Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga

by Boyce, S. M.

  “Then why—”

  “Kara, there is no time for this. Your vagabonds need you to master your power. I’m offering you a chance to learn how to accomplish the task. Are you coming or not?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MEMORIAL

  Braeden sucked in a sharp breath to calm his nerves. After four hours of scouting the Stele and an overnight trek back to the golden city of Ayavel, he stood at the front doors of the palace. At least he was allowed passage through the main lichgate without question anymore. The guards knew him and always let him and Iyra through. But after they entered the city this time, Iyra ran off into the forest to relax after their trip. Braeden would wait a few days before looking for her again. He owed her as much for her help.

  Before him, two golden doors framed a set of glittering stairs. Eight guards lined each side of the palace gates, two on each step—four more than last time he’d come in this way. What a welcome.

  He began up the staircase. With each step, white light glimmered in the stone under his boot, and the air hummed as if he’d stepped on a piano key. He shook his head. Only in Ayavel would this sort of thing exist.

  The palace’s front doors groaned and opened at a snail’s pace, their hinges grating as the palace begrudgingly welcomed him. No one wanted him here. He was Heir to the Stele, after all. He represented the darkness of his father’s empire, even if he wanted nothing more than to end the old man. If Braeden were anyone else, the gates would have been open and waiting for him long before he stood on the front step.

  It took another minute for the doors to open enough to slip through. A respected guest would have waited. A prince would have been received. But as his only company was the guards who wouldn’t look at him, Braeden didn’t bother with propriety or courtesy. Since the doors weren’t open when he arrived, he wouldn’t wait for the slow formalities for fear he would be an old man before he stepped foot inside.

  Once through the croaking doors, his boots tapped against the golden floor tiles. Clumps of mud fell off his boots, leaving a trail of dirt and leaf fragments in his wake. He didn’t care. All he wanted was a meal and a warm bath.

  The white hallway went on forever. Gold trim lined the floor and ceiling, breaking whenever an identical hallway turned off in another direction. Each corridor led to a distant wing of the massive castle, but Braeden never tried to learn the entire layout. He never had time. Even now, he barely recognized where he was. He eyed the hallway to his right. A flash of recognition snapped through him, but he couldn’t place exactly why this particular passage seemed familiar.

  A sob shot past him, breaking his train of thought. Another followed. Someone whimpered—a soprano note that could only belong to a woman. He hesitated, looking around, and followed the weeping down a hallway to his left. The crying stopped as he found a pair of double doors, one of them set slightly ajar. He peeked inside, only to find four golden thrones set on a platform at the far end.

  He cursed. Someone was crying in Ayavel’s throne room, of all places. He hesitated, waiting for confirmation. Sure enough, the mystery sobs began once more and drifted through the open doors.

  Braeden’s fists tightened. He hated to set foot in the room. Not long ago, Gavin and the other Bloods chained him, threw him to his knees, and sentenced him to death in there merely because he was Stelian. He’d managed to earn some of their trust back since then by demonstrating his mutual hatred for his father, but he had never regained their respect. He doubted he ever would.

  He sighed. However much he hated that room, he couldn’t just walk by when someone obviously needed help. He hadn’t yet met an Ayavelian who willingly showed public emotion in such a way. Something had to be very wrong.

  Braeden peered in and shifted to get a better view. A woman’s slippers appeared to the left, most of her obscured by the door. A blue gown spilled around her ankles, its threads shimmering in the sunlight pouring through the windows above.

  He rapped his knuckles on the door. His knocks echoed in the vast chamber. The sobs stopped. A woman sniffled. The shoes slipped out of view, so Braeden pushed the door open. His breath caught in his chest.

  Evelyn lay on the stones, her knees tucked underneath her with that blue dress spilling out across the floor. Her classic Ayavelian skin reflected blue and green specks of light as sunlight hit her through the windows. Straight hair framed her face, its white glow accentuating her almond eyes as she stared at him. Ayavelians had three pupils in both eyes, each of which could convey a different emotion. But now, Evelyn stared at him with only a deep-rooted sorrow. His throat tightened.

  Before her, the statue of a woman towered halfway to the arched ceiling above. Her white marble face glistened as she stared through the skylights, her eyes nothing but a solid sheet with no detail.

  Evelyn wiped her own eyes with a sleeve. “You’re back early.”

  “What’s wrong, Evelyn?”

  Her lip trembled. Her eyebrows arched upward. A dimple appeared in her cheek, as if she bit it to keep herself from crying.

  “Aunt Aislynn’s dead,” she said.

  Braeden’s shoulders sagged. The air left him in a rush, and for a moment, he couldn’t think. The last time he saw Aislynn, he nearly attacked the queen for trapping Kara and using her as bait to catch a muse in some half-brewed plan, nearly killing everyone involved. He hadn’t given Aislynn the time of day to explain herself and refused to even look her in the eye after he discovered what she’d done.

  But...dead?

  When he was a boy, Aislynn saved his life. She took him to Hillside and gave him a second chance at life. She even stood up for him in this very throne room when the other Bloods sentenced him to death. Had he been too unforgiving to someone who helped him so much in life?

  He knelt next to Evelyn and sat on his heels, shoulders hunched. Only then did he notice a plaque below the statue’s feet: Aislynn, last full Blood of Ayavel.

  “Is this her memorial?” Braeden asked.

  Evelyn nodded.

  “What do you mean by ‘last full’—”

  “I wasn’t given the bloodline naturally, and I am therefore not a full Blood. She’s the last of her bloodline. I’m a forgery.”

  Braeden’s jaw tensed. He didn’t know what to say.

  They sat in silence for a while. He watched her from the corner of his eye, never looking at her directly. Her hair fell around her, hiding her face. Streaks of dried tears crusted along her cheeks, dulling her skin’s reflective nature.

  After a second, he cleared his throat. “I thought memorials weren’t supposed to go in the throne room. In Hillside, we have a park for Bloods’ memorial statues.”

  A pang of regret tore through him. Braeden couldn’t say he was a part of Hillside anymore. Gavin disowned him and took his key to the kingdom when Braeden’s Stelian ancestry was discovered. Even though he’d spent twelve years in Hillside and grown up with Gavin as a brother, he was no longer a part of the Hillsidian world.

  Evelyn frowned, snapping him from his thoughts. “It’s my kingdom, Stelian. If I want to honor my aunt’s memory in the throne room, I have every right to do it!”

  Braeden tensed as he was reminded of one of the many reasons he disliked this girl, but he took a deep breath. She was obviously grieving. He needed to be forgiving and patient.

  “I meant no offense, Evelyn. I was merely curious.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Braeden. I’m just—I—”

  He caught her eye. “You’re hurting. It’s okay.”

  Her lip trembled again. “Why would she leave me? I’m not ready for this, Braeden. Being awoken as the Blood—it hurt so much. I couldn’t walk for nearly a day afterward. I can sense the moods of my people. I can actually control them, make them do things they don’t want to do. I can command them, and they have to obey. I don’t want so much power!”

  Braeden wanted to inform her it was far
too late to back out of her responsibilities now that she’d taken the bloodline, but he kept silent.

  Evelyn took a deep breath. “The drenowith killed my aunt. They took her from me too soon, before she could teach me. I just know it.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  She groaned. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s obvious! They led her to the Stele all those years ago and nearly got her killed in Carden’s dungeon—you know the story all too well. And a week or so back, when she tried to get her revenge on them by stealing some muse’s blood, they decided to end her once and for all. It’s the only thing that makes sense!”

  Braeden couldn’t deny her logic. Aislynn tried to kill a muse named Adele and almost succeeded. Braeden didn’t have any theories of his own, and if anyone killed Kara, he would get revenge in the same way. For twelve years, Aislynn had been his mentor and, for the longest time, she was the only one alive who knew of his double life. But the moment she’d threatened Kara and used her as bait, he disowned her. He had to admit he would have killed her himself if she’d gone too far and taken Kara from him completely.

  “The drenowith might be involved, but we can’t know for sure,” he finally admitted.

  “Oh, I’m certain,” Evelyn spat.

  “How?”

  She shook her head. “There’s just no denying it, Braeden. What she did started a feud between the drenowith and the Ayavelian race. I’m not saying I’m proud of her choice, but I will never forgive the muses for taking her from me.”

  “We already have a war on our hands, Evelyn. Don’t start another one with creatures as powerful as the drenowith.”

  “I won’t. I’m not stupid. But I will never trust a drenowith again, nor will I let one live if I find it.”

  Braeden sighed. He couldn’t blame her for that hatred, even if it wasn’t healthy.

  A sob pricked his ear. Evelyn cradled her face in her hands, shoulders hunched and shaking. She cried into her palms, the dam apparently breaking in the middle of her throne room.

  Braeden patted her back. “I shouldn’t have intruded. I’ll leave you alone.”

  Instead of nodding or ignoring him completely, as he’d expected, Evelyn wrapped her arms around his torso. She burrowed her cheek into his chest and hugged him so tightly it hurt.

  His voice caught in his throat. His shirt absorbed the young queen’s tears as she held onto him, apparently forgetting their years of mutual disdain. She trembled, the nails of her thin fingers digging through the fabric on his back.

  Kara flashed across his mind. What would she have said if she walked in at this moment?

  Unsure of the right thing to do, he continued patting Evelyn. She sobbed and leaned in closer. He sighed and slipped his arm around her, trying to imagine what Kara would want him to do.

  He cleared his throat and let his mind wander back to Evelyn’s theory. Something about this story didn’t sit right with him. While he could believe Garrett would kill Aislynn out of revenge, he didn’t believe Aislynn would be so naïve as to expose herself. She would have stayed close to the kingdom, all the while knowing full well Garrett was out for blood.

  “How did Aislynn die?” he asked.

  Evelyn mumbled a response through his shirt.

  “What?”

  The queen lifted her chin enough to answer. “No one knows.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Last I spoke to her, she was going to her room to rest. A few hours later, I woke up screaming and in the worst agony of my life. I didn’t even realize I was being awoken as the Blood until one of the generals mentioned it. They sent a small army to Aislynn’s room, but no one was there.”

  “Has anyone else gone missing?”

  Evelyn wiped her eyes. “General Krik. No one knows where he is, either. Some rumors say they were lovers, and something went wrong on a rendezvous, but that’s treasonous. If my aunt had a lover, he wouldn’t be secret. She would never have hidden such a thing from me.”

  Braeden glanced at the floor and kept silent. There was plenty Evelyn’s aunt had kept from her. He had no idea how the girl could still have such faith in the dead queen.

  “This doesn’t add up,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Aislynn was smart. She wouldn’t have exposed herself to the drenowith after what she did. She wouldn’t have left the kingdom.”

  “No one wanted her dead but the drenowith.”

  “I’m sure Carden wanted her dead. There are plenty who would have killed her. It’s unwise to focus your hatred on the drenowith when this could be something else entirely. Your safety could be at risk.”

  Evelyn sank back onto her heels, her eyes shifting out of focus.

  Braeden couldn’t suppress the selfish thought to use this moment. Evelyn was a major player now. With her on his side, he might even get Kara back into the council. The Ayavelian girl simply had to get past her hatred of drenowith. If Garrett really had killed Aislynn, it would never happen. There was only one way to find out for sure.

  Braeden ran a hand through his hair. “I’m only saying you shouldn’t assume this was the drenowith’s doing. I think you should speak with Garrett. With Kara’s influence, I think you can find out the truth.”

  Evelyn’s eyes snapped to him. She frowned. “How dare you suggest I speak with one of those creatures as if he is capable of telling the truth! If he did it, he would lie.”

  He shook his head. “The muses helped me more than once. Maybe if you spent some time with one, you’d realize how wrong you are about them. They care about life. About us. They saved me from Carden. They helped me save the Heirs after the Gala. They—”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Evelyn shot to her feet and stormed toward the door.

  “Evelyn, wait a minute! You’re angry, and—”

  She hesitated by the exit, one hand on the open door. “No, my mind is crystal clear. I won’t be a pawn, Braeden.”

  With that, Evelyn disappeared through the door, her blue dress swishing along the floor. Her footsteps disappeared the moment she passed into the hallway.

  Braeden sighed and slumped back on his heels. She must have known he was trying to use her. Disgust bubbled in his gut, swirling with the shame of his selfishness. He might have been a prince, destined to rule the Stele one day, but he wasn’t a very good politician. His failed attempt at a political play just cost him the one ally he could have possibly found in this traitorous arena.

  He forced himself to his feet. By default, he headed toward his office. He wandered out of the Ayavelian throne room and through the halls, but his mind raced in a different direction. He should visit Kara. Get away from Ayavel for a bit. Talk strategy. Compose a new game plan.

  He laughed. He couldn’t even lie to himself. He didn’t want a new strategy. He wanted an escape, and Kara always brought him freedom. But she needed time to master her isen abilities, and he couldn’t interrupt her training. Not much could hurt Braeden, but Kara could kill him if she didn’t master herself. Her newfound power had no limits. And if she ever stole his soul—however accidentally—he didn’t think even he could fight her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE COTTAGE

  Rain battered Kara’s face, each drop hitting her skin like a needle as she zipped through the sky on the black dragon’s back. She squinted, trying to see through the gray haze of fog and thunder, but the wind stung her eyes and tore at her hair. Her dragon surveyed the mist around them, its white teeth face frozen in a toothy smile that always sent a shiver down her spine.

  A white owl flew just ahead of them—Stone. Once they left the village, he’d shifted form and taken off without a word, though Kara still couldn’t figure out why he chose to be an owl. Maybe he just wanted to keep a low profile, or maybe he enjoyed the symbolism of wisdom. Kara grunted. Stone wasn’t narcissistic enough for that last one. Whatever his reason, he managed to keep up with the dragon. Only that mattered.

  Stone pulled ahead, his white feath
ers shifting in the gusts of air. A crack of thunder shook the sky. Rain fell harder. Through the fog, the snowy tip of a mountain loomed suddenly into view. Crags broke away from the peak like spikes stuck into the rock, ready to tear open anything unlucky enough to fall on them. Pines blanketed the lower slopes, but everything beyond dissolved into the mist of this storm. Kara could barely see more than fifty feet on either side of her, and she had no idea where they were.

  The white owl dove. The dragon plunged after it without waiting for an order from Kara to follow. Her stomach twisted. She clutched her beast tighter, wishing with all her might that they could just find the house already. But Stone banked around the mountain, and yet another came into view. He twisted around that as well, the dragon mere feet behind. One after another, the mountains zipped by as the three travelers sped through gaps in the peaks. Snow clung to the mountains, a melting blanket clinging to the biting chill of the high altitude. A shiver snaked its way through Kara’s body.

  Finally, Stone dove again and aimed for a flat ledge at the tip of a mountain. As he flapped his wings to slow his landing, a tremor raced through his body. His torso stretched outward. His wings became arms. The white feathers receded into his hairline, leaving behind the white beard that reminded Kara of Renaissance actors. His feet brushed the stone slab just as the last of his claws disappeared. Without breaking his stride, he walked toward the mountain and brushed a bit of snow from the steep rock.

  Kara breathed a sigh of relief and nudged the dragon down toward the ledge. It landed with a less than graceful thump, but Kara slipped off as soon as its feet touched the ground. She patted her mount’s neck, wishing it back into the Grimoire with the silent command she used on all her mounts. The black dragon flashed its white teeth and dissolved into black dust that drifted away on the next gust of wind.