There was silence for the briefest of seconds, and then her mouth opened wide, a high-pitched scream seeping through the hot air around us.
We laughed.
The mug was dry. It had been dry for the last few hours, but I held it, anyway—clung to it, more like. My tight grip was probably more out of familiarity and desperation for the comfort that was attached to it.
If anything, it was something to hold against my hands as I listened to the screams that had been resonating through the halls for the last few minutes. The pain and agony behind them increased with each wave.
I didn’t need to be told whose they were.
Joclyn’s magic—that powerful Drak magic that even I couldn’t help her understand—was taking control. Either that or, if we were correct, Sain was. Whatever it was Sain had done to her, to her sights—whatever lessons I hadn’t been taught, whether the Zlomený was true or not—it was ripping her apart, just as he had warned. No. Just as he had created.
I hoped she would be strong enough to control it, to defeat it.
To defeat him.
That it wouldn’t devour her.
Subsequently, I sat, staring at the door with the mug in hand, wishing there was a way I could reach her, wishing I was strong enough to walk there, hoping Ilyan would bring her to me.
The scream came again, louder, the sound swallowing the footsteps that were racing toward me, opening the door with a bang so loud I was surprised even Thom didn’t jump.
“Wyn!” Ryland yelled angrily as he barged in, Jaromir on his heels as he searched for the little pixie who normally occupied the space.
“Ryland?” I asked in a panic as his eyes swept over the room to meet mine. “What’s going on?”
Ryland leaned against the door, his bulky frame seeming even more powerful as he pulled to his full height. “Have you seen Wyn?”
“No.”
“Damn it!” His voice was loud, louder than the fist that hit against the door he was leaning against, his powerful strength leaving a long crack in the old wood.
“Ryland!” I yelled his name with as much authority as I could. “What is going on?”
“Joclyn,” he panted, the obvious answer frustrating me. “She was with Wyn. Ilyan thinks she attacked Jos.”
My eyes widened in shock. I hadn’t expected Wynifred to attack her best friend. Six hundred years ago, the thought would not have made me bat an eye. Now, that was not the girl I saw every day. Besides, with the way Joclyn screamed, I had assumed it was her own magic.
“Ryland?” I asked, pulling the blankets off my old, useless legs before I even got a response. “I need you to take me to her.”
“But I—”
“You can find Wyn after. I need to be there now.” My authoritative tone was weakening in my dread, but it was something Ryland didn’t even notice. His focus was so intent on Joclyn I was positive a rhinoceros could have barged through the hall behind him, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Ryland glanced down the long hall, looking toward wherever else he was supposed to look, the screams of his former best friend rippling around us like perverse bells. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already looked everywhere. Come on, old man,” he growled as he moved away from the door to pick me up as one would an infant without so much of a warning or question.
My emaciated body sagged awkwardly as he lifted me, holding me against him with a firm grip. I almost asked him to let me go, but then Joclyn screamed again, the sound worse than before, the pain and agony behind it cutting through us both simultaneously. He tensed as I did.
Without another word, he ran, his pace so hasty I was grateful for the close proximity despite how much I was being jostled around by it.
Jaromir followed us at a sprint, his little legs pumping twice as fast in his attempt to keep up with his mentor. The flush on his little face made it clear he had been running after Ryland for the last hour.
I tried to focus on what was coming, on what I could do, on what was waiting for me, but I couldn’t think beyond the pain in her cries, beyond the panic growing in me as her screams did, each jarring step making it worse.
Hallways streamed past me as we ran, clusters of people gathered in corners and against windows as they looked toward the screams, as they gossiped.
My father’s name traveled with us, the rumors that he had spread sprouting into a forest as we reached the people who had gathered outside the king and queen’s chamber. The ugly words repeated with a wide array of worry, fear, and distaste.
I didn’t even care.
“Move!” Ryland growled, his patience obviously gone as he burst through them.
The door swung open and shut around us before any of the rubberneckers had a chance to see inside. It was disgusting how they tried.
“I brought Dramin,” Ryland announced as he rushed into the tiny room, the sound of Joclyn’s pain mutating into a deafening call now that we were within the heavy walls.
I had expected healers to be crammed into the tiny space. However, it was only Ilyan who sat on the bed with Joclyn wrapped in his arms as she screamed, as she cried, as she writhed. Ilyan held her and soothed her, as he had all those months ago when we had been trapped in the cave.
I watched in horror, trying to find some sign of physical injury as she turned toward me, her eyes encompassed in a thick black sheen, seeing and unseeing as they stared into me. Her sight had taken her. Wyn might have attacked her, but it was her sight that was destroying her.
“It’s coming,” she gasped before she whimpered again. “You must run.”
“Good,” Ilyan said, ignoring the words as if they were meaningless. “There is a chair there. Did you find Wynifred?”
“No.” Ryland’s voice was hard as he sat me down. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
Jaromir tried to blend in with the doorframe as if he was unsure if he should be there while my chest tightened further as I faced my sister who needed help I wasn’t able to give.
“I had a feeling she would do this. With what I was able to see and with her magic, she could be anywhere. She could be underground. Risha is still looking…” Ilyan’s voice faded into an uncharacteristic weakness as he clung to Joclyn, her body writhing as her breathing picked up.
“Your další v příkazu will find her. She couldn’t have gone far.” Ryland was confident. I hoped it wasn’t in vain.
People who attacked their best friends often weren’t easy to find, and Ilyan was right. With Wyn’s power, I would guess we should be happy Joclyn was still with us.
“Your feet are not fast enough,” Joclyn moaned from within Ilyan’s embrace, her voice deep and hollow before it broke into the same scream that had been echoing around the halls.
Fighting the need to reach forward and try to connect with her magic, I flinched.
“Has she said anything … helpful?” I asked hesitantly, my chest tight in fear of what could possibly be breaking through her.
“No. I can’t make any sense of it,” Ilyan sighed, his hand pressing against the mark on her neck, the same way he had done so many times before.
She gasped at the contact, her back arching abrasively, but her eyes stayed black, her face blank.
“It sounds like she is talking to someone, mostly things about running and traitors.”
“And screaming,” Ryland provided, his voice a solemn calm as he moved to the foot of the bed.
Jaromir remained leaning against the doorframe as though he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Lots of screaming,” Ryland added.
“And her sight?” I asked as Ilyan fixed me with an expression of such hopelessness that I temporarily found it hard to breathe. “Have you been able to see anything?”
“She was in sight when I found her,” Ilyan answered, his voice heavy, “running through the halls like she was trying to reach something. Her eyes were black. I’m not even certain if she could see me. It hasn’t stopped since.”
Joclyn groaned the
second he finished, her voice a loud snap. My spine straightened painfully at the sight of the discomfort rippling across her face.
“I need her, or else it will not break,” she moaned out, the sound a plea as Ilyan pressed his forehead to hers, his lips mumbling a song I couldn’t quite make out.
I watched them, the helpless feeling growing more painful in my chest. I fought the need to grip the chair, knowing by the way Ryland had begun to pace I wasn’t the only one feeling agitated.
“I need to find Wyn,” Ryland whispered from the foot of the bed, his hands clenching the bed rail so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “I need to find her.”
“Wyn can’t help.” My voice was dead as I stared at Ilyan who was now rocking my sister, his face burrowing in her hair before it snapped up to me.
“No,” Ilyan growled, his mind going right to where I expected it to, and judging by the intensity of his response, we shared the same opinion.
“He can’t help, either.” My voice was barely loud enough to cover the sound of Joclyn’s mumbling, the words so garbled no one could have made them out even if they were listening.
Ilyan’s eyes widened at my proclamation, his eyes so focused that, if he wasn’t so connected to Joclyn, I would be sure he would have forgotten her.
Ryland looked between us, picking up the pieces to what we were talking about.
“Sain?” he finally asked, but neither Ilyan nor I looked in his direction. “What do you mean Sain can’t help? He’s a Drak. Of course he can help.”
“And he may be double-crossing us,” Ilyan provided like an afterthought, his focus shifting back to Joclyn who was working herself back up into a panic.
“We still don’t know that for certain. Joclyn is his daughter; they are of the same magic…” Ryland’s persistence was unsurprising, but I knew it would be.
“Yes, but just because he can help us,” I said, my voice calm as I looked Ryland in the eye, “it doesn’t mean he should. His help has done damage to this child. I won’t let him do more.”
“You sound like you know more about this than I do, Dramin,” Ilyan said, a terror I hadn’t expected seeping into his voice. I thought Joclyn would have told him of what we had discussed. Perhaps she hadn’t found the proof she was so desperate for.
“He’s doing more than double-crossing us all,” I sighed, my voice as heavy as the weight that was pressing against me.
“I know,” Joclyn whispered, her voice soft as it seemingly answered my statement, her eyes black as she stared at something none of us could see. “I have seen it before.”
Ryland took a step toward me, hardness gripping his jaw. For a moment, I was in no doubt he was going to erupt in some loyalty tirade. However, he stayed still, silent, his eyes darkening as something different began to take over.
My anxiety continued to rise as they waited for me to continue, my own fear for what was coming increasing. The chair felt suddenly uncomfortable and overly wooden beneath me.
“Her sights have been changing.”
Ilyan nodded, his eyes dark. “Yes, she’s been having trouble controlling them, too.”
Ryland looked between us, his expression falling into a deeper shock at what was unfolding before him. “But sights don’t change. Sain said—”
“It’s happened to me before.” I swallowed heavily, the sound audible in the stunned silence of the room.
Ilyan’s focus finally snapped from the air he had been acquainting himself with, one look prompting me to continue, one look telling me I had no other choice except to admit what had happened.
“I was only a child … long before you were born. I saw Ovailia’s true mate, and then I saw it change. No, Sain changed the sight. He created a Zlomený.”
“Ovailia’s true mate?” Ilyan could barely get the words out.
“I saw Ovailia, saw the joy and happiness she was supposed to have…” Then he had changed it, and it was devoid of all the joy I had seen that day. She always was—come to think of it—sour and angry. Even on the day when she had bonded herself to Sain, the man she was not meant to marry.
And he knew it.
He knew it because he had seen that sight. He had also probably seen something similar before. He had already seen her. He had already chosen her.
“He changed it,” I whispered, my focus drifting to Joclyn, even if I hadn’t told her whom I had seen. “He changed what I saw so he could have her. Different angle, different point of view, but it was the same sight, distorted enough I couldn’t really tell what was going on.”
“He’s changing more,” Joclyn gasped. The words were so perfect I was again sure she could hear me. Nevertheless, she still lay there, eyes black as she looked into the void of sight, face blank as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“He couldn’t have.” Ryland’s voice was dead, as though he himself was piecing it together yet refusing to accept it.
“What all did you see in the sight? How did he change it?” Ilyan finally asked, volatile anger erupting over his face, the grip he had on Joclyn increasing until I was positive he was going to break her in half. However, he only buried his face in her hair. The light in his eyes faded, although not enough to sever the hard edge of fear that had come over me.
Normally, I could face Ilyan’s temper, but I was an old man, my magic gone. I wasn’t facing anything.
“I saw the bonding again, but this time, with Sain in the place of the groom. Tatí threatened me, told me of the broken sight, of how some things are wrong. The way Joclyn described her sight to me, the way they pull differently after the change, the noise and the static … It’s the same.”
Ilyan fixed me with the hardness of a scowl so deep that, for a moment, I could actually see a shadow of his father in him, something I had never thought I would see.
“So,” Ilyan began, his voice distorted through his clenched teeth, “he’s spreading rumors about her while he controlled her enough to make all those rumors seem viable. If there was a doubt he was the cloaked man before, there is no question now.” The level of anger in Ilyan’s voice matched the volatility on his face.
I looked at Ryland in a plea for help, but he wasn’t even looking at any of us. He was staring out the window at the now pitch black sky, his face as hard as Ilyan’s.
“Have you ever heard Sain talk about the theory of magic? About how it’s all connected? About the waterfall?” Ryland asked out of nowhere, the question so random the anger in Ilyan evaporated.
“You mean like the délka vedení královsk?” Ilyan asked, his anger vanishing as he spoke of the ribbon that declared his place among his kind.
“No,” Ryland sighed, his focus pulling away from the girl and to the two of us in turn, guilt riddling his face as he dragged his hand through his curls. “It’s something Sain told me about how magic is connected. He said he let Edmund think he controlled his sights when he was in prison,” he quickly clarified, as if that made it better. “He told me magic is connected through the races, through the family ties, like a waterfall, or a ribbon. Magic is really carried by one person—the first person. Like how the mud birthed your grandmother and your father and held the end of the ribbon of their magic, controlling it and all the magic of those below him, all the magic moved down through him. One after another, all tied to the first, to the top.”
“Sain told you this?” I asked, barely able to get the words out as everything clicked together in my mind.
A ladder, a connection of magic, and a man who might or might not be controlling it all.
“He said all the Drak magic flows through him, that he controls it.”
“Controls.” I looked up to Ilyan whose anger was returning with a force I could feel take over the room. “Just like the Zlomený.”
“It’s like you said; Sain is controlling her … changing her sights.” Ilyan stopped, as though the words had caught in his throat, as though the anger had held them there.
“No,” I announced, something clicking i
nto place. “He’s not. He can’t. He’s trying to, but he doesn’t have full access to her magic. That’s why she’s reacting this way, why her sights are doing this to her. Someone is trying to control them, and her magic is fighting it. She is fighting it.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t have full control?” Ryland asked. I was actually surprised he hadn’t put it together yet.
“It’s not a ribbon. Not for her. I’m actually surprised Father doesn’t see it,” I mused. “Or maybe he does, but after so much time, he’s too stubborn to believe otherwise.”
They both looked at me, obviously not piecing it together yet.
“Joclyn is one of the Chosen with all of the different strains of magic flowing through her. All of these different abilities are tied to a dozen different people. For her, it’s not a ribbon; it’s not even a straight line. It’s a spider web that is wound through everyone.
“Edmund is the first of the Chosen. Ilyan, the son of him, but also the eldest surviving descendant of Frain. Joclyn’s magic is connected through Edmund because she is Chosen, but also through you, Ilyan; not in binding, but in carrier, as well. The first of the four over all of the Chosen. Silky strings tying everyone together.”
“A web,” Ilyan repeated, his face blank as he put it all together. “And Sain…” He stopped short, the unspoken words clear.
It was one thing to realize how magic was connected and another to know what Sain was doing, to have Ryland confirm Sain had known it all along.
“What is he up to?”
With one look at Ilyan, I could see the questions spelled out quite plainly, his own confusion mirroring mine. I nodded, my lips drawn in a hard line before looking down to my still winding hands, wishing, once again, I had a mug I could at least pretend to drink from.
The hush was interrupted by a loud scream that ripped from the girl Ilyan held in his arms. She shook, she screamed, and her black eyes gazed into Ilyan’s as though she could see him. No, as though she was seeing him.
Just as before, when she spoke so plainly, she could see. She was here. It was something I had never seen before. To observe while seeing.
Dawn of Ash Page 20
