Thom nodded at Dramin’s question, his magic surging as he brought the can of artichoke hearts he had been snacking on over to him.
“What’s wrong with Ryland?” I asked, even though I already knew. I felt so many of the same things when I fought my own insanity, felt the same anger pull at me when my emotions surged. When wicked magic got too close.
“Edmund is getting closer, Siln?. Ryland can feel it in the air, and it’s affecting his madness the same as it is for you. Same as for everyone. The earth has been screaming for days.” Thom waved the speared artichoke heart toward the never-ending thunderstorm that surrounded us as he spoke.
I cringed. I had felt the pulsing anger for days, and although it had run through me and heightened my agitation, Ryland’s actions seemed more like someone else was pulling the strings. I didn’t want to think of it that way, though, of what else Edmund could be doing to him.
“Although you seem to be coping well. Did you sleep well last night?” Thom’s statement snapped me right back from my reverie, my heart rate picking up as I narrowed my eyes at him.
“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice hard as I glared into him. Thom didn’t seem to care, however. He grunted, looked away, and plopped another artichoke in his mouth. I narrowed my eyes at him in expectation of an answer, but he dutifully ignored me.
It was probably best he didn’t answer me; it was just as Dramin had said, everyone had seen the ribbon in Ilyan’s hair. They already knew, and Thom was just as good as anyone at pointing out things he shouldn’t.
I sighed grumpily and looked away from him, my eyes pulling me right back to Ilyan who now had his eyes closed, his hand placed over Ryland’s temples.
“You seem to really care for Ryland,” Dramin whispered, his voice low. I didn’t even turn to look at him. I kept my focus on Ilyan, knowing that Dramin’s worry was misplaced.
“He was my best friend, Dramin,” I said, the truth of the word ‘was’ painful on my tongue. “Beyond that—anything we had before—those feelings are gone.”
Ilyan’s hands dropped from the sides of Ryland’s head as he finished binding his emotions and memories. Ryland’s eyes opened as he shook his sagging curls, his body seeming somewhat limp and deflated. Sain and Wyn moved right up to him, helping Ry to stand before they swept him from the room, their departure a silent signal, the last knoll before we plunged into the forest to fight our way out.
Ilyan stood as they did and walked toward us, his face dark and stoic. My nerves cringed against what I knew was coming, the words he was preparing already circulating through my head. He walked up right behind me, his magic that lived within me warming the closer he got until it sparked into a pleasant fire at the pressure of his hand against my shoulder. I sighed at the contact, hating the hoodie that dampened the warmth I was so used to feeling.
“Are you well enough to travel, Dramin?” Ilyan asked, his voice deep as it spread through the room.
“I can walk, if that’s what you are asking,” Dramin chuckled as he drained his mug before placing it in a large knapsack he had set on the floor beside him. “Although for how long, and how fast, has yet to be seen.”
“I will help him, Ilyan.” Thom shoved his hands into his pockets as he stood, accusation and humor shining behind his eyes as he looked at me, though he stayed silent. It was probably best; with Thom his comments were either overly sharp or terribly rude. Neither of which were needed this close to fleeing the abbey and facing the armies that lay in wait.
When Dramin wobbled as he leaned against Thom, my heart bumped so hard against my chest that it was a pain that shot through me. He was so weak, I wasn’t even sure he could walk, let alone fight. Or escape. My throat closed up at the thought.
“Congratulations, may the wells of Imdalind follow your union,” Dramin whispered, nodding his head reverently toward us before he turned to go, Thom careful to lead him away.
“My Lord. My Lady,” Thom said, his voice deep as they walked out the door toward stage one of the plan that Ilyan had burned into my mind.
“Why am I not surprised?” Ilyan chuckled into the silence of the empty room as I pulled myself to standing.
You should have hidden your hair.
“And wear a hoodie? Not for me.”
“I’m sure I could find a magazine that would tell you otherwise.”
“Hmmm, Spanish magazines were never my forte,” Ilyan sighed as his arm wrapped around me, guiding me from the room.