Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) (29 page)

“Wyn, don’t…” I begged, but she only smiled wider and sang louder, her horribly off-pitch voice echoing off the stone and rippling back to us, bringing the laugh out whether I wanted it to or not.

“
The best of times
!” She stepped away from me to dance through the hallway, her movements crazed and wild. “
Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime. We'll take the best, forget the rest. And someday we'll find…”

She spun and danced before making one last spin and ending up in front of me, her hand extended like a microphone, obviously expecting me to provide the last word.

I restrained the last of my laugh as I stared at the microphone, knowing there was no way she would let me off the hook.

“Paradise,” I said, knowing I had totally rained on her parade.

She, however, only smiled wider before grabbing my hand and dragging me into her room.

“Close enough.”

Eighteen

I could tell that, at some point, Wyn’s room at Rioseco had looked closer to the room I had seen at the motel. One wall was painted neon green, and the bed had been pushed up against another wall where several large rectangles of stone appeared to be cleaner than the rest. Shelves were emptied, carpets rolled up and put aside, and the garbage overflowed with band t-shirts and the posters that had once graced the walls. The bed had been stripped bare, the old, stuffed mattress instead covered with a single woven blanket that looked oddly similar to the one that had hung over Thom’s bunk in the cave in Italy.

Her room was a window into the heartbreak she was feeling, and looking at it made me feel filthy and somehow unworthy to be here. Not ten minutes before, we had walked down the hall, her suffering showing as she spoke of not knowing who she was. I should have pressed her, found a way to help her, but instead of sharing with her one thing, I had shut her down.

It made me feel sick to my stomach.

“I would ask you if you wanted something to eat, but I just cleaned the floors,” Wyn’s voice floated to me from somewhere within the depth of the room. I turned toward it, expecting her to emerge, but I faced nothing other than more destroyed remains of her life. I stood still, waiting for her to return while I tried not to let the fear that standing in the open, unfamiliar space was giving me.

“Funny,” I said into the empty room, knowing my voice wasn’t loud enough for her to hear.

Wyn appeared a minute later from what I could only assume was a kitchenette, her hands full of tall, clear glasses and an archaic looking bottle. She smiled brightly as she bounded over to me before setting her bounty on the low coffee table I stood next to.

“I can’t drink that, either,” I said matter-of-factly.

“You wouldn’t want to,” she said as she carefully organized the glasses. “It’s a two thousand year old whiskey. It’ll make your hair fall out.”

My eyes widened at her words, and although I wanted to say she was joking, one look at that bottle had me wondering. The bottle was brown and so dust covered that it looked like Wyn had dragged it out of some long forgotten attic, rather than a prized collection. Most of the label had long since disintegrated and what little was left was written in what I was sure was Czech.

“Lovely,” I said, suddenly glad I had a reason to casually decline. I wasn’t sure what was in there, and it kind of worried me that she would even trust it enough to try. At least my body would rebel against anything I put in it.

“Did you raid some ancient catacombs to get this?” I asked as I grabbed it from off the table, the bottle heavier than I had assumed. The glass was strangely gritty, not like dust, but more like dried fungus.

I was just turning the bottle to see the label when Wyn snatched it away, her eyes narrowed at me as she set it back down.

“No,” she practically snapped, her face hard and frightening.

My eyes widened in confusion at the expression on her face, at the way her eyes dimmed within seconds of the word escaping her lips. My muscles rippled at the darkness behind her eyes, part of me screaming to attack while the other pleaded with me to cry, to scream.

I begged my mind not to view Wyn as a threat, to stop seeing enemies where only friends remained, however, my agitation wasn’t sure it wanted to listen. I exhaled shakily as I tried to take control of the fear, hoping that Wyn wouldn’t notice any immediate change in me.

“This is the last of the abbey’s stock of Slivovica. For the last night.”

“The last night?” I asked, my voice trembling before the remainder of my foolish anxieties melted away.

“It’s what we call the toast before battle, Jos.” Her face was hooded and tensed, a million thoughts and memories weighing her down as she casually touched the ancient cork that had plugged the bottle for longer than I cared to think about.

The cork popped out easily at her touch, leaving the top of the bottle smoking slightly. A heavy smell of fermentation filled the room, rotten fruit and cat vomit mixing together as it hit my nose. The stuff smelled terrible, worse than any of the wine that my mother had served to Edmund for all those years—and I thought that stuff had been foul. I scrunched my face up in a foolish attempt to block the smell while trying to be polite and not run gasping out of the room.

Add another reason why I would never put that stuff in my mouth.

If only I had brought a mug with me, then at least I could drink of the Black Water and drown out the smell with my water’s strong aroma.

“We call it the last night because it is the last night for many of us. Not only for this battle, but for all of them. And this war has been going for quite a while,” Wyn said softly, the calm sadness of her voice pulling my mind off the smell and right into her words.

My heart pumped faster, the pain moving through me so fast that I was barely able to fight the sob that tried to seep out. She was right; it was the last night for many of us. Not only me.

It was my last night.

Strangely, seeing the sadness on her face—thinking of the thousands who had lost their lives before me—had numbed the fear. It’s not that it wasn’t there anymore—because it was—it just didn’t bother me as much as it had only minutes ago. The mind-numbing fear had disappeared, leaving me with a sadness for what I was going to lose; for the short time I had been given to experience it.

“Oh.” It was the only word I could manage. I didn’t know what to say after that. I wasn’t sure I could trust myself to say anything.

“Don’t worry,” Wyn said as she turned to face me again, her glass now full of a foggy red liquid. “I am sure Ilyan will be fine. I don’t think he is capable of dying.”

I gasped at her words, at the misplaced worry so startling my chest tightened under the pressure.

“Wyn?” I started, my pulse quickening as I fought the need to tell her, to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her of the sight, of what was coming for me, of what was expected. However, part of me said she already knew, and even if she didn’t, I wasn’t quite sure how I would begin to have that conversation. I wasn’t sure I was ready to say goodbye.

She had already lost so much.

“I—” I tried again, part of me grateful when she interrupted me.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Jos.” She said it with the obvious intention to put me out of my misery.
I
didn’t mean it that way, though; not in the way that she had taken it. Not in the way that her voice cried toward me.

I looked away from her to the green wall, to the garbage can by the door overflowing with things that had made Wyn who she was: band t-shirts, feather earrings, posters. I stared at the pieces of her broken heart, crumpled and tossed away, my heart breaking right alongside her.

A deep rumble of thunder vibrated through the abbey, this one bigger than the others had been, and my focus pulled from what I had been saying to what I needed to say. What I needed to help her with.

“I know,” I said, my voice soft as my heart rumbled painfully with what I was about to say.

I breathed in and closed my eyes, my magic stretching away to make sure I still had time before Ilyan and Thom arrived, only to sense them stalled a few feet before the door. I needed to make this quick.

“When Ilyan kisses me, I feel like my whole soul is going to fly away into Heaven. His touch is like a numbing fire; his passion is so encompassing that I don’t feel like anything could drag him away from me, that even death couldn’t take away the way I feel for him.”

I had begun with the intention of speaking very fast—of giving in to her request in the hopes that she would give in to mine—but the moment I opened my mouth, the memory of Ilyan’s touch, the feel of his lips on mine, pushed through the embarrassment and my voice slowed, my eyes lost in the depth of my memories.

“Wow,” Wyn said as dead-panned as she could possibly manage, her glass perched in her hand as she stared at me. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Wyn,” I practically whined as I stared into her, trying my hardest not to stomp my foot in indignation.

I wasn’t going to let her get away from me that easily. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew exactly why I had said what I had.

I scowled at her as she stared at me, her eyes softening bit by bit until she groaned and set her glass down on the table. Her fingers remained pressed against the condensed surface as she looked into it and her breathing slowed.

I wanted to help her, but I was suddenly beginning to wonder if, instead, I had only caused her more pain.

“I felt the same way. I
feel
the same way,” she said softly, her focus still on the glass that the tips of her fingers ran over, the soft touch leaving glistening trails on the glass. “But it’s half. One half gone and the other half confused as to whether I ever felt that way in the first place. As to which love was real, or if either of them were.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, I think it possible to love too much, to hurt too much. To live too many lives. I thought I was all right, but Thom has only confused me more.”

“Wyn?” I stood still as I watched her fingers on the glass, waiting for her to continue, to make sense of the small insight she had granted me.

She never did. She just looked down, her magic ebbing until I couldn’t feel it in the air around me like before. She brought it into her as she broke apart, a feeling I knew all too well.

“Is that why you tore apart your room?” I asked, my soft voice sounding strangely loud in the broken pieces of her heart that the room had trapped around us.

“I don’t know where I fit anymore.”

“Without Talon?” I asked, my tongue tripping over his name, fully aware he had been the elephant in the room until I let it slip from my tongue.

Sure enough, her body tensed, her eyes darting to look away from me to the door on the other side of the room, almost as if she expected Thom and Ilyan to burst through, but they hadn’t moved since I had last felt them.

I could see the pain she still held from her loss in the way she held her body, the sadness and confusion that hid behind her eyes. I wished I could take that loss away; I wished I could make her feel like she wasn’t alone.

The hardest part was that I knew I could. I could take away her pain. I wanted to.

I just wished that she hadn’t hated what I had to say.

“I can still feel his magic inside of you, you know,” I said, careful to speak slowly as I tested the waters for what I had to tell her. “Deep down.”

“You can?” she asked, her eyes widening with a deep desperation that rocked through me.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on hers, begging her to understand; to know I was telling the truth. “You do fit.”

“I don’t,” she said, her focus dropping back down to the glass again. She grabbed it, bringing the foul-smelling liquid to her mouth before she drained it in one gulp, a soft bang echoing through the room as she slammed the cup back down to the table. “It’s complicated.”

“You can tell me. I can get some ice cream.” I plastered a wide smile on my face, even though it felt out of place. I wanted her to smile; I wanted her to feel comfortable enough to tell me. To let me help.

It did the trick; she smiled, and a small laugh escaped her as I repeated the words she had given me. She laughed as I did, the sound of our artificial joy evaporating much faster than I would have liked.

“You’re one of the first friends I have ever had, Jos.” The last of her laugh faded into nothing as she reached forward, wrapping her hand around mine. I held onto her hand tightly, my heart clenching at her words, at the memory of that first day, and of every day since.

“Mine, too.”

“I know,” she whispered, her grip on my hand tightening, “so do me a favor. If you really feel that way about Ilyan, don’t let him get away, even if you both are going to die tomorrow. One day of promise would be worth it. It’s better than having none. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

The smile that had lingered on my face faded as ice washed over me. I knew what she was talking about. I didn’t need it spelled out because I had heard my heart plead the same words to me. I had held them safe, not really trusting myself to agree.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, even though I knew. Even though I could feel my heart rate increase, even though I could feel each push of blood through my body. I knew.

The earth seemed to spin faster as I looked at her right as the door swung open soundlessly behind her, and Thom and Ilyan walked in. Ilyan’s face smoothed at seeing me, his eyes lighting up. My heart rate relaxed as unabashed joy spread through my joints. I felt it rock through me in a pleasant ocean of happiness.

That was, until Wyn spoke, and the words that came out of her mouth sent my joy into a wave of nerves and embarrassment.

“Bond yourself to Ilyan, Jos,” she said, oblivious to the boys behind her. The blood drained from my face, the look of shock and embarrassment mirrored in Ilyan’s face as my vision focused on him—my nerves unable to respond—even though I begged them to look away.

“Don’t wait,” Wyn continued.