Kiss Of Fire (Imdalind Series)

by Ethington, Rebecca

  I couldn’t stop the part of me that wanted to see the real Ryland; I couldn’t stop the desperate need to see him as he really was, and so my eyes lifted to his face.

  Ryland sat on the floor in front of me, his dripping hand still extended toward me. The bruises from the press conference were darker and stood out vividly on his face and neck, many appearing where there were none before. The gash that ran down his face was wider and swollen in an angry red. Blood and sweat had matted his hair, causing the curls I loved so much to droop. Bruises and cuts covered his torso and chest, some oozing green fluid, and even more of them, a deep shade of blue. His right arm hung lifelessly to his side, trails of red flowing freely down the limb, over his fingers, and onto the floor.

  I screamed and scrambled away from him. My hand flew to my mouth in an effort to cover the sound, but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Ryland screamed at the same time, and flung his younger body down to the ground, back into his ball. The action revealed his back to me, and I futilely fought the scream that rose in my throat. The shoulder where his kiss once lay faced me, revealing an ugly red hole where Edmund had dug the mark out.

  Ryland’s cries filled my ears and pierced my soul in a way I couldn’t ignore. Through my tears, through my shaking body, I crawled across the white space to him. My hands hovered uselessly over his body as Ilyan’s words echoed in my ears. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around him as he had me so many times before, and I gathered him onto my lap. His frame was so small; it only caused my tears to flow more. It took a moment for his body to relax and his arms to wrap around me. I slid my arms over his back, the warm wetness of his blood spreading over my skin.

  I just sat there, holding him, shushing him. We sat like that, the smell of blood and tears swirling around us. He untwined his body from mine and moved away, lifting his red hands to cup my face. I looked into his young eyes, my heart breaking with the reality of what was happening to him.

  “I love you, Joclyn.”

  I balked. His face was young, but his voice was mature. My tears turned to sobs as I lifted my hand to his face, his own blood leaving my handprint against his cheek.

  “Ryland?”

  “I love you, Joclyn. But I can’t stay here. I have to protect you.” His hand slid over my skin to cover my eyes, and I knew when I opened my eyes again he would be gone. So I didn’t open them.

  “I love you, Ryland.” I spoke the words to no one. My voice caught and I repeated it to myself over and over as I sank to the ground and savored the memory of his touch, his voice, no matter how brief the contact had been. I sobbed and moaned until the blackness took me and the connection gratefully ended.

  ---

  I woke up screaming.

  I sat up kicking the covers off me aggressively as I looked at my hands, my arms in search of the blood I knew to be there. I panted and scrubbed and screamed. I barely registered that someone was there with me until a warmth began to spread through me, the panic receding. I let the warmth take over me, let it calm me down. Although it wasn’t the warmth I really wanted it would do for now.

  My mind became clear as I continued to stare uselessly at my hands, part of me still wondering where the blood had gone. I was like Lady Macbeth, scrubbing and clawing madly at nothing. Out Damn Spot, Out I say! Except this wasn’t a play, the blood was real; it just wasn’t on my hands anymore.

  “Calm… Joclyn… calm.” Ilyan’s arms wrapped around me as his magic left my body. He pulled me to his chest, his hand running down my hair. “I’m here; it’s okay.”

  I wanted to pull away from him; I wanted to run to Ryland. I grasped for the necklace, desperate to bring back the connection, desperate to see him again. Ilyan grabbed my hands and steadied them, his warmth moving into me again, the force of it weaker this time.

  My screaming subsided in a low sob that racked through my chest. I forced my gaze away from my hands, surprised to see Ilyan’s bedroom and not the brown and orange of the room I had been given. Ilyan clutched me to him as I continued to cry, grateful that my tears were finally leaving.

  “What happened, Joclyn?” he asked when my crying had passed enough I could finally talk.

  “Ry... Ryland... he is in pain... so much pain.”

  “Another Tȍuha? What happened, Silnỳ?”

  “I saw him, the bruises, the cuts... the blood. Ed... Edmund cut out his mark.” I felt Ilyan’s arms tense around me, his breathing increase in what I could only assume to be anger.

  “He was young... he didn’t recognize me. Why didn’t he recognize me, Ilyan?” The panic came back, that desperate edge creeping into my voice.

  “Oh, Silnỳ, his mind is being deleted. He remembers less and less each day. Did he remember you eventually?”

  “Yes, and before he left, I could have sworn it was him, that he wasn’t sixteen year old Ryland anymore; that it was really him. That he wasn’t sixteen years old anymore.” I felt Ilyan’s body relax a bit. “Is that good?”

  “It means that all of him is still there, that he is still fighting.”

  “Why did he look so young then?”

  “Because as much as he fights, he is still losing the battle. The longer he fights it, the older he will look in your Tȍuha’s. But when he forgets you completely, when he is only a child, then it will be too late.”

  Ilyan’s words had a sharp edge that cut through me; it broke the dam I had made deep inside and let every single pent-up emotion and fear out in a tidal wave. I began crying uncontrollably again, but I didn’t want Ilyan to take the pain away and put me to sleep with his magic. I needed to feel it. I cried and clung to him as I let everything out.

  I howled over the death of my mother, the image of her lifeless body, vivid and vibrant. I cried at the memory of our lunch, the last time we were together, and how I had given her everything that she wanted; the daughter she had always wanted me to be.

  I sobbed over the loss of my normalcy. I bawled up against Ilyan as I thought about the changes in my life, the drastic differences that had occurred within such a small amount of time.

  I screamed with the agonizing pain of a broken heart; my voice wailed as it broke and bled in my throat. I felt my heart break into a million pieces as everything hit me simultaneously, for the last time. Every memory of Ryland flashed by, and although I wanted to smile and laugh, the memories only hurt: hurt that I could not have him, hurt at how much everything had changed.

  Through it all, Ilyan just held me, his wide hands rubbing my back. He shushed and cooed and sang to me as I cried, and all of it made me want to cry more, because his weren’t the arms I craved. But when it was done, I knew it was done. I knew I was stronger than the pain now.

  “Why would he do that, Ilyan? Why would he cut the mark out?” Ilyan moved my hair away from my face, his finger lingering on my own mark. I jerked my head away, not wanting such an intimate touch from him.

  “Do you remember when I told you the kiss is more like a poisonous bite? Well, the kiss itself is caused by a pool of poison. If it’s cut out, you release the poison into the person who bears the kiss.”

  I gasped and the tears came back again.

  “Will it kill him?”

  “It can, but I think Edmund only hopes to weaken him further and gain control over his magic that much faster.”

  “Why? Why is he doing this?”

  “A punishment probably, but also to increase his control. Edmund has always viewed Ryland as a weapon, and now he sees the best opportunity to use him as such.”

  “We will be too late, won’t we?”

  Ilyan’s face made it clear, he didn’t know. Our eyes locked together in some silent agreement that we would try, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that trying wouldn’t be enough anymore.

  Ilyan would say no more; he simply laid me back down in his bed and put me to sleep with his magic. I was probably more grateful than I should have been, considering all I dreamed about was chasing a bloody
trail through the golden hallways of the LaRue mansion.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The following morning, I realized the downside of the white-on-white scheme of Ilyan’s room. The moment the sun began to creep over the horizon and the gray light of dawn had begun to fade away, the room became supercharged with light. The beams of golden sun shone through the window that Ilyan had pushed his bed up against. They bounced around and increased in brightness as the white walls and carpet reflected them back. Once the light had infiltrated my troubled sleep, I sat upright, sleep leaving me much quicker then I would have liked.

  I was still in Ilyan’s bed, still in Ilyan’s rooms. I felt uncomfortable and scared. I shouldn’t be here. Not only was he some sort of king in this place, he was awfully friendly.

  I sat there trying to plan some form of escape. But, even if I made it out the door, I wasn’t sure I could remember which door led to the brown and orange room. I was having trouble focusing; a subtle buzzing was taking over my body, causing my mind to bounce around. It felt like the warm heat I had always felt from Ryland and Ilyan but more alive, more electric. I brushed off the feeling, trying to focus on my escape again. The buzzing under my skin grew steadily, making me feel jittery and anxious. I threw the blankets away from me, intent on just storming down the hall in the hopes of at least finding Wyn when a loud grunt issued from the foot of the bed, followed by a large thump that shook the room. I looked toward the noise, terrified in my jittery state, that some explosion had gone off. Instead I was treated to Ilyan yelling, or perhaps swearing, in Czech before he crawled on hands and knees into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  I stared at the door in bewilderment; I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh hysterically or not. I could hear him thump around in the bathroom, random foreign words filtering through the ivory-colored doors. I sat up, fully intent, on makin my escape when Ilyan’s thumping and yelling was joined by another voice, from someone running rapidly down the hall toward me. My heart sputtered as the door flung open and a very agitated, while still perfectly poised, Ovailia burst through the door.

  “What in heaven’s name...” She froze at the sight of me, her eyes bugging out of her head as her jaw worked mechanically in place. Seeing Ovailia there with such a terrifying look on her face sent the energy into overdrive as it buzzed and vibrated through me. I grabbed the covers and pulled them up to my chin, realizing too late that that was probably not the best action to take. Ovailia’s jaw only dropped more. I looked down; I was wearing one of Ilyan’s light colored button-up shirts... great.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” I said, desperately hoping she would believe me and not question any more. After all, I had absolutely no idea what I would say. I needed Ryland. The energy under my skin increased, and I felt a desperate need to get rid of it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. I could feel my cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. Ovailia rushed to the bathroom door without saying another word to me, her eyes never leaving my blush stained face.

  The door to the bathroom slammed behind her and my head dropped into the white cotton blankets. Great. This was not the way I wanted to start my day. The yelling in the bathroom increased as Ovailia joined in the fray. I could make out the two voices distinctly, even though I couldn’t understand the words they were yelling at each other. I was secretly glad I didn’t understand Czech. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know what they were saying.

  I jumped off the bed, heading towards Ryland’s sweater that lay across the foot. I grabbed it and went to tug off the yellow shirt that Ilyan had dressed me in. My blush deepened and melted into an embarrassed anger at the thought of what state I had been in after the bath and exactly what I was wearing now. I froze for only a moment before removing the shirt and tugging on one of Wyn’s band shirts that had been laid out next to Ryland’s sweater. I pulled the shirt and sweater on, keeping a close ear on the argument going on in the bathroom, just in case someone walked in on me. I glanced around for my pants, my heart dropping at finding nothing, not even the pajama pants I had worn last night. I guess I would have to stay in the plaid shorts I had been dressed in a bit longer.

  I tugged the sweater down in hopes of hiding what I could only assume were Ilyan’s boxers. I pushed down my anger at being left to sleep here and thrown into such a situation; after all, how hard would it have been to just walk me down the hall? I turned to make my escape just as Ovailia burst through the bathroom door, still yelling something angrily in Czech. She was followed close behind by Ilyan who was soaking wet with soap in his hair and a white towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. The sight of him supercharged my agitation, bringing the level of buzzing on my skin to new heights. I looked back and forth from him to Ovailia, who yelled angrily. Ilyan rebutted something before Ovailia stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Ilyan exhaled angrily before turning to me.

  “Pants are in the closet.” His accent was thick, and it took me a moment to register exactly what he had said. He waved his hand toward a door on the opposite end of the room before turning back to the bathroom. I immediately decided to forgo the pants and continue with my original plan to track down Wyn.

  “Oh, and Joclyn,” his head poked out from behind the bathroom door, “don’t go anywhere.”

  I fumed angrily at him before he closed the door to go back to his shower. I rubbed my arms abrasively in the hopes of lessening the buzzing. It seemed to be working a bit, the motion also calming my heart rate. I breathed deeply as I made my way toward the closet, the buzzing now only a hum. My anger and frustration had never reacted this way, but then, I am not sure I had ever been so emotionally charged before.

  Ilyan’s closet was a strange place. It was as large as the bathroom with clothes stacked floor to ceiling. There was little rhyme or reason to it, and it took me a bit to locate pants among the heaps of clothes. I dug through the stacks of designer jeans, grateful that none of these would fit just right. I wasn’t in any mood to be noticed by a large group of people quite yet. I chose one of the only pairs that didn’t have the perfectly placed tears that Ilyan favored, pulling them on over the shorts.

  Finding a belt in the mess was surprisingly more difficult than locating pants. I held the pants around me as I searched through drawers and boxes that were littered around the large space. I carefully lifted a sheet that covered one section of the wall and stopped short. Behind the curtain was a perfectly organized wall of clothes. Each piece of clothing hung on its own hanger, covered with a clear protective bag. On its own, it would have been surprising given the lack of organization among the rest of the clothes. But it wasn’t just that - at first I thought they were costumes.

  Each shirt was longer and would probably fall to the knee on an average-sized man. Given the lengths and the style, I would almost call them tunics. The light colored garments were cut from fabrics that I could automatically tell where expensive. I fought the urge to remove the bags and run my hands over the soft silks, touch the fine jewels and golden ropes that adorned each one. I hungrily ran my eyes over the glittering stones, the deep colored embroidery. The sleeves on each piece were exaggerated, but I couldn’t tell by how much, given how loosely they hung on the hangers. Claudius, MacBeth, Lear, Romeo. I could see these on-stage in a million different plays. But they weren’t fake, like costumes; they were shockingly real.

  “Pretty, aren’t they?” I jumped at Ilyan’s voice, my hand clutching my chest.

  “You scared me!” I spun to him and balked. While now soap-free he was still only dressed in a towel. I inhaled sharply and stepped away hoping he hadn’t noticed my reaction. His chest was strong and thick with sinewy muscles, but that wasn’t why I had reacted. The skin across his chest was criss-crossed with hundreds of raised scars, like he had been whipped. I shook my head and looked away. My skin buzzed as my agitation returned, coming in full force again. I wasn’t as mad as I should have been
to see him dressed in only a towel.

  “Sorry, but you were looking at my private collection; you kind of deserved it,” he chuckled.

  “Private collection?” I let the sheet fall over the clothes again. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. They are not a secret after all. I wear them to council.” He handed me a belt he had removed from under a pile of undershirts; I would have never found it.

  “Council? You mean the meeting you had yesterday?”

  “Yes, it is an official meeting; so I have to look the part.” He grinned, but it looked more like a grimace.

  “You mean, like King?”

  His face fell. He turned from me and grabbed a few items of clothing off the many disorganized piles.

  “Not ‘like’, Joclyn, just King.” He gave me a sad little smile and disappeared behind a partition I hadn’t noticed due to the large amount of clothes draped over it.

  “So, do I need to call you ‘My Lord’ now?”

  He flung the towel over the side to join the clothes already there, and I instantly looked down at my feet, turning my back to him in embarrassment and frustration.

  “That depends on a few things.”

  “Like what?” I asked as he came out from behind the partition, still pulling his shirt over his head.

  “Well, for starters, when we are together like this.” I blushed, which only caused him to smile. “Just the two of us I mean, or with Wynifred and Talon, then, no. But around anyone else, then, yes.”

  I nodded my head in understanding, knowing I would mess it up.

  “Why not Wyn and Talon?”

  “Wynifred was not raised with us, so she forgets from time to time. Most of the time I let it slide as she and Talon have undergone the Zȇlství, but there are times when she probably needs to remember her place a bit more.”