I understood, and I would perfect it.
Silently, I ran over the streets of the deep red city, the solitary sound of the flapping cloak filling the lifeless city. The fabric was heavy, perfect for the prickly harshness of cold that was familiar for Prague this time of year. Once I was outside the barrier, it would be needed. Now, it was nothing more than a hindrance. What little of winter that made it through the greenhouse effect the barrier had created felt out of place against the stagnant pressure of the heat.
To Kozi, near the river.
My power flared inside of me at the sound of her voice, the strength of her command. The deep growl of the pure Drak magic swelled as I pulled it from the place I had hidden it within myself.
The icy chill of the powerful magic swirled as it took control, flooding me, and then, with the tiniest pop, with the smallest amount of effort, I moved, my body stuttering right to where Ovailia had commanded: the Kozi—the long, historic street that extended straight from the Vltava River, the banks of which had overflowed weeks ago, leaving bright red water lapping against the historic buildings, eroding the cobbles and thousands of years of history.
One place to another, without the faintest bit of effort.
A stutter.
A perfect stutter.
As they were meant to be.
Ilyan could perform a stutter because of the magic of his father, the weak strain of Drak magic the Chosen children possessed. It was why Edmund could stutter so flawlessly, and Ilyan was able to because the whispers of the same power ran through his own veins, the tiny magic amplified by the magnitude of his power. It was only the Drak who could truly stutter, who could truly manipulate time and space.
Drak power Edmund had stolen, that Ilyan had seized.
For centuries, I had let them believe it had something to do with the amount of power a body held.
It was an easy lie to let grow, just like all the others.
Like the ‘sight’ that had led Edmund to order the murder of all those bastard Chosen children who were like his siblings. One word to him about their danger and he had killed them all.
I needed them gone, and Edmund had given that to me.
It was needed. I couldn’t control their magic, after all. I couldn’t restrain the Drak power within the Chosen children as I had in my progeny, as I still struggled to do in Joclyn.
Letting that much power roam free would risk the future I had planned. The magic was too powerful for them, anyway. They had not deserved it. No one, not even my precious Dramin, deserved it.
At least I could control him.
Consequently, they had to go.
Joclyn would go, too. I had already groomed Edmund for that task centuries before. Although, at the time, I had assumed I would be able to control her, use her, a bit more than I had. No matter. She would be gone soon, thanks to a little information leaked to Edmund like a slow drip.
They saw her as nothing more than a threat, not what she really was. Edmund would destroy her, and thanks to sight, I already knew how Ilyan’s life would end.
They were the only two who could stop me, and they were half-dead already.
Everything was coming together.
I sped through the alley, moving dangerously close to the high wall of the dead end, as her voice came again. The false sugar she was so good at coating it with grew deeper. Near the wall, on Na Ostrohu.
The blood-splattered stone wall was inches from me before my magic surged again, pulling me from one side of the city to another. This time, it was to a large street nestled beside the wall, the red-tinged light so deep you could barely see through it.
Running beside the modern homes and buildings felt out of place, the light tinting everything a deep crimson. I should have enjoyed the imagery of a beautiful scarlet world, but something was wrong. Something felt different. Something was here.
I froze in place, the constant movement Edmund believed was required in order to move me through his cage breaking with a snap.
Why did you stop? You are running out of time. The rare panic in Ovailia’s voice surprised me, but I didn’t let it show. I looked toward the rooftop, toward the building where a faint popping noise of another stutter had resonated from.
Ilyan.
And I was sure, knowing them, Joclyn would be with him.
I had never been able to track her magic.
It was too pure, too close to my own. Besides, she was learning to master it faster than I could figure out how to block her, even though she had no idea that was what was happening. To her, it seemed like everything was broken, not that everything was starting to work properly.
That was probably thanks to my own interference, but we didn’t need to let her in on that little tidbit.
“Hello, daughter,” I whispered, a grin spreading over my face.