“I know,” Thom finally said, his voice too soft for him, broken by too much emotion.
Sitting up in surprise, I looked at him lying there all weak and limp, his eyes clearly glistening with foreign tears. “Are you crying?” I asked, my mind running over every possible reason for them, from internal bleeding to possession to memory loss.
My heart beat more loudly with each one before he smiled, the wide grin out of place with the tears.
“Wait. Are you possessed?” I asked, my voice shaking with my own tears as his began to flow. “Because I have seen The Exorcist; I am fully schooled in what to do.”
“I’m not possessed,” Thom said with that gruff voice of his, his still strong chicken arms pulling me back into him, holding me against his chest. “I am allowed to be sad, Wynifred.” His voice rumbled through his chest and into me as I lay there, listening to his heart, feeling his magic press against his skin, my own warming within me at the close proximity. “Besides, I have cried before.”
I knew that. I had seen him. I had seen him cry and sob when it had happened, when she had been taken from us. Both then and in the months after.
The temporary comfort I felt vanished, the imagery of that moment, of those tears, hitting me hard in the chest. Her cries echoed inside my head, even without the blade, and I jerked.
Thom tightened his arms around me in what I knew he thought was a show of comfort. However, I was suddenly feeling very trapped.
“I saw her, you know,” he said, breaking the silence, digging the blade I knew I had been stabbed with a little deeper, carving out my heart bit by bit.
I was sure the bottom of my soul was falling out.
That sounded a bit like an Iron Maiden song. They were not my favorite.
“I saw her while I was stuck … wherever I was.” A seriousness that was unfamiliar to him took control of him, and I tensed, my heart beating so fast now that everything was going numb, the world around Thom and me spinning.
I ignored it, though, keeping my focus on the way his hand felt against my back, on the sound of his heart. Everything around us was going topsy-turvy, but those were constant. Now they needed to stay that way.
“I would hear your voice, feel your magic, feel your hand against mine, and then I would dream of you and Rosy and even Cail. But not psychopath Cail. Cail the way he used to be. Cail when he was my friend—”
“It was the blade,” I said, staring at an old brown stain on the sheet that was stretched over Dramin’s part of the room, the white cotton splattered with red.
The imagery was too much, and I sat up, hovering over him, swallowing in a desperate attempt to get the lump out. Part of me wished I could stick the information in his head like Jos and Ilyan were able to. This whole show and tell thing was a tad bit painful.
I was covered in badges of survival, covered in reminders of everything I had done.
“You got a piece of the blade?” he asked, and I nodded.
His face lit up as he pushed himself into a sitting position, the bed creaking as he leaned against it.
I wanted to tell him to lie down or even force him to. What I was about to tell him was going to be a sucker punch, not the story of success that I already knew he expected it to be.
From the moment we had watched Rosaline die, from the moment we had watched Edmund create the jagged piece of blood and stone from the purity of her soul and the magic in her blood, it had been our task to retrieve that monstrous thing.
To retrieve it and to free her.
After so long, I had found a piece.
“I don’t have it anymore.”
Sucker punch! Achievement unlocked.
His face fell, his brow furrowing in what I knew at once was more anger than disappointment.
I sighed. I never really liked facing Thom when he was angry. I would rather charm a cobra.
“I found it inside of Ryland,” I plowed on before more rage could explode out of him. “I removed it when we escaped the massacre, right at the beginning. It’s probably the only reason he’s not such a mess anymore. Edmund was using it to control him.”
“Edmund was using it …”
I nodded. My lips were a tight line as his jaw snapped closed, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced than ever.
“I should have known better, Thom. I was stupid. If Edmund was using it that way, I should have known what was coming for me.” I sighed, the sound loud and long as I attempted to expel the extra stress that was building up in my gut.
It didn’t help.
“I could hear her voice all the time: during the day, while I slept. But it wasn’t some pretty song or memory; it was her death … always her death. I used to get dreams about it before, but then I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t know what I was seeing. Talon always told me it was another life …” I smiled, the honesty in what he had said hitting me. “This was so much worse than that.”
Thom was silent. I couldn’t even look at him. Admitting that flooded me with far too many memories of that night, of watching my little girl go through that, of Thom running away.
It hurt too much.
Pressing my lips into a tight line, I steeled myself, knowing I needed to continue. “I would put the blade in your hand when everyone was asleep, part of me hoping that maybe you would also hear her, that maybe you could hear the good thing. Maybe it would wake you up.” Shaking my head in embarrassment, I leaned against the footboard, the creaking of springs and frame loud in the silence.
“But I saw her, Wyn. Even if I didn’t wake up, I saw her. I talked with her. I held her …” His voice caught as my chest tightened, a heat spreading over my face as I tried not to let the tears force their way past my badass exterior.
I already knew I wouldn’t be successful.
Just hearing him say it brought back that moment, that same beautiful and horrifying moment of holding her, of loving her, even if it was one last time.
“So did I,” I said, my voice breaking as the tears that began to fall down my face. Chilled rivers of them flowed over my cheeks before splashing against my collarbone, a hiss barely audible as the heat in my skin sent them back into the air in steam and smoke.
Thom’s eyes widened as worry overtook his pain. “Running a bit hot, are we?”
“Yeah, I warned you I would burn you,” I said without thinking. “It’s been an issue ever since Jos and I knocked down that chapel. I should probably try to restrain my magic a bit better, but seeing as Jos isn’t around, it’s not my first priority.”
If I needed to be around her, perhaps I would wear a full body sock.
I laughed at the thought, lost in my head.
Thom, however, was staring at me with changing degrees of confusion and worry.
“Wyn?”
“That blade messed up a lot, Thom. A lot. But I also got to see her when Edmund took control of the blade. I saw her.” Speaking carefully, I lifted the hand he had been so mesmerized with, the hole angry and red, as if it knew I was talking about it. “She saved me. She saved us.”
Hand before me, I uncurled my fingers with my palm facing Thom as I smiled at him through the gap before pressing my palm against my eye and looking through the hole like it was the spy glass Joclyn wanted it to be.
“See? You should—”
“He tried to take control of me, Thom. He pushed the blade into my hand, but Rosy saved me. She fought his control. She got me here so I could save you …”
My stomach fluttered, my words shaking as I retold everything that had happened.
His lips pressed into a tight line as the story unfolded. The fascination faded into horror as he finally understood what the gap in my hand really was.
The look of realization on his face was making me uncomfortable.
Shifting my weight, I started to move away, but before I could get far, Thom grabbed me, pulling my hand toward him. His soft fingers moved over the skin, his touch gentle now, as if the skin of my palm was sacred.
/> His eyes grew wide with fear before narrowing in the perpetual anger that made him so Thom.
“We have to stop him. We have to stop all of them. We have to make them pay: Edmund for hurting her, Ovailia for helping—”
“What if Edmund is dead?” I interrupted, the same tinge of regret I had been fighting smacking me around. I wanted to kill Edmund. The fact that I might have missed my chance was infuriating.
“It doesn’t matter. We will destroy who ever we need to in order to save her,” he said with his usual grumble, as if the end goal made it all better. “Besides, if Edmund is dead, and Sain is responsible, he may have had more to do with her death than we thought. Sain let Ovailia poison me, he’s been working with her. He’s been working with them both for a long time.”
“I want to say he’s your best friend, and that he wouldn’t … But I don’t think I can swallow that lie anymore.”
“He’s not my best friend, not anymore!” he snapped, his anger erupting like the volcano he was. “My best friend would not have told Edmund of our escape and told him how to kill her in order to make the blade.”
My gut twisted, the memory of the night rushing back to me, unwanted. “He was in the sight of our escape, Thom. We both saw him.”
“He can control it more than he wants anyone to believe.” He sighed, slamming his hand into his forehead in a regret I didn’t think I understood. “I’ve seen him do it before. If he had any part in Rosy’s death, I will end him.”
“You would kill your best friend?” I asked, not believing for a second that it was possible for him to do. “You risked everything for him before …”
I knew he could, but that type of reversal didn’t seem like Thom. Then again, Sain’s betrayal didn’t seem like the man he knew, either.
“I would kill whoever I needed to in order to make this all stop.” Now that sounded like Thom. “No matter how long of a line I have to stand in to get there.”
“That line seems to be getting longer every day,” I said with a sigh, the tension in my shoulders leaving as his thumb moved over the skin of the hand he still held. “I’m gonna have to fight to be first, aren’t I?”
“Not as much as you think. I know that bloodlust in your eyes better than anyone, Wynifred. If you get there first, take the shot. Don’t hesitate. Do it for her. Besides, as long as someone destroys him, I’ll be happy.”
“That, I believe, is a given,” I said, unwilling to let my eyes leave his. The gentle flicker of red daylight glinted past the window, making everything a bit more nefarious than it needed to be. “I don’t think there is any way this can end without Edmund slash Sain face down in his own blood.”
“You say that like you are speaking of the epic ending of a six-year-old’s birthday party.”
“Maybe I am.” I shrugged, my hand finally leaving his as I lay back down next to him.
The deep laugh I loved so much filled the depressing space and sucked the ominous pressure out of the air.
“All we need is a clown,” I quipped.
“Or pony rides.”
We laughed at that, but it was shallow, full of all the fear and trepidation our world was surrounded by.
Ignoring it, I curled into Thom, letting all the crap pass us by. I wasn’t going to move anytime soon. I would stay like this for the rest of my life if he asked me. Of course, that required Thom never leaving the bed and me not beating him in destroying the mysterious Edmund slash Sain combo, both of which were not going to happen.
“You better not go anywhere else,” I gasped out, knowing how pathetic the worry sounded in my voice and not really caring.
“Where am I going?” he teased, poking his fingers into my side. “Guam?”
“You know what I mean.” My voice was barely above a growl.
“I could say the same thing, Wyn,” he said, the grip he had on me increasing as he pulled me closer. “Before Jos saved you, I thought for sure you were a goner.”
“Nice to know you were rooting for me to pull through.” It was hard to keep the irritation out of my voice. Though I knew he didn’t mean it the way I had taken it, I was suddenly on high alert, expecting the dream to turn into a nightmare or some such nonsense.
“I was, Wyn.” He sighed, his hand leaving my arm to run down the side of my head, his fingers soft as they glided over my hairline.
I shivered.
“Just as you were, I never left your side—”
“I think,” I said, my heart suddenly beating a million miles an hour, “that we have had quite enough of near-death experiences and bedside vigils.”
“I can agree with that,” he said with a laugh, his fingers tangling in my hair as I rested against him.
The tension in my neck and chest began to release.
“Good, because the less of those this world has, the more it can have of other things.”
“Other things?” he asked.
I was walking into a bear trap, and part of me didn’t care.
“Yeah … you know, like monster truck rallies and Styx reunion tours that go on outside of Wendover, Utah, and kisses and terrible books and—”
“Wyn?” Thom said as he pressed his finger against my chin softly, tilting my head enough to look at him.
Instead of the deep, passionate blue of his eyes, I was met by a mischievous glare and a sly smile. It was a look I returned, knowing Thom far too well not to realize something was coming.
“Yes?” I was understandably wary.
“How did you manage to destroy the cathedral and not be murdered by my brother?”
“Let’s say that Ilyan had more important things on his mind.” I snickered, leaning against him again. “That and I saved him from an army of undead corpses; that probably helped, too.”
“Undead corpses?” Thom gasped, obviously concerned.
“We have much to talk about, young kemosabe.”
“Thank God we have a lifetime to do it.”
“Indeed.”
JOCLYN
18
Everything was still in the drenching silence of misery that had taken over the camp, soaking into each of us until we were nothing more than a damp rag.
At least, that’s how I felt. And, with the way Ryland slumped against the wall next to me, he was a damp rag, too.
Damp and hollow and empty, like the long hospital corridor we sat in. Like our souls.
I might be mistaken, but I thought mine might have slithered away, off to find a land full of real sunshine.
I told Ryland that, and he tried to smile, but mostly, he cried and slammed his head into the wall we sat against.
“Don’t do that, Ry.” I moved to lean against him, but thankfully, I stopped myself from resting my head on his shoulder just in time. The familiarity of this position made that movement too easy.
“Don’t do what?” he snapped, his anger working hard to mask the crippling pain of loss. “Cry? Yell? Run out and find the little brat who did this to us?” His voice rose with each word as he gestured with his hands toward the large wooden door at the end of the hospital, toward the room that used to be a broom closet and now held the three sheet-covered bodies of our family.
I stared at the door as his fingers began to shake, my heart in pain that I tried arduously to dismiss. But looking at the door and knowing what was behind it hurt.
“No.” I felt the need to cry but couldn’t make the tears come. It was lost, just like my soul. “Crying is okay, especially right now. Hurting yourself, however …”
He cast me a sidelong glance. “Point taken.” His response was barely above a growl, one that spanned over the still silence of the room, over the soapy floors that some of the healers had desperately tried to clean before being ushered out by Ilyan, who was on his way to another council. The council would decide the fate of those who had chosen to fight against us. The council would also seal our fate for the battle that was coming.
You couldn’t win a war if everyone left. And that, if what
Ilyan and Ryland had told me about the battle I had missed was true, was exactly what was going to happen.
I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.
Sighing, I slammed my head into the wall exactly as Ryland had, regretting the action immediately. That hurt.
“Now who is hurting themselves?” Ryland prompted, the anger still drowning his voice.
“I’m not hurting myself,” I retorted, my eyes burning with the ripple of the impact. “I’m trying to dislodge whatever it is in my brain that is causing this mess and get us out of this nightmare and back to reality.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy, Jos.”
“Nothing ever is.” This time, I did lay my head on his shoulder. I knew I shouldn’t, but right then, there was no monster left in him. There was only my best friend.
There were only two broken hearts.
“I loved her, Jos,” he admitted after a minute, his shoulders tensing into a rock underneath me.
I hadn’t expected that.
I tried to swallow, but it was all dry and prickly. The tension in his muscles moved through me, knotting my stomach.
“No, Ry.” I was barely able to get the words past my desert dry-throat. “You still love her. That doesn’t have to go anywhere.”
“But she does.”
His heartbreak echoed my own. It leached into his words and tensed in his chest, pressing against my own heart so heavily I was having trouble breathing again. The flood of tears came shortly after.
Our sobs were the only sound in the long hall, broken and pained and heart-wrenching until the loud slam of the door interrupted us.
All thoughts of tears were forgotten as Wyn began walking toward us, bottle and glasses in one hand, Thom leaning heavily on the other.
“Thom.”
The one good thing in all of this. The only good thing left, it seemed. We hadn’t lost everything.
Struggling to my feet, I raced toward them.
Crown of Cinders Page 23
