Crown of Cinders

by Rebecca Ethington

  The whining and bickering hordes Ilyan had been trapped in for days would have to wait. I needed to find him.

  JOCLYN

  6

  “Never do that again!” Wyn’s voice was a snap in my ear, accentuated by the not so playful swap against my backside as she fell to her knees, gasping and heaving in a desperate attempt to catch air.

  “Ryland said the same thing two weeks ago.” I laughed, magic pulling me toward Ilyan, desperate to be near him now that we were back in the cathedral.

  “I can see why,” Wyn gasped. “That was awful. No wonder no one other than you and Ilyan has even tried that. I mean, do you have a death wish?”

  “No death wish, just not a lot of time.”

  As I pulled her back to her feet, she gasped, her eyes wide in obvious panic that I was about to do it again.

  “Take a chill, Wyn. I’m not going to do it again. And it was a stutter, not a colonoscopy.”

  “A what? Is that some kind of party mortals have? Because it sounds awful.”

  “Never mind.” This time, I did roll my eyes as I dragged her behind me. We weaved past the illuminated tents that littered the courtyard. The canvas domes glowed in the darkness in glittering jewel tones of red, blue, yellow and green.

  It was magical if you could ignore the dark shapes that wandered amongst them, darting around the camp in shadows, whispering in groups, and cowering in the dark like some demon was ready to strike.

  “This way.” Gripping Wyn’s gloved hand, I pulled her after me, letting the strong tug of Ilyan’s magic guide me. “He’s this way.”

  “Lead the way, Your Majesty,” Wyn taunted. “In a nice, gentle walk if you please.”

  Ignoring her, I pulled her behind me, darting around a large, red dome. The familiar red light emanated from it until it intersected with the blue tent next door, casting ribbons of blue and red and purple around us like a rainbow.

  The beauty was lost, however, as I took one more step and the whispers hit against my chest like the sharp point of a nail, the lingering shadows staring at me unabashedly, hands held over mouths as they hissed and speculated on realities they could never understand. Some didn’t even bother to hide their questions or comments. They let them run freely, loudly, and aggressively. The words bounced off the canvas and alerted everyone to my very presence. Anyone who had already retired to their tents became attentive, emerging from the canvas at the prospect of drama.

  “I don’t know why he chose her.”

  “She probably broke the original prophecy, too. Broke them all. Now we don’t know …”

  “You saw all that fire … and that girl … so much blood.”

  “She probably wipes the blood on her face and turns into a dragon. Eats goats raw,” Wyn interjected from beside me, adding her own flavor to the growing horde. Her loud scoff was not missed by any of them.

  An old woman’s eyes grew wide before she darted back into her tent, hisses seeping through the canvas after her.

  “They are going to believe that, you know,” I snapped under my breath.

  Wyn smiled more widely, proud of herself. “That’s the point—to make them so ridiculous they won’t know what to believe.”

  I wasn’t convinced that was actually helping, but whatever. Wyn was my greatest ally, and I was glad to have her.

  “You and I know the truth, and that’s all that matters.”

  “That is blood on her hands! I wonder if she killed someone else.”

  I wiped them against my pants, my heart dropping to my knees as the whispers increased, alerting me to what I had done.

  Wyn, however, laughed and said loudly, “Don’t let them see the goat blood, Jos. I don’t want to share my dinner with anyone.”

  That time, I laughed, the sound an opposition to the fear that leeched around us, wiping it all away and leaving everyone looking confused.

  “Their fears are unfounded,” Wyn said with a slight laugh from where she stood beside me like a bodyguard, her oppressive frame enough to scare off anyone who might try something. “Someday, they will see the truth.”

  If I were going to have a bodyguard, I would choose Wyn, even with her crazy reputation. She would sooner kill someone than let them tear me down. I wasn’t always positive that was a good thing.

  “And what truth is that?” Darting between a green and gray tent, I came face to face with a bright-eyed child who promptly screamed and ducked inside. “That I eat children for breakfast? Because that one seems to have gotten out.”

  “No,” Wyn groaned as she pulled me away from the tent and toward the tall blond man who was looking at me as warily and worriedly as he always did as of late. If it weren’t for the intense love in his eyes, I would say he was half-dead already. “That Sain is a bloodsucking leech who was crossed with a dinosaur. Leechasaurus rex.” She waved her arms around like a gimpy Tyrannosaur, her tongue darting out in some weird hissing-slurping concoction.

  “Do we need to get Wyn admitted somewhere?” Ilyan asked in deeply accented English as he walked toward us before wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close. “She seems to have pulled the last strand of sanity away.”

  “If I’ve lost sanity, it’s thanks to you two,” Wyn teased, the twisted dinosaur impersonation fading away. “Wars and imprisonment and death and all that crap. I think, after all this is said and done, I deserve a vacation.”

  “Only if I can go with you,” I provided, my mind focused on the imagery Ilyan was obsessed with: the white sandy beaches of our Tȍuha.

  I relaxed, the still whispering crowds surrounding us not seeming to matter so much anymore. My magic flared at the thought of the vision, binding strongly with Ilyan’s as it tried to pull us into the sub-consciousness together. It was a pleasant feeling, but one I couldn’t really act on right now, especially right here in the middle of a crowd.

  “It’s the south of France,” Ilyan corrected my mistake aloud, making it clear he was as tuned into me as I was to him. “I like this idea, Wynifred. After this war is done, we can all go to the south of France.”

  “Deal.” Wyn stuck her hand out like some kind of property broker. Ilyan took it without hesitation, the stress on his brow fading away. “And thanks for the mind reading interpretation. I hate feeling lost in you guys’ half-muted telephone call.”

  “Anything to help,” Ilyan said in quick Czech, his smile fading away as yet another disagreement broke out a few tents away from where we stood.

  Angry voices rose above the dark, shattering the calm silence of the night like a bass drum.

  I jumped at the sound, looking toward them and knowing we should intervene.

  This one is on them, Ilyan growled inside my mind, pulling me against him as he led us all away from the fight, away from the tents and into the dark shadows that surrounded the courtyard. “We have worse things to address than juvenile issues.”

  “Seriously, that may be the smartest thing you have said all week,” Wyn whispered in the dark, her own irritation with the constant bickering clear. “It’s so obvious you guys have never had kids. You are like helicopter parents with an army grade whirligig, always zooming in, ready to fix everything.”

  “Whirligig?” I asked, slack-jawed.

  She ignored me.

  “Let them fight; let them bicker; let them repeat whatever lies they have. When the band breaks up, it won’t matter, anyway. Only one thing matters. And unfortunately, he doesn’t bring good news.”

  “Sain.” His name was a snarl, my magic flaring in irritation as it attempted to pull me into a sight. I let it flare, willing to let it take me, but nothing happened, nothing more than the memory of the man stuck in Wyn’s cage and the words he had said before he had taken his own life.

  “Why do I have a feeling this is not the normal tirade?” Ilyan asked as he turned to me, his accent deepening with irritation. “What happened with those two men you saw?” He looked at me quizzically, one eyebrow disappearing into the flyaway strands of
blond hair that had broken free from the messy braid I had given him.

  “It’s not,” I groaned, my heart booming. “I am not sure Edmund is in control anymore.”

  That got his attention. His magic pushed into me with such force I gasped, the scene replaying itself inside my mind as Ilyan watched everything unfold.

  Once.

  Twice.

  He pulled the memory of the scuffle in the alley out of me, looking at it like it were his own. His thoughts were rushed with panic as he dissected everything as we had, the reality terrifying if not glaringly obvious.

  “No. It can’t be.” With a gasp, he detached his mind from mine, leaving me staring into the dark of the courtyard again, the bright pops of color somewhat disorienting as everything spun.

  “I hated when you do that,” I barked All powerful or not, every time he dug inside my brain, it left me one gasp away from covering all of our shoes with vomit.

  “You think it’s true?” Wyn took a step closer, lowering her voice as her eyes darted around to make certain we were alone. But the dark was encompassing, and with the way the people around the tents paid us no mind, I wasn’t confident they could see us, let alone hear us.

  They can’t, Ilyan provided, tightening his hands around my waist.

  “Given what the Trpaslík said,” Ilyan continued aloud, “I can’t say for certain, but it sure seems that way. But, knowing Edmund and Sain, we can’t rule this out as a well-conceived trick.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Wyn grumbled. “I hope it is that. I have plans far better than burning to end that man’s life.”

  “I thought I was supposed to kill Edmund?” I asked, confused by Wyn’s random confession, but also by the situation in general. “There was this big prophecy—”

  “I changed my mind. Besides, every day that prophecy seems less and less like a reality you will ever have to face,” Wyn said, feigning some kind of sobriety. “Congratulations, you aren’t going to die!” She smiled brightly at me, but it wasn’t a look I could return.

  A wash of despair I hadn’t expected moved over me, a pain and a sadness I didn’t understand pressing against my heart.

  I jerked at the emotions, trying to figure out where they were coming from, simply to be pulled out of the fear that brought and into the reality that was attached to it.

  “Ilyan,” I gasped as I turned toward him, the words quickly replacing themselves as his pain became mine. The memories of the happy father he had known moved through us like a movie reel.

  I placed my hand on his arm, my touch gentle as I tried to gauge his mood from the oddly crippling weight moving over me.

  Wyn froze in place as she put her own Lincoln logs together in her mind, her mouth forming a wide O of understanding.

  My father had killed his father.

  The irony of that statement was strangely cruel.

  Perhaps we can laugh at it another time, Ilyan’s voice filled me, the pain in his mind infecting the words. He didn’t need to say more.

  I wrapped my arms around him, letting my magic fill him from tip to tip as I warmed him, fully aware that this was a pain that couldn’t be smothered. Evil dad or not, as the memories that I was currently being filled with proved, he hadn’t been all bad.

  “I’m sorry, Ilyan,” I whispered. “I didn’t realize.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, it hurt when I killed my da—when I killed Timothy,” Wyn said, running her fingers over the faded marks on her arm as she shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “I didn’t expect to feel anything, either. Jerk that he was. But then … I mean … I guess there were good times, too.”

  “Thank you, Wynifred.” Ilyan looked up at her at that, his eyes wide as his jaw set in what could easily be confused as anger.

  Wyn didn’t even flinch. She pursed her lips together and shrugged as if Ilyan had done nothing more than reject an offering of cake.

  “Have you seen anything more besides what you two witnessed in the alley, mi lasko?”

  “You know my visions have been changing, and everything outside the dome seems to be broken. I can’t access any of it. If Sain did something like this, then that could be why.” I swallowed, my hand still strong on his back even as he looked up at the stars hanging high in the lavender sky.

  “Was my father there?” Ilyan very rarely referred to Edmund as his father, and given the situation, I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, it caught me off guard, his grief intense.

  “Not—”

  “Wait,” Ilyan cut me off, his hair fanning around his face as he turned toward me, the stars forgotten as his eyes filled with an odd, maniacal energy that I hadn’t seen for some time. “Has Edmund been in any of your sights since the ending began to change?”

  I blinked, my mind running over his question as sight after sight ran across my recall, the answer becoming apparent.

  “No.”

  “And the funeral?”

  “I don’t think I want to hear any more,” Wyn groaned and walked back toward the Technicolor courtyard.

  Ilyan and I stayed still, our hearts pounding as our eyes locked, more pieces of this complicated web falling into place.

  “Has the funeral changed?” Ilyan asked again, his heart clenching as mine did. That painful reality was one neither of us wanted to face.

  “No, It’s the same. It still does that crazy backward thing that Dramin and I can’t figure out. But it’s the same.”

  “Is Sain in any of the sights since the change?” The excitement he had exhibited before faded as he asked the question even he knew the answer to. We had talked about my sights enough. Heck, he had peeked into one no more than an hour before.

  “Yes.”

  “So, it’s true.” The same pain ran over his face at the admittance, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Even if he is still alive, Sain has—”

  “Guys?” Wyn interrupted as she rejoined us, her focus on the cluster of tents right before us. Her eyes were wide with fear, as if she expected some demon to appear and gobble us up. “Ryland’s coming.”

  She had barely spoken the words when Ryland pushed his way between the too-close canvas, his curls sagging under glistening sweat. The entire effect made him look like a lost dog who had fallen into a pool of muddy water on accident and was still bewildered by what had happened.

  “Ry?” I asked, confused, as Wyn remained frozen between us.

  I didn’t know what had spooked Wyn so much. She could sense magic, not moods, and yet something had infected her. She looked like she could vomit, run away, or both.

  “Finally. I’ve been looking for you,” Ryland gasped out as he continued his sprint toward us, his shirt so soaked I expected him to remove it.

  My stomach jerked uncomfortably at the memory attached to that thought, the imagery of Ryland removing his shirt too close for comfort.

  Ilyan cleared his throat beside me, pulling me against him as a frown came upon his face.

  I cringed, my stomach falling to my toes in embarrassment.

  Ilyan’s thoughts weren’t on mine, though. They were on what we had been discussing. They were on his father as his eyes focused on his baby brother.

  Ilyan hadn’t been Edmund’s solitary son.

  I was a fool for not having remembered that. I had practically grown up in their house.

  Well, in the kitchen, anyway.

  I recoiled, the flash of a familiar face haunting my memory. Luckily, no one noticed. Everyone was far too focused on what was before them.

  “We have a problem.” Ryland panted, his voice broken as he ran his hand through his hair, tiny droplets of sweat flying away from him.

  “Unless it involves our father coming back from the dead to avenge us, I would say we have more important things to handle right now, little brother.”

  Wow, Ilyan, subtle much?

  I guessed he had already moved past guilt and into anger.

  “No, I …” Ryland began before stopping short, his jaw swinging so
low I was worried it would hit the ground like some old cartoon character. “Come back from the dead? You already know?”

  “Well, Joclyn heard …” Ilyan began, stuck in autopilot before Ryland’s words caught up with him, smacking him in the face. “What do you know, Ryland?”

  “Our father is dead.”

  I stared at Ryland, my eyes wide as I attempted to remind myself how to breathe. For all I knew, I had been smacked in the chest.

  “You know? But how?”

  “I am really lost,” Ryland said, running his hand through his hair as he looked from person to person as if something on our faces would piece it together. His bewilderment grew.

  “Don’t be daft, Ry,” Wyn scolded. Her sympathy had already been used up for the year, it seemed. Or maybe she no longer had any. It was hard to tell. “Jos and I overheard some Trpaslík henchmen talking about it—”

  “And I just realized why Míra’s Štít is empty,” Ry interrupted her, his voice still raspy from attempting to catch his breath. “It’s not connected to anything. The other side … It’s gone. His magic is in her, and she has full control.”

  If there were a time and a place for a staring match, this would be it.

  None of us moved. We stood, frozen in the dark, staring at each other, the glowing orbs of the tents seeming like ominous enemies waiting to attack.

  “Where is she?” Ilyan asked, the king coming out like a lion.

  “I had Risha take her and Jaromir back to the hall with the healers. She can stutter.”

  Ilyan jerked at the word. He probably would have run right to her if I hadn’t held him in place.

  “So I am unsure what good it will do,” Ryland continued. “But I gave them orders not to let them out of their sight.”

  My heart was once again trying to pound its way past my rib cage. I thought overhearing about my father’s witch burning was one thing, but even I could tell Ryland was spooked.

  The accidentally-falling-into-a-pool-of-mud look was suddenly making sense.

  “So it’s true, then.” Ilyan’s voice was little more than a growl. Even Wyn was on edge. I could taste her magic in the air. “Sain has killed our father.”