were a blizzard that covered the world, creating beauty that minutes ago I had forgotten could exist. Despite what my walking terrors would have me believe, the world was not always blood-soaked walls and torture chambers. The world was not all anger and hatred as Edmund had hoped. The world was beautiful.

I don’t know how long I watched the petals fall, my body standing straight and strong, my mind clear. I leaned my head back against Ilyan’s chest, and his arm wrapped around me as he kept me close to him.

“It’s beautiful,” I finally whispered, knowing the word wasn’t enough to describe what I saw before me.

Ilyan’s hand slid over my arm as he turned me to face him, my eyes tearing away from the white-covered world to focus on him.

“You are stronger than any, my love. Your power stretches into the very core of the world, your heart dictating all that you are. I know you feel broken, but this… This is proof that you are not. You are perfect and stronger than anything that my father has imprinted you with. You will always rise up above it. And if you stumble? I will be here to pick you up, to help you bring beauty back to the world.”

Ilyan looked at me with all the love in his heart, his eyes a lighter blue than I had ever seen them. I couldn’t help but smile at him, my hand stretching to cover the scarred skin over his heart, the rhythmic thump of his pulse heavy under my fingertips.

“Miluju tě, Joclyn. Ty jsi moje navždy. Můj začátek a můj konec.” He whispered the words like a prayer, and although I understood nothing, I understood everything. I could hear his thoughts as he spoke, his heart translating for me what my mind could not understand.

“You are my forever. My beginning and my end,” I whispered back to him in English.

His eyes shined as his fingertips ran over my face before moving down, careful to avoid the raised brand behind my ear. He kept his hand there, his fingers soft against my skin before he brought me closer, so close I could see the facets of golden light in the blue of his eyes, the shining color dancing before his lids closed, his lips pressing against mine.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as I kissed him back, my fingers trailing along his hair line as I felt the soft pressure of his kiss, his warm breath moving into me as he held me against him. His lips then moved off mine to graze over my cheeks, my eyes. He littered the sweet touch over me while we stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, rose petals falling around us in a blizzard of white.

I sighed as Ilyan pressed his lips against my jawbone, the touch slow before he raised back up, his eyes more gold than blue in the dim light.

“Ty jsi moje navždy. Můj začátek a můj konec,” I repeated the words to him in Czech, not caring if my pronunciation was off. “I have no doubt. You have taken all of that away.”

“And if it comes back, I will chase it away.” His accent was so heavy I could barely understand him, yet I smiled nonetheless, the promise one that I wasn’t sure I needed anymore.

Ilyan had lent me a dream, a piece of him that I could take with me always. I could feel his magic thrum through me, something I had grown so used to that I had almost forgotten what it really meant for us. Now I knew, though. Ilyan’s dream had become my dream, and with that hope, I could overcome everything.

Even though the demons were just waiting to knock down the door.

Fifteen

Ryland was watching me.

I could feel his eyes on me from where I stood, sandwiched between Thom and Ilyan around the large, raised table. My shoulders tensed in fear as I heard Sain whisper to Ryland every few minutes. The fear blended into anger as Ryland clung to my father’s hand. Sain’s voice was calm as he tried to stop Ryland from doing what my mind continually screamed at me to do to him. The desire that I was desperately fighting.

The need to attack.

I ground my teeth and pushed the craving away, careful to keep myself as close to Ilyan as I dared. Even though he had warned me not to touch him, not to get to close. Ryland’s perception of me was still distorted, and getting to close to Ilyan could shatter the flimsy veil of sanity Ryland had found. If Ryland erupted, it would only be moments before my own sanity shattered.

So, instead of stepping closer to Ilyan as I wanted, I took a deep gulp from the mug of Black Water I held, letting the deep magic that it provided warm me, numb me, and settle my madness. Although it wasn’t enough, it helped. I took another small sip before setting it back on the table we stood around, grateful for the residual calm it gave me.

I kept my eyes glued on the ancient parchment that Ilyan had brought from our room, the yellowed surface lined with streaks of colorful light from the numerous lanterns and orbs that lit the dusty room. I knew the sun was shining somewhere above the dark clouds that shrouded us, but all we received was darkness and the steady drum of thunder.