Burnt Devotion (38 page)

“All hail our king, our lord, our guide,” the voice rang out in Czech from behind us, loud and booming as it echoed across the walls.

As one, everyone moved down to their knees, their heads hung low as the three chosen children stood standing, watching Ilyan stride into the large room, looking like something out of a historical drama.

Tunic, tights, even a crown—it was all a little ridiculous. Part of me wanted to laugh since it was a stark contrast to my father, who always wore the same black and purple velvet robe, a crown much more large and gaudy atop his head.

Compared to that, Ilyan’s choices seemed much more regal, humbler.

Exactly like him.

I might not know my brother well, but I knew that, above all else, he might rule, but he put his people before his needs, possibly more than he should.

Ilyan climbed the small steps to the platform, moving himself to the direct center of the space right as the same voice cut through the silence. The role that would normally have been taken by the second in command was temporarily being controlled by one of his many men.

Part of me knew I should be ruffled that I hadn’t been asked, but part of me was grateful. Especially given my past, I didn’t know what these people would do if I was given a role so high. Best not to push my luck.

I would rather prove myself, my worth, and my loyalty to them, anyway.

“Our lord, the king of our people,” the voices rang out in unison. A shiver moved up my spine at the deep magic that was infused with them. “We bow before you in allegiance, in devotion. We serve you now and for as long as the magic flows within the earth.”

“Accepted,” Ilyan said, his voice a deep groan through the room.

“He has taken his place,” the voice came again, not so much of a beat following before the reply resounded through the space. The words in Czech reminded me so much of what I had seen and what was going on that I forgot to respond.

“Speak, Our King.”

I am the king.

You know this, son. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.

“Ilyan, son of Edmund, third of the first of the Skȓíteks, and savior of our city. He stands before us, ready to rule, and as one, we will accept him. Do you accept him?”

The deep rumble of the voice continued, but I didn’t dare look away from my brother. I didn’t think I could if I tried. In that one moment, I saw my brother for what I had always known him to be, for what everyone else in this room saw him as.

More than king.

More than ruler.

More than brother.

He was their guide.

I accepted that as they did.

As one, everyone in the large space raised their hands above their heads, one loud clap smashing through the revered silence as the sign for acceptance rang loud.

“It has been accepted,” the voice came, followed by a silence that, given the situation—given the way everyone stood, staring at the man before us—should have been awkward. It should have been driven with an impregnated anticipation. Regardless, it was only calm. It was only still as the power in the room trembled into a calm.

“Speak, our lord,” the voice echoed loudly in Czech as Ilyan shifted, his eyes moving over everyone—over the last of his people, over the confused child who stood beside me—before finally resting on his mate. It was an acknowledgement that didn’t smother me for the first time.

He as I waited alongside everyone else, waited for him to speak, as the dim, red light of day became nothing more than shadows.

“My people,” Ilyan began after a moment, the power in his voice carrying over us, “we have been scattered, but now, we have been found. While our numbers are few, they are still strong.
We
are still strong. And now we gather not only to cement the rule of my people, but to strengthen our numbers and to move toward our goal, our birthright, and our heritage. We have been graced with magic for a reason. For this reason, we will take back the wells of Imdalind. We will defeat Edmund Krul, first of the Chosen, and take back the magic of the world.”

It was a powerful speech, and I could feel my magic boil in excitement and anticipation. I fought the need to scream, yell, and stomp my feet as was always done in the councils my father held. Instead, I raised my hands above my head, clapping once as everyone else did, sealing the words with a calm agreement, a powerful bind falling over me as I did so.

I could feel the weight of the ancient magic shift over me like a warm blanket, the calm looks on everyone else’s faces making it clear that they felt the same things I did. The magic was affecting them the same way.

“Edmund has taken control of not only the wells of Imdalind, but also the city. He has plagued the calm creatures, the Vilỳ, with a poison that infects not only the precious magic they hold, but also the magic that is awakened in the ones they bite.

“Joclyn, daughter of Sain, first of the Drak, has found a way to reverse the poison in these souls, making their awakened magic as safe as the magic that was awakened in her and in all the other Chosen Children to date. This can be shown in Jaromir, the child we pulled from the streets. Not only is his magic pure, but he awakened much faster than is usual, his power a strong force within him.”

Ilyan’s voice was strong yet still not enough to drown out the excited babble that filled the space. The urgent whispers grew into a fountain of sound, the noises growing as they bounced off the old, stone walls.

I looked around as the sound continued to swell, my own excitement lost as the small boy in question took a step into me, his tiny frame almost trying to blend into mine.

“Hey, there,” I said in Czech, my voice soft as I bent over to him. “It’s okay.”

“They are scared of me.” His voice was so small.

“No,” I said, my voice a little louder as he looked at me with scared eyes. “They are excited that you exist.”

I didn’t expect him to understand right away, and judging by the wide eyes that looked up at me, he didn’t.

I smiled softly as my focus left the scared, little boy and went to the strong woman who stood beside him. The parallels between them were so funny I couldn’t help laughing.

“What?” He was obviously upset at my laughter.

I stopped right away and looked at him, jutting my chin toward Joclyn so he would know what I was talking about.

“She was the same way. She hid her mark for years. She hid herself for years. Now look at her. She will be queen today.”

She should still be your mate.

No. Not anymore.

Don’t forget what Ilyan has stolen from you.

You need to make them pay.

His eyes grew wider with each word I spoke, the large saucers full of so much disbelief. He looked at me before turning toward her tall, sure frame, the mark on her neck proudly displayed for all to see.

“Silence.” The command in Ilyan’s voice rumbled through us, silencing the room on command as Ilyan’s magic sealed it, and everyone was forced to follow orders.

While the use of his magic in such a way boiled under me a bit, it was short-lived. After all, I could see the same irritation in Ilyan’s face. He didn’t like using it, either. Everyone else, however, now stood in a humbled silence, their heads bowed low as they waited for him to continue.

“It is the suggestion that we gather as many of the injured as we can, bring them here to be healed and trained, and then give them the option to move forward with us. To help us fight for the freedom that is not only ours, but will be theirs, as well.”

Ilyan had barely finished before the resounding clap echoed through the room. His face broke out into a wide smile at what I quickly understood to be a simple task. If I had to guess, I would say the simplicity was often anything but.

It’s a good plan.

Too bad…

“Thank you, my friends,” he whispered, the heartfelt words rumbling over me. “Now, for the true purpose that we have gathered in this council.”

He paused, his lips breaking into a wide smile as he walked toward where I stood, his look thankfully not reserved for me, but for that same powerful woman the little boy still stared at.

Ilyan extended his hand gently, his long fingers reaching toward her for only a moment before her delicate hand was placed in his, the touch soft as he pulled her onto the platform and into the middle of the space.

“As many of you know, I have found my mate, and the ceremony has already been performed. It is for that reason I bring before you Joclyn DeSpain, daughter of Sain, the first of the Drak; bearer of the kiss of the Vilỳ; and a child chosen by them as my mate, my companion, and your Queen.”

He spoke to those around him, but his eyes never left hers, a deep, desperate longing in his gaze so deep that it moved through me with such an emotional wash I was having trouble breathing.

“Do you accept?”

You are a fool, son.

And here I was, beginning to accept you as my child.

You are no better than the rest of them.

I clapped my hands above my head as all the others did, letting the voice wash over me as if it was nothing.

It was nothing.

The sound of my clap was one booming noise adding to all the others, one simple movement sealing my agreement of Joclyn and placing her as my queen.

For one brief moment, the joy in her face blanched, her skin paling as she took a step closer to Ilyan, her hand wrapping tightly around his.

I smiled at the movement, that same warm balloon swelling within me.

I turned toward Risha without thinking, my stomach twisting at what I had done, but more at what I was now seeing.

Standing behind Risha in the shadows against the wall was Sain, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he mumbled to himself.

Mumbled.

The same way I had as my father’s voice had tormented and dragged me down into insanity.

Now, there stood Sain, his hands writhing one over the other, his head pressing into the cool stone as he mumbled to himself. As he fought the same demons I had.

He had mentioned before that he knew what I was going through. That he knew what I had battled, but it was in the past. It was something he had already defeated. Yet, seeing him there, the way he moved, the way he mumbled…

He was battling them
now
.

He always has been.

My father was fighting for control of him, too.

Who’s to say I don’t already have that?

I might have won, but I was seeing another fight right in front of me.

And seeing it from this angle, I wasn’t sure how I had won.

Or if he would.

He won’t.

I shouldn’t be here.

Not after everything I had heard. Not after everything I had been present for. I knew what they wanted of me. It was the same thing they always wanted, the same thing I had given them for years.

My mind was full of it.

Of information.

Information I knew they could take with only a few words.

I should leave, focus on my own agenda. On the plans I had spent thousands of years carefully weaving together, manipulating the sights and magic of my progeny in order to accomplish.

This choice could upset all of that.

Yet, I stood, shrouded by the dark of night, the moon a blood red orb as it glimmered through the powerful shield that shrouded the city.

The golden gate.

The archaic arches that were built in the 1300s as religious zealots created towers to their gods. The popular tourist attraction was now smeared in blood, the bodies of tourists littering the ground around us, forgotten souls who had passed before their magic, their true ability, had taken hold.

It was pathetic in a way.

It had been less than a month since I had walked through the gilded archway, since I had guided Wynifred away from the massacre, from Edmund and his ridiculous plan of control.

I had told him years ago that his goals would only lead to ruin. As much as he relied on the manipulated sights I handed him, however, he hadn’t listened.

It was better for me, for what I wanted.

Now, I only needed to find a way to continue to use Ovailia and her father for my benefit while they thought they were getting what they needed.

I had done it for years. I would do it again.

I would do it for those I love, to protect them from the future I saw, the one I would change in order to control the magic in a way that would only benefit them. They would see what I had done soon enough.

They would be grateful for it.

This choice was another step on my path. I wouldn’t deny the pull I felt deep inside.

It had awakened when I had held Ovailia as an infant in my arms and again when the bond with her had been completed.

It was a need that I was sure I had forgotten, that I hadn’t needed.