Burnt Devotion (Imdalind, #5)

I couldn’t remember.

The beds lined either side of the large hall, stacked one after another like dominos. Most of them were empty, with the exception of one a few feet away on my left where a small, dark-haired boy lay. Another was on the other side where my brother lay sleeping as if he was dead. The image was a weird jolt to my spine, one that probably would have grown into a panic if it wasn’t for Dramin who sat in the bed beside him, looking as unconcerned as though Thom was sleeping. I hoped that was the case.

Dramin was propped up against piles of pillows as if he could no longer support himself. Then again, judging by the bandages that were taped to his neck, I was sure he couldn’t.

I had only seen Dramin once before, and then I had been so bogged down by my demons I hadn’t really seen him. Not really. I had only seen the shadows of my subconscious. I had only seen the mutated reality that had been handed to me.

Now, looking at him from across the brightly lit hall, his face beaming with a positivity I didn’t think was possible given the situation, I couldn’t help seeing him. It was like someone had taken Sain, taught him to laugh at a young age, and then wiped the irritation out of his brow with a damp cloth.

Something about the man was intriguing, like family I didn’t know I had had.

“Excuse me?” I could barely get the words out.

“St. Vitus,” he said without looking at me, his focus up toward the ornate architecture that hung above us. “I knew you were wondering, so I am answering. Also, you were brought here by Ilyan. Wynifred had to put you under after your little … shall we say, episode?”

Episode, he says. If only they knew what you are really capable of.

If only they knew I created you to kill them.

To kill all of them.

No.

It was one word, and I twitched as I attempted to push him out of my mind, but my reaction was more than that. It was something that, while it might have gone unnoticed by Dramin, meant the world to me.

I stared at him as if he was some sort of psychic, but he only smiled, lifting his ugly mug to me with a chuckle. It’s not like he needed to say anymore. I had been around Sain enough over the past few months to know how a Drak’s mind worked.

So have I, son, so have I.

And I know more than you ever will.

I am still in control.

No, you aren’t.

Not of me.

Not anymore.

We shall see.

I shook my head as the voice filled me, as if the motion would be enough to clear the insanity. It wasn’t. His voice only grew, the laugh echoing in my ears before it faded to nothing, the sound moving back into the dark recesses of my mind.

I looked away from Dramin, hoping he hadn’t seen my lapse, only to face my brother once again, the thick cords of his hair spreading around his head like some crude crown. It would have been comical if it wasn’t for the situation.

“What happened?” I had meant to ask so much more, but it was all that could find its way out. Thankfully, Dramin seemed to understand me without question.

“Well, that boy there”—he lifted his mug to the boy on the other side of me as if I couldn’t tell who he was speaking of, but I couldn’t look away from my brother—“got bit by the nasty things, as did I.”

“And Thom?”

“Well, that is a mystery.” Dramin sighed dejectedly, his mug falling into his lap with a splash of the amber brown liquid. “No one is quite sure what happened to him.”

I know what happened to him.

The voice was a dark chuckle, a dim sound. However, for the first time since I had woken, for the first time since I had become stronger than the voices, I shivered.

This time, it was in fear.

I pushed it away. I was unwilling to admit the emotion had found me again, that my father could truly know anything of what was going on.

Looking to Dramin in question, I tried to prop myself up to sitting, my body aching with each movement until I finally managed it. The heavy blanket fell away from my torso, letting the cold fall air of the massive space move against my skin.

“Ilyan brought everyone here to figure out our next move.” There he went again, answering questions I hadn’t been able to put voice to.

“And where is he?”

“Speaking to the heads of the houses,” a new voice answered my question.

I jerked, turning toward the new arrival with a furious trepidation that tensed through my muscles, almost as if I needed to be ready to attack.

My magic reacted as the distant voice within me began to laugh, dark and deep, almost in expectation of the fight that was coming.

It never did.

It never would.

When I faced her, I knew at once that would never happen.

Not because she was a woman. No, I had battled enough women. Hell, I had killed enough women in my past to make that argument invalid.

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