Imdalind Ruby Collection One: Kiss of Fire | Eyes of Ember | Scorched Treachery

by Ethington, Rebecca

  The car had barely begun to move before my nose was plastered against the window. I watched in wonder as the driver sped us downtown at Ilyan’s instruction. It had been almost four months since I had been outside. Three months since I had been able to feel the wind or the sun. I felt it briefly before we got in the cab, but now it was right outside the vehicle, taunting me. Without permission, I rolled down the window and stretched away from Ilyan to get as close to the hot breeze as possible.

  Warm air moved into the car where it swirled around and made the air conditioned space uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. I could feel it. I could feel the energy in the wind and the pulse of the sun. My magic began to buzz at the sensation the wind gave me, the feeling of earth energy—or whatever it was—filling me up.

  “Maybe sightseeing wasn’t such a good idea,” Ilyan laughed behind me. “Perhaps I should have taken you into the mountains and let you roam free for a few hours.”

  “You make it sound like I’m a caged animal, Ilyan.” I didn’t look away from the window. I leaned closer to the moving air, letting it pick up the strands of my black hair and move them around.

  “If you get your head any further out that window, you are going to look like a dog. A caged dog.”

  I could hear the chuckle behind his voice, the happiness infectious. I looked back at him briefly before leaning away from him, pulling his arm and torso with me as I stuck my head and shoulders out the window. The driver began to yell as I stretched my face to the sky, the sun and the wind warming my face, but I didn’t hear what he said, I didn’t care. I smiled at the way the sun warmed my nose, the shiver of energy flowing down my spine, and the way my shoulders seized as if I had been tickled. Ilyan said something back to the driver a moment before his hand tugged me into the car, his arm wrapping me against him.

  “You are going to upset our driver, Silnỳ.” Ilyan spoke against my temple, the latent smile evident in his voice.

  “I didn’t even get to stick out my tongue.”

  “Next time, little puppy, next time.” Ilyan patted my head condescendingly and I laughed before moving away from him with a joking snarl.

  “Caged animal, remember,” I said. Ilyan smiled widely at me, his shoulders shaking as he held in a laugh.

  “Yes, I remember.” His smile broadened as the car pulled to a stop, the driver announcing our arrival and the charge, which Ilyan promptly paid. “How would you like to be free?”

  “You gonna let me fly?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  “Not today.” Ilyan pulled me from the car, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level. He moved my hand close to him until his lips pressed against the back of it. His eyes met mine over the top of our hands, giving me that look I couldn’t quite understand.

  My stomach flipped and I stepped back, gasping. I didn’t like the contact and I really did not like the way my body reacted because of it. I fought the need to pull my hand away, knowing I needed the connection, so instead I held on tighter and darted down the busy street without saying anything, towing Ilyan after me.

  After a few steps, I slowed to a stop. This part of Santa Fe was nothing like I would have expected it to be. Instead of tall, glass skyscrapers, there were perfect rows of adobe buildings, each carefully built to replicate the old style of the Native Americans and Spanish Settlers. The burnt orange color of the buildings contrasted with the blue sky beautifully. At the head of the street there was a large, sandstone cathedral. It was a graceful box of ancient architecture with its elegant stone arches and circular stained glass windows. It was beautiful even though it didn’t look complete without the tall stone towers that are common in cathedrals.

  “Wow.” I said, a bit more awed than I had intended, however the way the street was designed kind of deserved it.

  “I take it you like it then?” Ilyan said and began leading me down the street, his hand tightly wound around mine.

  “Honestly, I would like anything as long as it had moving air, but this has a unique charm. It’s kind of... unexpected.”

  “Santa Fe has a long history. The buildings are designed this way as a reminder and a link to the past. It’s one of the reasons they don’t have a larger downtown.”

  “I don’t think they need it,” I countered. My eyes dragged over one of the buildings as we passed. Its interior was an upbeat teen clothing store which had a window filled with graphic t-shirts and feather accessories—clothing that Wyn would wear. The contrast between the old and the new was somewhat silly, but it didn’t take away from the nostalgia of the architecture.

  “Prague is mostly the same. There is the old town and the new town. The new never mixes with the old.”

  “And is there a cathedral there as well?”

  “A few,” Ilyan said. I could tell there was more to his answer, yet part of me didn’t care at the moment. I wanted to focus on this city and my current freedom.

  I let Ilyan take the lead, his embrace gently pulling me along as we walked by small boutiques and larger restaurants. I finally had to pull him to a stop when we came to a row of street vendors under the overhangs of the buildings. Each person had a blanket set in front of them with jewelry, watches, and other handmade objects laid out, each with a tiny paper price tag. I slowly walked by them, taking in the large amounts of turquoise and silver.

  My feet stopped when I saw it. The simplicity of my need made my legs weak.

  A longboard.

  It wasn’t even for sale. It was simply someone’s possession that was being used as a different way to showcase the intricate turquoise jewelry that lined its top. Still, I needed it.

  Mine had been lost forever when Ilyan had picked up my broken body from behind that dumpster and brought me into this crazy world I now lived in. I missed it. I hadn’t longed for it in that deep, pining way I had seen other teenagers do; I simply missed it. I missed what it represented; the part of me that had disappeared when it had. I missed being normal.

  I kneeled down next to the street vendor’s blanket without letting go of Ilyan’s hand. When I looked up at the old wizened woman, her legs covered with a beautifully woven blanket, she looked down at me happily.

  “Which one do you like?” Ilyan’s voice was soft in my ear. It took me a second to grasp that he thought I was ogling the jewelry.

  “I don’t wear jewelry, Ilyan,” I answered honestly, suddenly worried that he would buy me something.

  “Which one?”

  I scowled at him, unsurprised to find him smiling at me expectantly. I sighed before pointing absentmindedly at the board. Ilyan raised an eyebrow still trying to figure out which piece I was referring to.

  “I like the longboard, Ilyan,” I clarified, looking away uncomfortably. “It reminds me of mine.”

  “Sometimes I forget how much you have lost. People, loved ones, even objects. It’s all part of you.” Ilyan squeezed my hand, and I turned back to him as his fingers trailed over the jewelry lightly. They fluttered around the bracelets and necklaces before stopping on a small, turquoise bracelet with stones flat against one another; it wasn’t jagged like the others.

  Ilyan picked it up and held it in his hands, his eyes closed as if he was measuring something.

  “Turquoise,” Ilyan began, “can draw out negativity. Did you know that?”

  “No.” I was a little surly, I didn’t like the idea of Ilyan buying me jewelry, and I had a bad feeling that was exactly what was going to happen.

  “And this particular turquoise will help bring up feelings of love and of family.” Ilyan looked up at the old woman who nodded her head in agreement, her beautiful face breaking into a smile.

  “Your young man is right,” she said, her voice shaky and warm. I almost wanted to laugh right out at her comment. Ilyan was neither young nor mine. “That is Navajo turquoise, it will bind you to your family and to the ones you love.”

  The old woman smiled knowingly at Ilyan, her face lighting up. I turned to bat her assumptions away but w
as stopped by Ilyan’s smile. My eyes instantly widened in surprise; Ilyan rarely smiled like that. I must have looked ridiculous because Ilyan continued to grin happily at me.

  “We will take it.” Ilyan held the bracelet underneath my wrist, his magic unclasping it and snaking it around me. I looked away nervously from his obvious use of magic to the old woman who was busy counting the money Ilyan had paid her with.

  “Ilyan... I...” Ilyan pulled me away from the seller before I could argue more.

  “I think it will help you, Joclyn. Trapped in rooms, hunted, people trying to betray you, running for your life,” he smiled, but it was sad, “I think you could use a little bit of a negativity release. With all that’s going on, you could use a stronger connection with those who care about you. It’s no longboard, but I will replace what you have lost—as much of it as I can—when all this is over.” I could only nod at his words and the sincerity behind them.

  I lifted my wrist up to look at the stones. They were pretty, though part of me wanted to take it off and give it back to the old woman. As much as I didn’t like the message of the stones, I could already feel my magic collecting around my wrist, seeping through them and then back into me. It did it of its own accord, whether I wanted it to or not. I smiled before shrugging my sleeve over the bracelet, letting it disappear from view.

  Ilyan continued to move down the street at a slow pace, but somehow it was more focused than it had been before.

  When we reached the end of the street with the large cathedral now towering over us, Ilyan dragged me over to where another street vendor was selling empanadas, but my eyes never left where the large church rose up above the street level. Smoothly cut stone formed delicate arches that surrounded the beautiful stained glass window that sat directly above the door. It was breathtaking.

  “The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi,” Ilyan said as he placed a hot pastry in my free hand.

  “It was built in the late 1860s. Back then, this city was made up of the Palace of the Governors and a handful of adobe homes. Seeing it like this makes me long for the old.”

  I knew I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still was. Ilyan was being more open about his past than usual and it was weird to be reminded of how old he was.

  “So you lived here then?” I tried to keep my voice level.

  “No, not here. But I did live in the church that was here before they built the cathedral. La Parroquia. It resembled a fortress more than a church, but I still loved it.”

  I turned and looked at him, his gaze never deviating from the large building in front of us. The picture of him in some religious get up did not fit in my eyes, but he had now mentioned living in a monastery when Ovailia was born, a church in France, and a cathedral in New Mexico.

  “You and churches. I am beginning to see a theme. I wouldn’t have pegged you for the religious type.” I had seen the look in his eyes when he had faced a fight; I doubted he could live without that for long.

  “I’m not.” His answer was firm as he turned his head a bit to look at me.

  “Then why all the churches?”

  Ilyan looked away. He wasn’t happy or sad, simply distant.

  “Have you ever been around very pious people, Joclyn?” I almost laughed at the thought, but kept it inside. The tone of his voice was far too serious for laughter.

  “We stopped going to church after my dad left. He always insisted we go together. After he was gone, my mom didn’t want to go anymore, so we didn’t.”

  Ilyan turned back to face me and smiled; his expression was almost understanding.

  “I don’t remember a lot,” I finished, wishing he would look away from me.

  “Pious people, those who are truly spiritual, are amazing creatures. I am almost convinced they are humans at their best. Now, mind you, I have seen some terrible things happen in the name of a God—wars, conquests, sacrifices—but on the whole—at its very base—religion makes people better.”

  “So, you believe in God then?” I asked.

  “I believe in something. I am not sure if it’s God, though. The stories of where I come from differ from yours. There are no Adam and Eve in my past.”

  I turned toward Ilyan, taking a bite of the pastry he had given me. I hadn’t heard this story before and I was content to hear him tell it from the beginning. I gestured my pastry hand toward him, prompting him to continue.

  “My kind, the Skȓítek, guard the wells of magic. There is a place deep inside the earth under Prague where magic bubbles up in what can only be described as mud. We call these the wells of Imdalind.”

  “Wait, what?” I asked, interrupting him. “That’s the name of Ryland’s family’s company.”

  “Now you know where Edmund got the name. We call our cave ‘Imdalind’ as well.”

  “So does that make you ‘The King of Imdalind’?”

  “It does,” he smiled. “And its protector. It is Edmund’s greatest desire to take control of the wells of Imdalind again.”

  “Why? What would he do with them?” I asked, although I already knew it would be nothing good.

  “Create a new race, destroy the world, or stop the existence of magic. The possibilities within Imdalind are endless, which is why those that are left of my kind are sworn to protect the wells of mud with our lives.”

  “What has the mud done before? Besides hold magic I mean?”

  “It was through this mud that the first of every kind was bred. We do not know where they came from, only that they woke with their legs in the mud, their lungs stinging with their first breath. They walked out of the mountain, and as each bonded with a mortal it awoke something inside of the mortals, their own magic. It is from the wells of Imdalind that all magic begins and ends.”

  “How do you know that that’s what really happened?” I asked, holding in a laugh. The story sounded more like a legend than a history.

  “Because we know who was there. The first of each of the holders of magic. The first of the Drak, the first of the Vilỳs, the first of the Trpaslíks and the first of the Skȓíteks—my grandmother, Frain.”

  “Your grandmother?” Would there ever be anything about Ilyan that wouldn’t surprise me?

  “Yes, I have heard this story since the day I was born. My mother and grandmother would tell it to me at night when our home was lit by candlelight. My mother also told me as she lay dying from the loss of my father’s magic.”

  Ilyan turned away from me, looking toward the church, but I could tell he wasn’t seeing anything. I knew that look. I had been trapped in that look for months. It was the look of one trapped in their memories. I reached up and placed my hand on his shoulder. At my touch, he turned to face me.

  “Which is how you knew what was happening to me all those months ago?”

  He nodded once.

  “But you would let me help you while my mother let herself waste away.” He sighed heavily and my heart tensed. I knew exactly how he felt.

  “I’m sorry.” I let my hand fall from his shoulder, not knowing what else to do.

  “It was a very long time ago, Silnỳ.”

  “I am still sorry.”

  The silence between us stretched uncomfortably. I willed myself to look away from him, to ignore his warm hand wrapped around mine. I finished my food, shoving the wrapper in my pocket, and turned to him, unsurprised to see his unfocused gaze on something beyond me.

  “So,” I began, desperate to end the silence and break Ilyan’s intense gaze. “If you believe that your kind came from this mud, do you believe there is a God, too?”

  “Not particularly,” he said, coming back to himself.

  “If you don’t believe in a God, then why do you spend so much time in churches?”

  “Because of how humans act when their souls are so close to God. They care for one another beyond how they would normally. They help, and support, and love one another. It’s amazing to watch.”

  “You must think me an uncaring, hateful person then
.” I shifted my weight, wishing I could remove my hand from his. He must have sensed my discomfort because the heat from his hand around mine increased as his magic pulsed.

  “Not in the least. You are one of the most caring, brave people I have met in quite some time. You willingly risked everything to save Ryland, handled ultimate losses with grace, and—”

  I snorted and Ilyan stopped to look at me, his forehead furled in confusion.

  “I wasn’t graceful, Ilyan. I refused to move and then practically let my body kill me.”

  “But you didn’t,” Ilyan said.

  “Because you’re stubborn,” I said, shoving our entwined hands into his chest. When Ilyan smiled, I glowed assuming I had won.

  “Not as stubborn as you.” My mouth dropped, odd clicking noises coming from my throat. Ilyan laughed deeply, the happy sound ricocheting off the people around us. Several people looked toward us, smiling at the exchange. I could only guess what was on their minds. First date, young love, newly married, and it got worse from there. I instinctively sunk into my thin sweater, pulling the hood up around my face with my free hand. Ilyan’s laugh stopped, but his smile remained.

  “When are you going to stop hiding?”

  “As soon as people stop looking at me,” I said, affronted. Ilyan raised an eyebrow at me and I crinkled my nose at him in frustration.

  “I don’t see that happening any time soon, Silnỳ.”

  “Then don’t count on me coming out of hiding anytime soon,” I spat, grumbling a bit.

  “And you say you are not stubborn.” Ilyan grinned, his eyes shining before he dropped my hand, his warm magic and the protective shield leaving my body. Now it wasn’t a question of if Ryland would find me but how fast. Suddenly I felt unprepared to be attacked, to fight; unsure if I could come out of a fight still standing.

  I stiffened in fear, my eyes darting around the street as if Ryland was simply going to step out from behind a garbage can. My panic softened when Ilyan placed his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look at him.

  “You’re brave, Joclyn.”