Crown of Cinders

by Rebecca Ethington

  “Get the pig out of here! Give your people a queen worthy of them!”

  “Ouch.” That one hurt.

  “So says the pigs,” Wyn scoffed, fire sparking as she side-stepped.

  Her need to attack them was as clear as my irritation of them, which was fine. She could attack, and I could glare.

  “I believe it’s time.” Ilyan’s magic flared as his stoic glare shifted back toward the horde, one step pulling him forward. His jaw was tight as his magic washed through me with a strength and power that left me wanting.

  “She shouldn’t even be here!” the voice erupted as a rock was hurled over the crowd.

  The rock, unlike the magic, soared past the barrier and right at us. Magic bristled, dissolving the rock into sand before it could smack me right in the face.

  “A rock?” I said, a laugh coming freely. “I think I might really be a tyrant.”

  “At least you are a tyrant who can dissolve rocks to sand.”

  “What would you like me to do, Wyn?” I sighed as another fistfight broke out beneath us.

  Wyn chuckled darkly at the development.

  “Rocks make wonderful fireballs.”

  “Well, in the interest of not lighting people on fire …” I pushed my long braid over my shoulder, letting the golden ribbon trail over my skin and float through the air in an attempt to get to Ilyan, something it seemed to do even if wind was not present. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” Ilyan’s voice was a growl, his eyes on fire as his magic resounded inside of me, his focus still on the crowd beneath us. “Ryland, as my second, you stand on my left. Joclyn, as my mate, you’re on my right. Wyn, stay close to her and use your best judgment in counterattacks. But please be careful not to bring anything down. I’m not sure how much this cathedral can take.”

  “No guarantees, Ilyan. Between asking me to keep people alive and keep the rubble intact, it might be too much,” Wyn said in a sing-song, her voice deep and dark in the seductress tone I had gotten used to. She was in her element.

  Ilyan ignored her. I didn’t blame him, not now that more rocks were being hurled at us.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Ryland shuffled his feet before taking his place beside his brother.

  Ilyan wrapped his arm around my waist as he pulled me beside him, my steps broken as I tried to keep up with his large gait.

  Watch for larger attacks from the left side, Ilyan’s voice filled me, the words sounding so focused I wasn’t even sure he was talking to me. More hostility and rocks seem to be coming from that side. I have increased the shield; it should be enough to block the stones...

  Don’t worry, darling, I interrupted as I walked unsteadily beside him. I can handle this and not kill anyone.

  Ilyan smiled as the unstable roof shifted beneath us. I felt the shift, the possibility of it falling causing my heart to fall to my toes. But no one else shifted. The four of us continued forward as a single powerhouse, their eyes narrowed toward the crowd gathered below our makeshift platform.

  Rocks peppered the barrier before us as we drew closer, sparks of multicolored magic flashing in the air and against the barrier with each step. All the while, the people fought, yelled. Fists were thrown, words hurled, and my heart galloped against my chest, a different kind of fear attempting a hostile takeover of my soul.

  Ilyan’s arm slipped from my waist as he stepped ahead of us. Ryland, Wyn, and I stopped in place with a subtle flick of his wrists.

  Wyn shuffled her feet in an attempt to stay still, the same fear I was feeling taking over her. Ilyan was getting dangerously close to the barrier, to the rocks that smacked into the magical wall with deep ripples, to the bright streams of magic that I was positive would give him something far worse than a bit of a stomach ache.

  He continued forward, his heart a riotous force against my soul as he stepped past the barrier, leaving him unprotected except for his magic that flared to deflect each attack individually. His délka vedení královsk remained behind, twisted around mine as always, bound together as we were.

  I couldn’t look away from him as he stood still and angry before them, his eyes wide as my heart thumped in my ears, fear filling me.

  “Umlčet!” Ilyan’s voice was a roar as his magic infected the word, dispersing over the crowd in a ripple, seeping into them and numbing their magic, numbing their thoughts.

  Silence spread over them as anger slipped off their faces, their shoulders slumping and eyes glossing over. As one, the anger was pulled from them as Ilyan’s magic infected them into a slack jaw stupor that I knew better than to believe, no matter how disconnected and stupid they appeared.

  They were trapped under his magic. They had no choice other than to listen.

  “Umlčet!” Ilyan repeated just as loudly, the magic grabbing them with a firmer grip, cementing them in place and pulling their focus right to him.

  “You have behaved atrociously!” Ilyan roared, his voice a dark rumble of power as he stood before them, his braid long and straight down his back, the crown bobbing on his head.

  With a few words, their eyes began to widen, their jaws dropping in awe as fear began to take hold. They saw him now as a king. Despite the spell, they were under the power of this man.

  “This type of behavior is not acceptable for my people.” Ilyan’s voice cascaded over the crowd and ricocheted off the walls like a drum. “This is not the way I expect people who hold the powers of the earth to act. You have allowed that same evil magic we have fought against for centuries to take hold amongst you. You have allowed one who once walked our halls infect you. He has planted seeds of doubt, seeds of lies, and seeds of conspiracy within each of you. By letting them take root, you have let them grow into something ugly. You have allowed the foundation of terror to take hold, to destroy you all. It is you, not Joclyn Krul, your queen, who has done this thing!”

  Ilyan shook as his voice rose, his crown shivering from the movement, his hands tense as he pointed at me then at them. Sparks of magic flew from the tips of his fingers as his power rattled uncontrollably throughout him. Throughout me.

  My chest heaved under the weight of his power, his emotions bolstering me with a potent influx of strength and power. Looking out at the controlled hysteria before me—at the people who, with one look, began to see the same power, the same regality in me that they saw in Ilyan—I could feel it in me. Torn and stained jeans and all, I straightened my shoulders.

  “For centuries, we have met in council to hear the concerns of our people to build a path into our future that suits us all. But this farce you have created is not the way it is done. I am the king, and I expect to be treated as such. I expect my words to be heard and my requests to be met. I expect my people to present themselves with decorum, pride, and the respect that I show them—nay, that their magic affords them and that their lineage has given them.”

  His speech rattled amidst everyone. It echoed against the stone. It seeped into bones. It infiltrated my soul in such a way that I could feel it become a part of me, and I was not the only one.

  Everyone in the room stood, staring at him with their eyes wide in surprise, their jaws slack in astonishment. No one moved. No one said anything, yet I was certain his magic had been dispelled from them already.

  Well, almost everyone.

  “Now who’s the tyrant?” Wyn whispered into my ear with a snicker, making it clear she had heard it all before.

  I waved her away, not wanting to ruin this.

  She scoffed in reply, but I ignored her, my mind going blank as Ilyan turned to me, gesturing me forward.

  Great. Here we go.

  Are you ready? Ilyan whispered in my mind, the tension in his voice as clear as it was on his face.

  I smiled. Love was dripping from him, smothering the slowly awakening crowd behind him into oblivion.

  Ready? I laughed. This is nothing compared to an angry Ovailia who really wants to kill you.

  Point taken, he said, a chuckle pla
inly audible in his words. Come. Let us stand together as king and queen. Those who do not see you as such have no place in our kingdom. They have no place to stand beside us in the battle we are to face. They accept you, or we reject them. This is the time we know. This is when our battle begins.

  The crowd began to shift and move as I stepped forward, placing my fingertips against the king, standing beside him as he did me, hand over hand.

  His magic moved inside of me, the connection rattling my strength as my nerves twisted underneath my skin in an eagerness to get out. The same anxious energy moved amidst the crowd, theirs in anger. The emotion rushed back into them, ready to explode. To attack, to fight, to run. It was all there on their faces. It was there, running inside of me. And now that I stood on the other side of the barrier, the emotions felt deeper, a density that threatened to explode out of me.

  All I needed was another rock to come my way, which I was certain would come in a matter of seconds.

  Wyn and Ryland stepped forward as I did, the extraordinary heat of Wynifred’s internal fire spanning over the cool air of the room. Glaring at the audience, Wyn folded her arms over a faded Boston T-shirt, full bodyguard status engaged.

  “We stand before you as your king and as your queen. We are your rulers, and as your rulers, we command—”

  “She is not fit to lead us!” a solitary voice broke over the crowd, snapping through them in a wave that discharged in tiny pockets of hatred, pockets of loyalty rising up.

  Violence erupted in sparks of magic, blasts and bangs echoing amidst the ruins as more than punches were thrown.

  A stream of violet headed toward us, Wyn stepping in front of me, ready to face it, only to have it be intercepted by an attack from one of the many Skȓíteks in the crowd. The woman rushed to stand before us in order to protect us, several others following her lead.

  One after another, they came, forming a human barrier, ready to protect us, to fight for us.

  “We need to protect those who stand with us!” Ilyan shouted above the noise, his magic already moving over them, ready to begin. “Get our people on this roof; immobilize the rest. We will deal with them once they are taken care of.”

  “Sounds boring, but you’re the boss,” Wyn mused, winking at me before jumping off the dilapidated slab of roof, fire following behind her as she went into action.

  Stay safe, můj kamarád.

  Ilyan followed Wyn’s lead without a second glance, his magic spinning inside me in the same type of mad eagerness I had seen so many times before. I could feel his exhilaration for battle resonating within me, fanning my own eagerness. But they were emotions that did not reach Ryland’s face.

  Ry stared at me, wide-eyed, fear and panic pulling at him.

  My own heart fell into the same familiarity. I could already feel it trying to eat me alive.

  “Ryland?” I asked, my thoughts moving a million miles as I blocked an attack right beside us, trying to pull him out of whatever hell he had fallen into. “We have to go.”

  We both internally went right back to the massive hall, his house falling apart around us, to the rescue mission that had been the worst kind of failure.

  I almost expected his eyes to darken and his soul to turn black.

  I almost ran away.

  I deflected another attack to the side as a blast almost hit my feet, shifting the rubble we stood on precariously. I screamed at the movement, falling back into Ryland who was still frozen in place, trapped in his father’s head, his eyes screaming for help.

  “You can do this,” I whispered, putting my hand on his forearm without thinking, ignoring the flinch that came from the contact. “You can control him, and you can help us. Ilyan brought you up as his second, after all.”

  “I know,” Ryland whispered, his voice so quiet I could barely hear him. “Just, if I lose control—”

  “You won’t. And if you do, I’ll …” I stopped midsentence, my voice catching as my head spun, my magic slamming into me so hard I was positive I wasn’t breathing. I was positive I had been hit.

  Ilyan?

  Joclyn!

  There was no other magic in me but my own, no other magic than my sight that was quickly taking control.

  My sight …

  Joclyn!

  “Joclyn!”

  I fell to the ground with a thud, Ryland’s scream mixing with Ilyan’s as he tried to catch me. Ry’s magic softened the fall, but it didn’t matter.

  Ryland’s voice echoed in my head, the sound bolstered by the screams and explosions that surrounded us. I could still see him before me, but it was fading, the world spinning around me.

  The magic moved into me, and though I tried to fight it, I couldn’t. It took control. It dragged me down. Everything was so far away. It was moving away.

  “Ryland,” I tried to force the words out as my magic swelled in my head, erupting underneath my skin in the worst kind of goose bumps, ice against fire. “I can’t stop it. You have to protect me.”

  I didn’t know if I had been able to get the words out. I didn’t know if he had heard me. I couldn’t even hear the battle anymore, yet I could see Ryland screaming at me, his curls bouncing, the magical attacks exploding over his head in pastel fireworks. I heard nothing, just the buzzing as my sight pulled at me.

  Ryland faded into the black of sight, the vision swallowing me like the drain in a tub, sucking me into oblivion.

  The power took control as my eyes darted to black, leaving me staring at the dark, the occasional quake of what I assumed were explosions rumbling around me.

  They shook my bones, everything tense with fear. I almost expected the sight to end, to drag me back to the war. However, with one sharp inhale, a flood of color wrapped around me, a million images coming one right after another before they stopped in an alley I recognized as being in Prague. Except, the sun was too yellow, the street too clean.

  The children, however, I knew at once. They were younger, but I knew their smiles and their button noses. I had never seen Jaromir without the mark on his cheek, yet I knew him without question.

  “I don’t like fighting,” Jaromir groaned as he sunk down against the wall, folding himself into a tiny pretzel.

  The world around him rattled with another blast, glass banging in frames, rocks shivering on the ground. He didn’t seem to notice. He simply lay still, his back shaking with tears as Míra came up beside him, wrapping herself around him like a cage, her cheek pressed against his back.

  “I don’t like it, and it’s getting worse.” Míra’s voice was a distant whisper as it moved within the sight of the past.

  The sound of Jaromir’s cries was haunting as they rattled with another blast.

  “Promise me you’ll never hurt me like Papa hurts Momma,” Jaromir begged, sitting up so fast that Míra had to scuttle to avoid impact. “Promise me you’ll always love me?”

  “Silly, Jay-Jay. I’m your best sister. Of course I’ll never do that.”

  The kids smiled and laughed, the sound of their promise following me as they moved away, like oil through water, colors swirling and dancing until a cave took their place.

  I expected the same cave I had seen so many times before, the one that taunted me with Ilyan’s death, the one I had seen Míra standing in days before. This one was different—a large, open cavern flooded with muddy water. I was convinced I had seen it before, but I couldn’t place it.

  My heart clenched as the memory embedded itself. The story Dramin had told me so many times smacked me in the face. I knew what this was.

  Imdalind.

  “Are you watching?” The deathly hollow of my own voice filled my ears as my sight flickered alongside another explosion, the water shimmering as the rocks shifted. Except, when the echo of battle ended, my own image was now standing before the pool. Standing, staring with a bloodied length of ribbon in my hands.

  I stood still before another explosion waved amid the sight, wiping me from view and shifting the sight back to th
e kids, back to Míra who sat, crying in a tent, back to Jaromir who was throwing rocks against a barrier. Each image flashed for a split second before they changed again, replaced by a forest I knew too well, one I had been hunted in for nights on end. Taunted by Cail and his games.

  “Are you watching?” the deep voices of a hundred Drak inside me asked again, louder. The death in my voice twisted in my stomach, writhing down to my legs as I fought the need to run. Run past the trees, away from the steps I could already hear coming after me.

  With the snap of lightning, with the rumble of thunder, the forest flickered and left, the same trees pulled into a perfect circle, a fire blazing in the center. Wyn, Ryland, and I sat around the pit, sharing the same pie we had so long ago. The sound of our laughter bounced off the trees, bounced in my ears, before it was replaced by the blast of battle, Ryland’s scream traveling alongside it.

  I cringed at the sound, at the panic, and tried once again to pull myself out of the sight. It stayed, the clearing emptying of people and pie and filling with hundreds of Skȓíteks, each dressed in clothes more fitted to that of the Elizabethan era. And in the middle of them, a woman stood with hair as blonde as Ilyan’s, dressed in white, a handkerchief over her face. Sain stood beside others I didn’t recognize with a bright blue Vilỳ I was convinced I had seen before and a Trpaslík on either side of him. The others were crying while Sain stood still, attempting to hide a smug little smile on his face.

  I stared, confused at the scene, before everything rattled again, pulling me into the middle of an ornate hall, large oak doors and marble floors surrounding me.

  I knew this hall.

  I had grown up in this hall.

  But it was not the hall of my childhood. It was the hall of my nightmares.

  It was the hall that was full of rot and rats where everything smelled of death and was dripping with water so rusty it looked like blood.

  Maybe it was.

  My mind said it was.

  My mind took me right back to those haunted halls, the explosion that shook the space making everything real.