“Show me.” Ilyan grabbed my hand and placed it against his forehead. I sighed as his magic pulsed and flowed into me, pulling the memory out of my head.
I watched the T?uha play before me, the speed picked up and slowed down, at times portions repeated, as Ilyan gleaned the information he wanted. The second he was done, I pulled my hand away. Ilyan had done that to me once before, when he was trying to teach me how to do it myself, and it gave me a headache then too. He could only perform that particular magic with certain people, and seeing as I was one of them, I guess he figured he had permission to do it whenever he wanted to, without asking.
“See?” I asked, still bouncing on my toes in excitement. “He remembers, doesn’t he?”
“I am not sure. He could, or it could simply be a desire he had at that age.”
I stopped bouncing immediately, my hope falling to my toes. “What do you mean, a ‘desire’?”
Ilyan shifted his towel and ran his fingers through his wet hair, his tell for when he didn’t want to share something with me. I folded my arms over my chest, refusing to look away from him.
“Ilyan,” I said, “tell me.” He hesitated a moment longer.
“Edmund kept the Vil? prisoners in that cage for hundreds of years. Ryland must have known about their existence from the day he was born. He is not without a heart; he can’t look at a trapped creature and not wish to release them. The drawing could very easily be a projection of his desire to let them go at the time. I didn’t even know it was Ryland who had let the Vil? out until you told me last spring. And, besides that, who knows how he let them out, or how many, or even what color.” He finished, his eyes never leaving mine.
“But the Vil? was blue, Ilyan. The Vil? who bit me was blue, too.” I said, my resolve weakening as I clung to my last bit of hope, but Ilyan’s irritating logic was drowning it far too fast.
“It could be a coincidence.”
“So, you are saying he doesn’t remember me at all?” I snapped.
“You know where I stand on this, Joclyn. He’s gone.” Ilyan reached out to put a wet hand on my shoulder, but I moved away from him. He had ruined the little bit of hope I had found, dashed it into a million pieces.
“But, I saw it. He can’t... He has too...” I stumbled around, my chest heaving angrily.
“I am sorry, Siln?. I didn’t know you were still holding out hope.” I snapped my head up to him, the magic in my fingers prickling angrily.
“You should be holding out hope too, Ilyan. Even if you don’t think it could ever happen, you should still believe there is a chance. He’s your brother. You can’t turn your back on that.”
Ilyan opened his mouth to rebut, but said nothing. His lack of response making me more upset.
“Enjoy your shower,” I spat, and with one thought I sent him flying away from me. He hit the shower curtain and crumpled into the shower as I turned the hot water on over him. I looked at his startled face for a moment before slamming the door between us, my hands still in balls by my sides.
Five
Isat with my back against the sliding glass door that led out to the tiny balcony. The balcony I wasn’t allowed to enter that was filled with fresh air I wasn’t allowed to breathe. I sat this way so I didn’t have to look out onto the city of Santa Fe and dream of leaving my prison. With my back toward the world, I couldn’t be reminded of all I was being forced to sacrifice. Of course, it couldn’t take away the thoughts, but it didn’t make them quite so sharp.
My head leaned against the cool glass, my eyes closed in concentration. My hands sat on my folded knees, fingers extended. I allowed my magic to pulse and flow into the air and used my mind to control the objects that littered the ground in front of me.
A top spun gracefully on its point, a block changed color in a rainbow of hues, the carpet they sat on grew in length while fluxing and bending around the other two objects. All the while, a flurry of conjured snowflakes danced and spun around me as I sat cross legged against the glass.
It was probably a little excessive, but I needed to keep my mind off of my fight with Ilyan.
Ryland’s drawing had dug up my passionate hope that he was trapped, and not erased. And Ilyan’s offhand comments had just as quickly dashed them. I was trying so hard not be mad at him, but I was fighting a losing battle.