Burnt Devotion (37 page)

“And where is he?”

“Speaking to the heads of the houses,” a new voice answered my question.

I jerked, turning toward the new arrival with a furious trepidation that tensed through my muscles, almost as if I needed to be ready to attack.

My magic reacted as the distant voice within me began to laugh, dark and deep, almost in expectation of the fight that was coming.

It never did.

It never would.

When I faced her, I knew at once that would never happen.

Not because she was a woman. No, I had battled enough women. Hell, I had killed enough women in my past to make that argument invalid.

No, as I turned to face this stranger, there was something else there. It was something deep and foreign, something that scared me.

“The head of the houses?” I repeated her phrasing like a question. I knew the answer, though. My brain was far too confused, so I foolishly said the first thing that slipped into it, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by her if her smile was any judge.

“Yes, there will be a council in a few days. He is speaking with the last surviving heads of the family in preparation.”

I could only nod, the old information stagnant to me, after all.

“I’m Risha.”

“Ryland.” My voice was much softer than I had meant it to be.

Maybe I will have you kill her, too.

I fought the jerk at the phrasing, startled by my emotional reaction to the voices. I hoped she didn’t notice.

“Nice to meet you, Ryland.”

I hadn’t thought something so formal could be so beautiful.

We stared at each other, the minutes ticking away until it seemed they had gone by long enough. Then Dramin chuckled, the deep, rich sound pulling me out of whatever reverie I had been stuck in and right to the old man who sat with an ugly mug and the biggest smile I had ever seen plastered to his face.

Kill them all.

“Risha is serving as Ilyan’s second until someone can be chosen to take Talon’s place.” I stared at him, trying to figure out why he would tell me this while still attempting to recover from the embarrassment of having stared at a girl for so long. “I figured I would answer the question that was burning on your brain. That, and she’s single.”

I didn’t think it was possible to choke on something when you were neither eating nor drinking, but I somehow managed it, gasping and coughing loud as I tried to figure out how to breathe again.

Risha only laughed. The sound was rich and joyful, and just like that, I was forgetting how to get saliva down the right side.

What was going on?

As if on cue, the door to the hall opened again, and Joclyn walked in, followed by a thoroughly agitated Wyn.

“I don’t understand why you can’t tell me what you plan on doing to that kid. You never know, I could help you,” Wyn said from behind her, her gravelly voice laced with enough whine that it pulled me right out of the embarrassment I had been plagued with and right into what I should have been certain was hell.

But it wasn’t.

It’s her.

Kill her.

Kill them both.

The voice grew louder, but I ignored it, pushing it from my mind as I stared at them, my mind quick to find its path again.

Yes, it was Joclyn. And, yes, in some ways, I wanted to hurt her. However, in reality, it was just Joclyn. It was just Wyn. It was just two girls. One who used to be my best friend, one whom I used to love. One that, until that moment, every time I would come face-to-face with her, I would see nothing but blood and death.

Kill them now!

The voice grew louder, but I barely even heard it. It didn’t matter anymore. In this one frightening moment, I knew for sure that everything had changed.

I stared at them in bewilderment as they walked in, Joclyn stopping right in her tracks at seeing me staring at her, something that hadn’t been a reality for as long as I had been forced to lie here.

“You’re awake.” I could hear the fear and anger behind her voice.

I expected her own trepidations to ignite mine. Hell, everyone around us obviously expected the same things judging by the way Risha moved closer, her body squared in a guard stance. Wyn was looking between the two of us as if she was trying to decipher who to stop.

Kill them now!

The voice could barely make it through the static.

I wanted to tell him it was useless.

I felt nothing, and I could tell by the look in Joclyn’s eyes that she felt nothing, too.

For whatever reason, by whatever divine wonderment, we had defeated it.

You will never defeat me.

I said it before, Father, I already have.

“Yep, I’m awake.”

She could only nod in understanding, a move so like her I couldn’t help smiling. She returned it so quickly that, for a brief moment, it seemed like everything was going to be all right, that I would get my best friend back.

“I’m here to heal him.” She nodded her head toward the boy.

Part of me should have been grateful for the change, but I was more grateful for the change in us and what we had regained.

She smiled slightly once more before she moved away from me, toward the mysterious boy who lay not too far away.

Wyn laughed and jabbered on about who knew what at such a low decibel that, even if I tried, I wasn’t sure I could make it out.

I looked away from Joclyn, my focus pulling right to the tall, strawberry blond who stood at the foot of my bed with an elegant smile pulling over her face.

“I am glad you are feeling better,” she whispered, her voice laced with all the knowledge in the world, something that, for the first time, I was happy I didn’t have to explain. She already knew.

But, more than anything, I was happy that it was true.

“So am I.”

The beds that lined the makeshift hospital had been pushed aside. Thom and Dramin were moved to a private room near Ilyan’s and tucked away to where they could be cared for better. Where he could keep an eye on them, I assumed.

Besides, this space was the only one big enough to hold everyone, to fit the large diamond-shaped platform that was required for council.

I stared at the platform as if it had somehow offended me, the sheets of burned, black wood something I had learned about from my father, from a ceremony I had seen enacted many times before. Or a twisted version of it, anyway. As my father had completed it, time and time again, declaring himself as king.

I am the king.

I had a feeling, however, that this time I was going to see the real ceremony performed by a council as it was originally devised and created all those years before even Ilyan was born.

I stood still where I had been placed near the platform, the small boy Joclyn had healed yesterday standing beside me with a combination of both fear and excitement on his face. He writhed his hands before him as he fidgeted, his subtle movements so small that, for a child, they should have been seen as common place. However, for a council, for this moment, as he was surrounded by the calm and powerful magical beings of the world, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Not only because of his subtle movements. Not only because he was new magic.

But because he was a child.

A child.

A child with a mark on his cheek, the raised brand looking as though his grandmother had kissed him and left lipstick there. It was a unique gift. But, just like Joclyn who had hid her mark from me for her whole life, he didn’t see it as such.

I could tell by the way he kept rubbing his hand over it, covering it as though he was ashamed.

He stood beside me in the place reserved for chosen children. The line that I was sure at one point had been littered with those who bore the mark. Yet, now, there were only three.

Me with a hole in my back where my father had cut the precious mark out, the boy, and on the other side of him, a girl who I still desperately wanted to be my friend. Who now stood straight and tall in a yellow dress so old she looked like she had been pulled out of painting. A girl who, only months ago, would have cowered in nerves. Now, she only stood straight and tall with a confidence I hadn’t seen from her before.

She really had been born for this.

I never could have guessed, from the girl I knew all that time ago, that she had this in her. That she could find this.

I could tell by looking at her, so could everyone else.

They kept glancing toward her with a revered awe that she only seemed to absorb further. The hope and joy on their faces grew with each moment we stood in the silent space, the eager anticipation devouring the haggard, gaunt fear that had riddled them.

I was certain I looked the same.

I could feel the same emptiness linger through me as I stood amongst them, the awe from the Silnỳ blending with the uncertainty of the child that stood beside us.

It was good and bad, both sides of the battle they had fought for centuries, standing side by side. A fact that was probably made more obvious given my uncanny likeness to my father.

So, I let them look, their eyes darting between Joclyn and me as we all waited for things to begin.

You are my twin in more ways than looks, son.

I twitched a bit at the voice, shaking the bad thought away as the buzzing of conversation in the hall grew momentarily, the excitement increasing with each new voice.

These were all who remained of the last of the people my father had spent centuries hunting. No more than a month before, he had taken control of their last remaining sanctuary, sending them all scattering into the wind. Into the crevices and hiding places of the city that was now little more than a blood splattered maze of fear, until Ilyan had arrived to gather them all.

These were all who were left. No more than thirty of the tall and fair beings I had been raised to decipher as my enemy.

In many ways, I still saw them that way.

My father’s voice rose inside of me for a brief moment before I squashed it down, my eyes lingering over the small crowd until they came to rest on Risha, the woman who was as tall and fair as all the others. I didn’t see her as an enemy.

She stood with a few other near the platform, talking in low, excited whispers. She was as composed as she had been yesterday, her gestures short and sure as she spoke, and the gentle and powerful nature of her soul drew me in.

I stared at her openly, knowing I should look away yet not really caring. Something kept me there, glued to her as her eyes lifted to mine, the intense conversation she had been having lost and forgotten as her gaze met mine. A soft, red color covered her cheeks, an identical one seeping over mine at the look, at the way she smiled, at the way my heart beat in response.

It was one glance, one blush, one moment, and then she looked away, her eyes cast to the floor in a secret joy I didn’t think I had understood until that moment.

I could feel every beat of my heart. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks. I could feel the sweat build at the base of my neck in what I wasn’t sure was excitement or joy. It was there, and I liked it.

I liked it for a moment until I heard Joclyn sigh from beside me, the joy deflating like a balloon. A guilt I didn’t want to feel seeped into me.

No, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to feel it. It was that I shouldn’t.

Joclyn was no longer mine.

Yes, I wanted her as my friend. More than that, but that was closed to us. We had talked about it. She was happy, and I wanted that for her.

But then why did I feel so guilty? Why did I shy away from this joy that was so swelling and free?

Why did I feel like I needed her permission?

Because she still belongs to you. She hurt you, remember?

She’s so close…

What are you wait…?

The voice faded to indistinguishable murmurs as I looked at her curiously, trying to make sense of everything that was moving through me, trying to filter through the emotions and confusion, only to have her eyes dart toward mine, her beautiful, silver eyes I had fallen in love with so long ago. The eyes that were filled with so much more emotion, joy, and strength than they had ever held.

My eyes widened as hers met mine, the voice igniting in anger. The distanced sound hollowed in my mind, never moving loud enough for me to listen, for me not to be able to fight it.

You need to fight. You need to.

Stop putting it off.

I could look at her as she could look at me. A million unspoken things passed between us, a million things that could never be said lingering in the air.

Right then, staring at her in a way that felt more friend than fancy, I wanted to talk to her the way I always had. I wanted to tell her what had happened.

Before I even had the chance, the large, wooden doors at the end of the hall slid open with a grind. Then all the lights in the hall extinguished at once, leaving us standing in the dim red light that filtered through the tall windows, pools of crimson hitting the floor in shimmering lines, the dim hue only lessened from the setting sun.