Stone Blood Legacy: A Shattered Magic Novel (Stone Blood Series Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Table of Contents
Stone Blood Legacy
Copyright
An Important Note from the Author
Books by Jayne Faith
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Stone Blood Legacy
A SHATTERED MAGIC NOVEL
Stone Blood Series Book Two
JAYNE FAITH
Copyright
Stone Blood Legacy
Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Faith
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors.
Stone blood legacy / a novel by Jayne Faith
Ebook Edition ISBN: 978-0-9996458-2-6
Edited by: Mary Novak
Proofread by: Tia Silverthorne Bach of Indie Books Gone Wild
Cover by: Deranged Doctor Designs
Published in the United States of America
An Important Note from the Author
IN THE TIMELINE of this story world, the Ella Grey Series serves as a prequel to the Stone Blood Series and the rest of the Shattered Magic novels. Book Four of the Ella Grey Series, Blood Storm Magic, culminates with the Cataclysm, a catastrophic blast through the supernatural world that ultimately changes the magic in Ella’s world and in Faerie, the parallel world of the Fae. The Stone Blood Series takes place partially in Ella’s world, which the Fae call the Earthly realm, but much of the action is in Faerie. One of the most dramatic Cataclysm consequences for the Fae was the spontaneous formation of a new Fae race, nicknamed the New Gargoyles. The heroine of the Stone Blood Series, Petra Maguire, is one of this new breed of Fae.
It’s not necessary to read the Ella Grey Series to enjoy the Shattered Magic novels, but the Ella books give a sense of how the Earthly realm and magic were different before the Cataclysm. That series begins with Stone Cold Magic.
Books by Jayne Faith
Ella Grey Series
urban fantasy
Stone Cold Magic
Dark Harvest Magic
Demon Born Magic
Blood Storm Magic
Shattered Magic Novels
urban fantasy
Blood of Stone
Stone Blood Legacy
Rise of the Stone Court
Sapient Salvation Series
dystopian romance
The Selection
The Awakening
The Divining
The Claiming
Magic Currents (dystopian fairy tale)
Chapter 1
WITH ONE FIST tucked against the small of my back and the other wrapped around the grip of a practice foil, I took the classic fencing stance.
Facing me from several feet away, my twin sister Nicole imitated my posture. She’d only been in Faerie for a couple of weeks, and it wasn’t long before then I’d learned of her existence. I was pretty sure she’d asked me to teach her some swordplay more out of boredom than actual interest.
We stepped through some light drills. Her sword work was average for a beginner, but her years as a professional ballerina gave her impressive agility on her feet.
“Good!” I called to her, my voice automatically taking on the gruff edge my instructors had always used with me. “Hold your body angle. Don’t give me any more of a target than necessary.”
As a changeling newly introduced to her Fae roots, Nicole was bound to stay here for a period known as the homecoming before she would be allowed to choose whether to stay or renounce Faerie forever and return to her life on the other side of the hedge. Usually that was how it worked. There was a good chance Nicole wasn’t going to have quite the same freedom in her options.
She managed to block one of my attacks with a flick of her wrist.
I nodded. “Now summon your stone armor.”
I squinted at her in the sunlight of perpetual Faerie summer. Ever since Oberon had taken power as the High King of Faerie, the Fae had enjoyed centuries of bright sunshine by day and pleasant starlit nights. It was hard to imagine any other season in Faerie.
Nicole’s movements faltered as she tried to keep up the swordplay while calling upon her newfound magic. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyes narrowed in concentration. Then she lowered her foil and let out a frustrated groan.
“I can’t do it,” she said. “It takes all my focus to form the armor. I can’t even walk and form armor at the same time, let alone swing a sword.”
I hid a smile and said a few encouraging words. She cared about trying to do it right, and she got frustrated when she couldn’t—yet another sign that she was tipping toward making Faerie her permanent home. Personally, I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to leave—it would have been hypocritical of me because I was working toward reestablishing my own independence away from Faerie. And at twenty-seven, Nicole was one of the oldest changelings ever to be brought home to Faerie, which made the transition much more difficult. But if she decided to stay, I knew it would win me favor with Marisol, the monarch of the New Gargoyle Stone Order, to which I was sworn.
Until recently, I’d managed to mostly steer clear of Order business and Faerie politics in general, but that had all changed when my father, Oliver, had asked me to save Nicole from the Duergar King Periclase.
By that act of taking Nicole out from under Periclase’s nose, I’d unwittingly set off a shit storm of events that had ended with me being knighted as the Stone Order’s champion and then fighting Periclase’s brother Darion. I’d refrained from killing him, but only barely.
My victory had been enough to get the Duergar off our backs momentarily, but the peace didn’t last long. And in the time I’d been wra
pped up in Fae business, I’d lost my apartment and gotten suspended from my job at the Mercenary Guild in the Earthly realm. I had no choice but to move into the stone fortress, the stronghold of the New Gargoyle Stone Order, which pleased Marisol to no end. She’d been wanting to pull me back in for years.
“I think we’ve done enough for today,” I said to Nicole. “Let’s pick it up again tomorrow.”
She went to the side of the training field to sit on the grass and do some of her ballet dancer stretches.
As I went to turn in my foil and retrieve Mort, my magic-imbued broadsword, I noticed Marisol’s son Maxen strolling over to chat with Nicole. She smiled up at him, and his sunny laughter floated across the training field. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them bat eyelashes at each other. Maxen wasn’t particularly manipulative by nature, but I couldn’t help wondering if his interest was genuine or if Marisol had sent him to help charm Nicole into staying.
In any case, it wasn’t really my business. And besides, I wasn’t speaking to Maxen much these days. We’d exchanged some harsh words after my battle with Darion.
Sharp shouts drew my attention away from Maxen and Nicole. I looked around but didn’t see anything amiss. Probably just some students getting rowdy in one of the training yards that was out of sight. Still, I scanned for threats. After the recent servitor attacks, I was always wary of the sudden appearance of intruders.
Just as I’d decided my paranoia might be on overdrive, a young man stumbled out with a bloodied face and panicked eyes. I drew Mort and ran toward him, tossing my scabbard aside as I went.
I slowed long enough to shout a question. “What is it?”
“Intruders,” he said. “A bunch of them appeared out of nowhere.”
Damn. Only servitors could materialize out of thin air.
“Tell Maxen,” I said over my shoulder. “Get everyone out here armed.”
I darted into the hallway, following the shouts and forming full stone armor as I went. Magic licked my skin, quickly replaced by nearly impenetrable plates from my neck to my ankles. Rock armor had the inexplicable quality of rigidity that still allowed body movement. It was one of the things that made New Gargoyles like me some of the best fighters in Faerie.
I emerged in an open area where several hallways met. The scene was chaos. New Gargs were battling stocky enemies dressed in identical dark green clothing. The shirts had hoods, and the attackers wore masks that covered everything but their eyes.
I jumped into the fray, pushing power into Mort as I swung at the nearest attacker, whose back was turned to me. My broadsword lit with violet flames of magic that sliced like razors if they licked flesh.
The blade sliced through the enemy’s torso as if it were water, and the figure dissolved into a puff of mist that smelled of copper and ashes.
Definitely servitors. They were beings that seemed real but were conjured by their master to carry out specific tasks. We’d had a similar attack a few weeks ago. Those servitors had been smaller in stature and came wielding throwing knives. These ones carried heavy bludgeons.
One of them charged me, swinging his short-handled bludgeon around on a cord until it blurred with motion.
I sidestepped and ducked under the bludgeon, letting his momentum carry him past me. Before he could recover, I pivoted, gripped Mort with both hands, and stabbed down into his shoulder. He dissolved into mist.
The creatures were incredibly strong to be able to wield such a weapon that way, despite how they dissipated to nothing when touched by Mort.
I cut through three more servitors as I pushed into the center of the room. Maxen had joined the fight not far away. The attackers’ numbers were dwindling, but not without taking some casualties on our side. The servitors weren’t real, but the injuries they inflicted sure as hell were. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw the still forms of three New Gargs on the floor. A wide pool of dark blood had already formed around the head of one.
My father, Oliver, was battling at the mouth of one of the hallways. More fighters from the New Garg battle ranks poured in, and within a few minutes, all the servitors were gone.
Oliver and I locked eyes across the room for a second, our chests heaving. We’d fought off the first servitor attack on the fortress. That one hadn’t claimed any casualties. In fact, we’d mowed through the intruders before anyone else had even noticed they were there.
I went to the nearest injured, a young man I didn’t recognize who’d fallen and lay face-down. One ear and the scalp above it were torn and bleeding, but his skull looked intact. I touched the side of his neck and found a pulse.
“Thank Oberon,” I muttered, grasping his shoulder to gingerly turn him over.
His eyes opened as he rolled to his back. He looked dazed, but at least he was alive. A healer rushed in with a first-aid kit and fell to her knees next to him, nudging me out of the way.
I rose, looking over at the other fallen. Oliver had knelt next to the one with the most blood, who was also face-down. My father pulled off his shirt and placed it over the person’s head and upper body. When Oliver’s eyes lifted and caught mine, his mouth pressed into a grim line, and he gave a slight shake of his head.
I pounded the side of my fist into my thigh. “Damn it.”
I looked across the room at a woman I’d feared dead, but others were helping her up. I let out a breath of gratitude.
But a death, and right here on fortress ground.
Oliver rose and we met in the middle of the room. Once I was really seeing him, I realized one of his shoulders was bleeding and a nasty bruise had already started to form on one of his forearms. He didn’t seem to notice. The attacks seemed to be getting more violent in terms of brute force, but at least the bludgeons hadn’t been poisoned.
“Who was it?” I asked.
He sighed. “I don’t recall his name. First year battle ranks, by the patch on his shirt.”
Maxen and one of the legion captains were organizing people to help the injured—there were other injuries aside from the ones who’d ended up unconscious on the floor—and cordoning off the area. Oliver got called away, and Maxen beckoned me over.
“You okay?” he asked stiffly. We’d barely exchanged two words since he’d figuratively backed me into a corner, all but blackmailing me into staying at the fortress after I defeated Darion in the arena. It was a manipulative move that seemed uncharacteristic. But perhaps his mother’s ways were finally rubbing off.
I focused my attention on my broadsword rather than looking at him. “Yeah. You?”
He shrugged irritably. “I barely caught the tail end of the fight.”
We both surveyed the wreckage of the room. There was a good amount of blood, and everything that was breakable lay in pieces—furniture, and what had been a vase but was now scattered shards of crystal.
“What can I do?” I asked. I skirted a sidelong look over at him.
“Help us figure out who the hell is sending them,” he said, his face pale and his eyes haunted.
Normally, Maxen was atypically warm and easy-going for a New Gargoyle. But at that moment, he looked dazed and angry, and I caught the briefest flicker of fear in his sapphire-blue eyes.
My stomach hollowed as I recalled a piece of information. Jasper Glasgow, illegitimate son of the Duergar King Periclase, had told me something about the servitors. He’d said the threat was bigger than just the obvious violence or supposed assassination attempts. He’d said the servitors were breaching Fae kingdoms in a systematic way that allowed them to come back again with larger creatures that wielded more force, which certainly appeared to be the case here. The same fear I saw on Maxen’s face had shone in Jasper’s gold eyes when he’d spoken of it. At the time, his words hadn’t made much sense, and I’d been trying to escape capture, so I hadn’t a chance to follow up. But I could no longer brush off what he’d said.
“I may know something,” I said to Maxen.
His brows twitched upward in curiosity. “Then you
need to tell Marisol,” he said.
He said a few words to the captain in charge, and then we walked silently side-by-side away from the scene of the fight. The hallways of the stone fortress were abuzz, and pairs of men and women from the battle ranks jogged by every which way. The fortress was going into full lockdown, which meant Marisol was being kept in a safe place away from where the attacks had taken place.
It took us a little time to get past the layers of security. When we finally did, we were escorted into a section of Marisol’s quarters that I’d never seen before. It was a windowless, spare set of small adjoining rooms that had a vault-like feel to them. They were set up with all the basic necessities—bed, kitchenette, bathroom—like a sort of bunker.
The leader of the Stone Order was regal and poised as always, but she looked pale, her eyes strained.
“What is this information you have?” she asked me.
I glanced at the four guards who stood in the room with us, quiet and tense, with their hands resting lightly on the swords at their hips. Two of Marisol’s assistants also stood nearby. Then I looked pointedly at Maxen.
“This is sensitive,” he said to his mother.
She waved her minions over to the door where we’d come in—the only door that I could see—and then the three of us moved near the fireplace.
“The Duergar may know why the servitors have been sent,” I said. “Jasper Glasgow, bastard son of Periclase, told me that with each breach the servitors pick up magic that not only allows them to get back in but also gives them more power. But that wasn’t the most disturbing thing he told me. He said the Tuatha De Danann have returned, and they’re riding with the Dullahan. Which, of course, has to be wrong, but I thought it worth mentioning.” I shook my head and snorted a humorless laugh.
Her face became pinched and gave when I mentioned the Tuatha De Danann. The Tuatha were the gods who’d created Faerie eons ago, but they’d disappeared many generations before I was born, and many considered them to have died out. But she didn’t protest. She didn’t even call me crazy when I spoke of the Dullahan, the Bone Warriors who, as the myths said, would detach their own heads and carry them under their arms as they rode into battle, creating a horror spectacle to rattle their enemies and even hurling their heads as weapons. At least, I always thought the stories of the Bone Warriors were just myths. But as I watched the way Marisol absorbed the information I gave her, my stomach twisted.