Ilyan’s magic grew in a pulse of tight, cold pressure as we moved between worlds, but all I could focus on was the pain.
“Ilyan?” I moaned as he began to run, his movement quick and smooth, the motion so similar to when he had found me behind the dumpster. When I had broken my back, when the flame of fire had crippled me, and when I had wanted to die. Everything about this was so similar except that, this time, I didn’t want to die.
“It’s all right, my love. You are going to be all right.” His words were desperate as his feet moved more quickly, the fear of what he had just done outweighing my healing injury.
Ilyan had Stuttered.
He hadn’t dared to go far from what the sight had shown, to put too much strain on the magic that was trying to heal me, and so we remained in the abbey, the smell of fire surrounding us. Trapped and unable to Stutter again.
Ilyan held me close to him as he ran, his magic trying to numb the agonizing pain that split through my bones. I clawed at the wound, pressing myself into Ilyan’s chest as his worry washed over me, his need to keep me alive screaming at him, trying to convince him that he shouldn’t follow the path that sight had given us. To defeat Edmund.
I could already feel him rushing toward us, Ilyan’s Stutter showing Edmund exactly where we were.
Everything tensed as I felt him move closer, and I gasped in pain. Ilyan’s magic enveloped me as I coughed, the warmth of my blood spreading over my chin, the taste of dirt and iron spreading over my tongue.
“He is coming,” I gasped, my voice deep and strained as Ilyan’s grip on me tightened.
I wanted to say that we could still fight—that we could get out of here alive—but I was no longer so sure, and judging by the internal war that raged through Ilyan, I knew he felt the same.
Ilyan’s feet slowed as we came to a small alcove, the light from the fire flickering against the rock as well as us. It illuminated the stormy dusk with eerie shadows, and dark slivers of fear.
Ilyan leaned me against a large portion of rubble, the slab of wall slanted just enough that it could support my weight. His hands were soft as he lowered me down, making sure I was stable before he released me.
His fingertips lifted the shards of the shirt and hoodie to reveal the deep gash. I cringed as I saw it, my blood seeping out of large gaping gash as my magic tried to knit it back together before my eyes.
“Oheň z pekla,” Ilyan said, his teeth grinding together as he ran his hand over the injury, coating his already burned palm in my blood. “A cursed blade, one that is meant to kill on contact. Your magic appears to be stronger than it, however. You should survive it.”
I shook my head, although I wasn’t quite sure I understood. A cursed blade sounded much more dangerous than Ilyan was making it sound, and the word ‘should’ was anything other than calming.
Especially given where we were.
I bit my lip as he carefully placed what was left of the hoodie back over my stomach, leaving his hand against the gash in my skin underneath.
“Can you stand?” he asked, his palm still flat against the open wound as he pushed his magic into it.
“Yeah.” I nodded my head as I let Ilyan pull me up. My stomach felt like it was being torn apart, the open wound pulsing angrily as I stretched it in ways I knew I shouldn’t be.
I wanted to lie down and sleep, not stand and fight, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
I could hear Ilyan tracking everyone’s movements in his own mind. I could feel Edmund as he ran right toward us. I could sense the fear in Ilyan’s mind, the desperation to end this. I could also hear his fear that I was injured, that I wasn’t strong enough to fight. I was little more than a sitting duck with my hunter steps away, his gun already drawn.
I leaned against the wall behind me as I tried to find my strength, Ilyan’s arm wrapping around my back as he supported me. I gasped at the pressure, the pain leaving as Ilyan held me. I looked into the golden blue of his eyes, the light so bright that I almost forgot that we were being pursued. I forgot that we were moments away from death.
I forgot that I had failed.
“I love you, my Joclyn,” Ilyan whispered, tears building in his eyes as he reached up to press against my face, his touch soft and gentle. I cried alongside him, my heartbeat racing.
I heard the words, knew of their truth, but I also felt the words behind them, heard the pained goodbye that screamed from Ilyan’s heart.
“I love you, my Ilyan,” I said, my voice breaking, and he smiled, his joy a bright light behind his pain.
He moved closer to me, his lips brushing against mine before he stopped, his heartbeat fluttering so fast that my own froze in confusion.