Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

Edmund could infiltrate my mind as well?” I couldn’t keep the panic from seeping into my voice. I needed to save Ryland, but now it wasn’t just him – it was me as well.
    “I do not think it will come to that,” Ilyan said. “Mostly what this means is that you can draw off each other. In essence, your magic cannot survive without his and visa-versa.”
    “In the apartment,” Ilyan spoke solemnly, “it was Ryland controlling his magic through the necklace that saved you. In the alley, it was his magic that was taking the pain away. He consciously saved and protected you, even though his father was more than likely torturing him at the very same time.”
    “Torturing him? But in the dream he looked okay… Why does he look like he has been beaten, Ilyan? What’s happened to him?” My thoughts strung together before settling on the brutal image of him that still flooded me.
    “He has been beaten, Joclyn, possibly more than the television images show us. They can cast a spell on him; make it appear that he is not as injured as he is.” Wyn spoke plainly, the truth cutting me.
    “What worries me the most,” Ilyan added, “is that Edmund is not allowing Ryland to be healed, or even allowing him to heal himself. He is kept in pain to weaken him, so that he doesn’t fight back.”
    “Pain?” I asked, remembering my first assumption that he looked like I had felt the last few days.
    “Yes, Joclyn, agonizing pain. Almost the same type of pain you felt when you first received your kiss. He feels that every second of every day and must live with it.”
    “But he didn’t look like that… in the dream, I mean.”
    “That’s because you were seeing with your heart,” I turned to Ovailia’s acidic voice. “If you had taken the time to see with your mind, you would have seen the true extent of his injuries. Then perhaps we could know with more certainty how much time he has left.”
    “Enough, Ovailia.” Ilyan commanded, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from her.
    “So, Ryland is dying inside. His father is trying to delete his mind. So when you say he has maybe two weeks…”
    “I mean in a week, maybe two,” Ilyan whispered, “Ryland will be no more; he will only be a shell to be manipulated by his father.”
    I clutched my necklace, pressing the cold stone against my chest. I felt my heart beat wildly against my fingers. Once again, the mark had destroyed everything, everything I needed and wanted within my life. But this time I knew the truth; the mark had truly given me the power to get everything back, the power to fix it.
    “I will save him.” My voice was quiet, but still confident. I knew I would do whatever it would take to save Ryland, to honor my mother, to change my life.
    “I know.” Ilyan whispered.
    I turned to him, unsurprised to see that wild anticipation and crazy confidence he had had in the car. But, it wasn’t the joy I had originally mistaken it to be.
    It was power.

    Twenty-One

    Ilyan had excused himself a short while later, saying that there would be Council in an hour, and he needed to prepare. Ovailia had followed close behind him, her nasally voice whining about something I didn’t understand. The second the door had closed, Wyn rushed to me, flinging her arms around me in a tight bear hug.
    “I am so sorry, Jos, so sorry. If we could have gotten you out earlier, this never would have happened. If we…” Her voice caught and I could tell she was crying. I returned the hug, my arms hesitantly wrapping around her.
    “I wanted so badly to just run away with you the night we watched the movie at the apartment, but someone had caught sight of Ilyan that morning, and he didn’t want to risk being followed or trapped. If only we had...” She jabbered on and on, and even through the accent, I could tell she was the same old Wyn. Hearing this bit of normalcy made me smile. It took the edge off the desperate panic I felt with Ryland’s situation, and the crushing depression over my mother. I sighed deeply and leaned into her, grateful for the emotional support.
    “Can you forgive me?” she pleaded, pulling me away from her to look at me. Her eyes were so off putting; the all encompassing blackness of them, combined with the dark tattoos, made her look ominous. I moved my hand up a fraction of an inch, as if to touch her skin but put it down again. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.
    “I know, I look a little... odd. You’ll get used to it. It took me a