Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

pain,” I moaned.
    “Not that much pain,” Talon provided with a smile. “So no reason to worry, right Wynifred?”
    “I told you, I am not worried about her. I am worried about Ryland.”
    “Ryland?”
    “Ryland?” Talon echoed me. “What does he have to do with any of this?”
    “Joclyn and Ryland have undergone the beginnings of a Zȇlství, Talon.” Wyn stated gravely, Talons jaw dropped. “If he is as weak as I am thinking, then centering her might well kill him.”
    “No!” I stood in alarm but my legs almost instantly gave out and I tumbled back down to the chair. Ilyan was at my side in a moment, his warm magic plunging into me.
    “It’s all right, Joclyn. We are not going to hurt, Ryland.”
    “But, Wyn said...”
    “I think I have found a way around that,” Ilyan interrupted me.
    “How?” Wyn demanded angrily.
    “We will use the drevo.”
    “Again?” Wyn exclaimed. “So soon? What if the magic rejects her?”
    “I don’t think it will.”
    “But what if it does?”
    “Wynifred.” Ilyan ended their conversation with one word. “Please go draw a bath.”
    “I can’t use the tub in her room, Ilyan; it hasn’t been cleaned I...”
    “You can use mine, Wynifred.”
    “Yes, My Lord.” Wyn curtseyed and exited. Talon followed her but not without clapping Ilyan hard on the back. Ilyan flinched before turning back to me.
    “A bath? The same as before?” I asked, once the door closed behind them.
    “Yes, so please, try not to fight us this time.”
    Ilyan helped me to stand and guided me out the door and down the hall, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other holding tightly to my hand. I was grateful for the extra help, no matter how uncomfortable his proximity made me. The small amount of walking to and from Wyn’s room had winded me more than I would have thought.
    We turned into the cream-colored hallway, Ilyan nodding to what I now assumed to be a guard.
    “You will be staying with me in my corridor for the time being. I would like to have you close, just in case anything happens.” He smiled at me. I tried to return it, but couldn’t. Being so close, and having someone want me so close, was uncomfortable.
    “This room is yours,” he nodded solemnly to the door to the left. “And don’t worry, we will strip it of brown and orange by morning. This room here,” he nodded to the door directly across the hall, “is Ovailia’s. I would say to stay out of her way, but you will find that to be an impossibility soon enough.” He said and I got the distinct impression that his sister was more of a bother than I had originally thought. We came to the end of the hall which housed three different doors; one directly in front of us and two at either side.
    “These doors here all belong to me, irritatingly enough, and you are welcome any time.” His hand fanned across my back as he led me through the door directly in front of us. I drew into myself at his touch; I don’t know why it made me so uncomfortable. Ilyan had found me, saved my life; but in some weird way it felt disrespectful to Ryland to even let him touch me.
    The room had been decorated in much the same way as the hall, with cream walls and cream carpet. Tucked into the corner, next to a window, was a giant bed with a white bedstead and white comforters, a large squishy divan nestled up against it. The room was so white and airy, even with the dark light of evening it still felt comforting.
    I could hear the sound of water running from one of the side rooms; the burning wood and mint smell stronger than I remembered. My body tensed-up, the memory of being held underwater still strong and terrifying. Ilyan rubbed my back comfortingly as he led me to the bathroom.
    The bathroom was only just smaller than the entire brown and orange room, the walls and floor covered in a white tile that brilliantly reflected the light from a large crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. Wyn was swirling dark blue water around in a huge claw-footed tub, the color fading the more she moved the water. A small hand-carved wooden box sat open on a marble sink top revealing the contents of what looked like chunks of dirt, weeds and bark.
    “What is that?” I asked, my mouth going dry.
    “It is the drevo. It is a mixture of bark of the Pristỳat tree, dirt that comes from the standing stones in Scotland, and the leaves of a Vzkrí,” Ilyan explained.
    I nodded, “I am just going to pretend I understood what