Burnt Devotion (8 page)

Why hadn’t he told me before? We had been imprisoned together. He had helped me pull away from the beast I had been infected with. Why had he said nothing then?

Part of me knew it shouldn’t matter. Within the larger field of what we had been dealing with, this small piece of information was as inconsequential as bread, and yet … it felt like a betrayal. He had known what they were doing to me, and he had never once said the same had been done to him.

I could feel my blood boil as the betrayal grew into something more. I clenched my jaw together as if that alone was enough to keep it from exploding out of me.

“Why … why… didn’t you tell me … you knew?” I growled, my voice rumbling no matter how hard I tried to control it.

Sain didn’t flinch at my outburst. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge me while the heat of my magic grew while my chest started heaving in panicked breaths. I hadn’t even realized I was heaving, that my hands had resumed their constant pulling, my scalp filling with the painful pricks of pressure at the action.

He lied. He lied!

“He can’t have,” I answered the voice aloud, even though I hadn’t meant to. The desperate need to fight to keep Sain as the savior he had been to me was strong.

He lied.

“No … please no.”

“Ryland.” I heard Sain’s plea, but I didn’t look up at him. It was taking all my willpower to keep the voice at bay, to keep hold of what little sanity I had left.

“Ryland.” The pressure of his hand against mine increased, the comforting weight enough to break through the weight. Albeit, barely.

“It wasn’t my choice not to tell you. My sight did not show me of what was to come until now.”

“Do you always follow what your sight says?” My question was more in irritation than honesty. I already knew the answer. I had asked him the same thing more than once, and the answer had irritated me more every time. Something Sain very well knew, which is why he only laughed at me, the sound deep and abrasive.

More lies.

No, not lies. He’s telling me the truth.

Lies.

Don’t waste your time with him.

Kill him, too.

I flinched at the voice, barely able to maintain control of my mind, despite the constant onslaught.

“My father … he controls…” The broken words were all I could hope to get out through the schizophrenic conversation that was rattling inside of me.

It was the same as always—broken words, broken mind.

Luckily, Sain caught my meaning as perfectly as he always had.

Through the broken pieces of my reality, I had watched my father control Sain’s sight again and again, even before we knew what Joclyn really was. Although, he still “saw,” much of what he was given was now controlled by my father.

“I control my sight more than you know.”

I hadn’t expected that response. I heard the voice scream inside of me before it silenced to a hum while I tried to understand what he was saying, understand the nuances behind it.

“What do you mean?”

“I am the first of my kind, the first to control my power. All the power of the Drak flows through me. I see what all others see and control the flow of that magic. It is the same with your father. He is the first of the chosen children, his first mate the immediate descendant of the first of the Skȓíteks. All the magic of the Chosen flows through him. It is why he is so powerful.”

I could only stare at him as he spoke, the depth of what he told me sounding more like a prayer than a secret. Part of me was sure it was both. The knowledge felt powerful and scary.

“You mean, all the magic is connected, like some sort of waterfall?” It was the only analogy I could think of through the broken pieces of my mind. A waterfall, a steady flow from the top to the bottom, a ribbon that flows through everyone.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t I know this?”

“I’m not sure even Ilyan knows. And, if he does, he is using it to his advantage. Ilyan is powerful for a reason, you know.”

To protect Jos. The thought was simple enough, a fact I had been told time and time again, but it was one that had always hurt.

I growled as the voice came again, as the anger and madness that came with even thinking about her took over, the pain and anguish of lost love and hatred squashing me.

Protect?

More like steal.

He took her.

I know.

I couldn’t deny it.

Now she hates you.

She deserves to die.

He deserves to die.

I want to…

Stop playing around.

Kill them.

Kill them all.

I tried to fight it. I pressed myself into the wall. I hit myself against it, frantically seeking anything to focus on, to sift through. Regardless, it kept coming while my voice mumbled the same word over my lips as if on repeat, as though I was possessed. Of course, I guess, I was in a way.

I always had been.

“Focus, Ryland.” Sain’s voice tried to break through my insanity, but I barley heard it, barely felt his hand against my shoulder. “You can do this.”

“No … nononono … Kill…” The words kept coming, the image of Joclyn attacking me floating through my mind with more blood and hatred than I was sure had been there a few hours ago when it had actually happened.

“Ryland”—the pressure grew—“you are stronger than it.”

“Nooooooo…” If agony could be put into words, that would be it. It would be the phrase that would encompass my soul and the sound that seeped from me, the echo of a breaking heart. “No.”

“Yes. You can do this, Ryland.”

You can never defeat me.

Never get away.

Do what I ask. Maybe then I will set you free.

Maybe?

Kill them.

“Don’t listen to him.” Sain scooted closer, his fatherly voice a deeper calm than I had come to expect from him.

I looked into the patriarch who sat before me. He was the embodiment of the parental strength I had spent my entire life without, infusing into my soul in such a way that I knew what I had been missing. He was the support I had always wanted and needed, sitting right before me.

“It took Cail centuries to master; me, decades. It can take you weeks. You are stronger than us all.”

“How?” The word sounded as broken as I felt.

“How were you calm before Cail would pull us into the nightmares?”

I knew the answer before he had even finished the question. I knew because he had told me the very first time when I was pulled into the blade, when I had met the man before me and, for the first time in weeks, could think clearly. I had felt like myself. It was the blade. It held what my father had taken from me.

I would always be broken until I got it back.

“I want my heart back. I want my soul back.” The words were more of a sob as I stared at the dim dawn light that had begun to stretch over the ceiling, my heart clenching at the normality, my battered soul wishing the comforting green would never leave.

“You can get it back,” he whispered, pulling my focus from the grey stone. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

I only stared at him with my back pressing roughly into the stone wall behind me as I attempted to drown out the laugh that had begun to filter through me, the joyful strain an overture to the answer I already knew was coming.

The task I already knew I could never complete.

Not like this.

“We will have to get the knife from your father. You will have to face him.” He tried to make his voice lower, as though it would lessen the blow.

It didn’t.

“You will have to fight him.”

“I … don’t … I can’t…”

You’re right. You can’t.

You never could.

And now is no different.

“If you can get me that knife, I can fix everything.”

“I need…” I gasped, my hand pulling at my hair, wishing I could take out enough to take him away.

What do you need?

“I need…”

Say it.

“I need to kill…”

Sain shook his head in disappointment, a move that was so parental I was surprised I reacted the way I had seen teenagers on television do so many times before, considering it was something my father had never done to me. My father’s way of parental scolding was something more along the lines of torture or forced destruction.

“You don’t need to kill Joclyn.”

“I do … I need…”

Kill.

You need to destroy her.

I need to.

What are you waiting for?

Do it.

Kill her!

Kill her.

“Kill … Kill … kill.”

“Look at me, Ryland. Look at me.”

I kept repeating the word over and over, the call for blood flowing from me, until Sain grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. His hard eyes dug into me enough that I could focus on not pulling away, even if the word kept coming.

“Focus. Think of the space before the dreams, the space where your heart and soul are one. Think of how you felt when Wyn placed a shield over your heart … that calm. You said it yourself. You want your heart back. You want your soul back. That’s what you want,” he repeated, his hand dropping from my face, his now bloodstained fingers looking broken in the dim light.

Sain was right—it was what I wanted—but he was also right in another way. In order to find that, in order to reach that, I would have to face my father.

Face me.

It was that thought that destroyed me.

Try.

His laugh echoed inside of me as if he had heard my thoughts, as if he knew the impossibility of what was before me and found joy in watching me fail.

He always had.

I always will.

Try. You will fail.

The thought was a painful stab, and I jerked, causing my head to slam into the stone in a move that was both a comfort and pain.

The laugh ended almost immediately. I only wished the deep gnawing that it had pierced through me would leave, as well. That seemed to be stuck.

“The soul’s blade,” I whispered, the acknowledgement of where my sanity was kept filled me with more fear than hope. Fear because I knew what it was, knew what it had been used for. Fear because I knew where it was. More than just guarded by my father, it was within me, as well.

“Yes.” His voice was little more than a whisper, the depth filled with a gravelly yearning I didn’t think was possible for him. It was a sound, a growl, like my father would make when he saw a woman he desired who possessed magic he wanted to take.

Desire and greed all wrapped together with enough malice to melt a brick.

But from Sain?

My eyes wrenched to him as my stomach twisted, my jaw clenching in expectation of seeing my father before me along with an army of his men. The inflection was so clear, the phrasing so similar to what I knew.

However, it was merely Sain, merely the disheveled old man with skin like battered leather.

“Yes,” he repeated so normally I was sure I had only heard the words in my head. The clarity had me questioning my sanity even further.

If that was possible.

“It is with my father.” I sighed. “It is inside of me.” The word was a gasp as I tried to get him to understand, and my hand pressed against my heart as the painful throb I had felt since I had first stabbed the thing into my own heart pulsed painfully.

I was sure it wasn’t really inside me.

Sometimes, it felt like it, though.

You can never face me.
The voice was a laugh.

“Ryland?”

Just look at you.

Stop playing around.

Stop wasting time.

You need to kill them.

“Ryland?”

Now.

Now?

Before it’s too late.

Kill them.

Kill them…

“Ryland!” The voice was a snap. Although it should have been enough to pull me out of the psychotic prison I was trapped in, it only ignited it more. The owner of the voice was the last person I needed to see right then.

It’s him.

It’s time.

Kill him!

I moved before I had even had a chance to focus on the tall man who stood before me with his ridiculous blue eyes and haughty expression. I knew who it was by the accent in his voice.

As one, the monster inside of me collided with the monster I had become. No matter how much I wished to defeat it, I already knew I never could.

Kill it!

“Kill!” The voice screamed as I erupted off the wall, my body flying toward him while my magic flared out of me, ribbons of red and black streaming from me in a mad attempt to wrap around him, to devour him.