Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

and placed his hand gently against my face. I stiffened as his warmth moved into me, moving right to my back. It spread comfortably down my spine, wiping away the small aches that had popped up from our impact.
    “I didn’t break my back again, if that’s what you’re checking.”
    “I know, but it’s always best to double check.” He smiled before removing his hand, letting his fingers trace the kiss again.
    “Why do you do that?” I said, moving swiftly away from his touch.
    “Do what?”
    “Touch my kiss. It seems you take every opportunity to touch it.”
    He withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”
    “Not as much as it should, I suppose,” I lied; it actually made me very uncomfortable, like he was touching me in an intimate way. “When Ryland touched it, I kind of blacked out. Why doesn’t it do that with you?”
    “Because you are not bonded to me, Joclyn. I am not your mate and so our bodies don’t react.”
    “Mate?” I exclaimed, terrified.
    “Yes, Joclyn the Zȇlství, remember? Everything just has a different name.”
    I nodded my head like I understood, but my stomach still spun. Mate? I was sixteen, barely.
    “So why do you keep touching it?” I asked, freaking out a little bit. “You don’t expect the same thing to happen, do you?”
    Ilyan laughed, which I should have been happy about, but instead it only made me feel really embarrassed.
    “No, Joclyn, you don’t have to worry about that. I am only here to protect you. It’s just…”
    “What?”
    “It’s just been so long since I have seen one, since my father… My father had a kiss just as you do, did you know that?”
    “Your father? But I thought you were a…a...Skry…” Darn it, I had forgotten the word.
    “A Skȓítek, Joclyn.”
    “I thought you were a Skȓítek?”
    “My mother was. My father was a Chosen Child just as you. So I guess I am kind of a half-breed,” he said.
    “A half-breed… who is king of the Skȓítek’s?”
    Ilyan nodded at my connection. “My father ruled over all magical beings for a time, many years ago. So, I guess you could say that I inherited the title.”
    “Your father was king? Of the Skȓíteks?”
    “More along the lines of king over everyone. In that time, there was no true segregation.”
    “What happened to him? Did Edmund kill him, too?”
    Ilyan hesitated, looking away and running his hands through his straight hair.
    I instantly regretted asking the question.
    “My father was the first person that Edmund destroyed,” he clarified.

    Twenty-Seven

    I had spent the last two days in the air, although it wasn’t by choice. Ilyan had insisted that once I had grasped the concept, I perfect it. I knew it was all with the pretense of my need to escape, and it made me mad. I had perfected moving wind, even under the barrier the necklace gave me for short distances. But it wasn’t enough for Ilyan; he insisted I do better. I should have been happy for his persistence in teaching me, but I wasn’t. I wanted to be stronger, know more and actually be of use when we went to save Ryland.
    I yelled and screamed at Ilyan, begging him to teach me something new, to show me how to at least defend myself, but he refused. He was adamant that I perfect my mastery of wind. He demonstrated ways I could use the wind defensively, but I learned them easily, my skills improving swiftly now. Moving around pebbles and benches wasn’t enough for me, and I begged further. I must have pushed it too far; about three hours ago, Ilyan had snapped. He said nothing, but the ice in his gaze cut through me, and I shrank away, running to my room to escape the onslaught I was sure I had unleashed, but it never came.
    I sat in the windowsill that overlooked the courtyard with my head against my knees. I looked out into the yard, but saw nothing except a green haze as the setting sun streamed through the green leaves of the massive tree. I had come here when I had fled from Ilyan and had attempted to teach myself some form of defensive magic, but I had no idea what I was doing.
    My magic had surged and crackled underneath my skin and between my fingertips as I tried to conjure something, anything that could be of use. But nothing happened in all the hours that I tried. My inability to conjure more than wind had only soured my bad mood further.
    I had stopped attempting any form of magic when the news had come on a few minutes ago, my ears perking up at the sound of my name. It seemed