Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She had to focus.

  Are you all right, Kara? The first Vagabond said in her ear.

  She nodded out of instinct, though it took a moment for her to realize he couldn’t see her—yet everyone else could.

  “What’s wrong, Kara?” Twin asked.

  “Nothing,” Kara lied.

  “You are all so brave,” a man said.

  Kara twisted around. The Vagabond’s ghostly frame filled the space to her left. His hood covered his face, but she’d seen him plenty of times before.

  He crossed his arms. “Thank you for taking this risk. I’m proud to call you vagabonds.”

  “It’s our pleasure,” Richard said. The former king beamed with joy.

  Kara smiled. Sometimes she forgot how much Richard idolized the first Vagabond. It was what drew him toward the cause in the first place.

  She looked around the faces of her vagabonds. They all smiled—every one of them, even the solemn Azo. They respected the authority of the Vagabond, the power and freedom of having a grimoire to call their own. They volunteered for this. They knew the risks, and she couldn’t protect them forever. Come hell or high water, they were in this with her to the very end.

  Kara cracked a small smile. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

  An icy chill raced down her back. She turned, expecting the first Vagabond to have his hand on her shoulder, but he was gone. The chill dissolved.

  She squared her shoulders and set her hands on the doorknobs. With two quick twists, she opened the double doors and walked into the war room.

  A table filled the middle of the room—the same room in which she’d proposed going to the isen. Several yakona sat at the table, their faces turned toward her. She lifted her chin as she scanned the room—Aurora smiled from her place beside the stone-faced Gurien, who offered Kara a nod as her eyes passed him over; Gavin sat beside a large Hillsidian man Kara didn’t recognize, though his scowl sparked a vague sense of familiarity; Evelyn occupied the far end of the table, away from the others, with an Ayavelian man Kara had certainly never met; Frine sat with his son and yet another Lossian Kara had never met; and Braeden had seated himself at the head of the table. He wore a broad smile on his face as she caught his eye.

  Kara stepped aside and waved toward the six vagabonds in the doorway. “Bloods and Heirs, these are the vagabonds who will be your open line of communication to this final battle. They took a great risk in revealing themselves, so I hope you give them the utmost respect.”

  Her eyes wandered around the room, gauging reactions. Evelyn’s frown only deepened. A flutter of worry wove through Kara’s gut, but it was too late now.

  Gavin leaned back in his chair and stared at his father, his mouth a thin line. Kara couldn’t read him. Either he was hurt, angry, or a little scared. Maybe all of the above. Richard and Gavin hadn’t seen each other since Richard became a vagabond, and Richard was smuggled out of the city because Gavin overheard a dark confession from his father that may have ended with spilt blood. But Gavin had changed since then, and Kara had faith the reunion wouldn’t end with a murder.

  Aurora’s face split into a wide grin, and Gurien managed a smile. Kara sighed with relief—at least them she could trust with her vagabonds’ identities.

  Frine, however, didn’t react. Neither his nor his son’s expressions changed. Kara didn’t know what to make of that.

  “Shouldn’t there be two vagabonds for each kingdom?” Aurora asked.

  Kara nodded. “A young lady named Minly is already back in Kirelm. Likewise, Roj’s brother Tier is a Lossian defense guard already in the Lossian capital. It didn’t seem right to pull them away only to send them back.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Explain what the vagabonds will do in detail,” Frine said.

  Kara’s eyebrow twitched at the order, but she obliged him. “Vagabonds need to check in regularly throughout the battle, as much as possible, and give updates on positions, concerns, and the like. When each army is in position, the volunteer vagabond will write me a note. Then, when everyone is ready to attack, I’ll give the order to start. Hillside will go first, sending Garrett in before Hillside and my isen attack.”—Frine and Gavin cringed, but Kara plowed ahead—“Richard will leave a note when Hillside attacks, and Elana will notify Blood Aurora that they’re set to go. Fifteen minutes later, the Kirelms attack and Elana will write a note for Losse to prepare. And so on, moving from Losse to Ayavel. Ayavel will still serve as a final wave, coming in with healers to aid any fallen soldiers.”

  “When do we leave?” Frine asked.

  “Sunset tomorrow,” Braeden said.

  Kara nodded, though inwardly she felt the air rush from her lungs. So soon.

  Braeden leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t we let each of the vagabonds speak with their Blood? It would be good for everyone to connect.”

  She tensed. She couldn’t protect these vagabonds anymore. She had to let them go and trust they knew what they were doing. With one final glance toward Evelyn’s deepening frown, Kara nodded.

  Chapter 12

  Exposed

  Braeden crossed his arms and watched the vagabonds disperse from their clump at the door. Kara stood by the edge of the table, eyes flitting around the room as her people risked their lives and family by exposing their identities. Lines appeared in her brow and by her eyes, testaments to her unease.

  He wanted to rub her skin, to tell her everything would be okay, but not here. The war room was meant only for strategizing.

  The Ayavelian vagabonds smiled and bowed to Evelyn, but the queen frowned and stood.

  “Good day,” she said without looking at them.

  Without waiting for a reply, the queen ripped open the door and left the room. Rieve and the second Ayavelian—Braeden forgot his name— stared at the queen’s seat, apparently unclear as to what just happened. Rieve turned toward Kara, who crossed her arms.

  The other vagabonds had better luck. Aurora smiled and wrapped her arms around Elana in welcome. Gurien clapped a hand on Elana’s back. The Kirelms spoke in hushed tones, but smiled and seemed to welcome Elana as their vagabond. Braeden let out a breath, but his shoulders still ached from tension.

  Blood Frine and his son nodded in welcome to Roj, who stood stiffly at attention. Frine’s mouth moved, but Braeden couldn’t make out the words. Roj replied with single-word answers, primarily yes and no.

  Richard’s brown hair caught Braeden’s attention. A flurry of excitement flushed through him at seeing his adoptive father. Richard’s eyes shifted as if they felt the weight of Braeden’s stare, and the former king’s mouth bent in what could only be a subtle smile. Braeden returned it and shifted his focus, choosing to watch the Hillsidians reunite out of his periphery.

  Richard and Twin strayed from the pack, moving slower than the others to reach their Blood. Gavin stood as they neared, his shoulders tense and back arched. Twin and Richard bowed their heads in respect, and Gavin—much to Braeden’s surprise—returned the bow.

  The three Hillsidians huddled nearby, no one speaking. Braeden’s jaw tensed, but he forced himself to sit and wait. They would have to work this out on their own—there was nothing he could do.

  Finally, a quiet voice broke their silence.

  “I’m sorry, Richard,” Gavin said.

  A smile broke over Richard’s face. It melted the king’s expression, filling his brow and cheeks with happy wrinkles. He offered a hand to his son, who shook it.

  Gavin cleared his throat. “And you, Twin, I’m sorry. I manipulated you.”

  Her lips curled into a small smile. “I forgive you.”

  Braeden released a sigh of relief but stopped when he returned his gaze to Kara. Arms crossed, her eyes scanned the room. The Ayavelian vagabonds stayed close to her, silent as they, too, watched the room.

  Hillsidian reunion or no, all was not well in Ayavel.

  An hour later, Braeden closed the door to a
n empty war room and stood in the hall with Kara. Her eyes shifted out of focus. He began toward their room, and she followed, hands crossed over her chest as they ambled down the silent hallway. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. They meandered, taking the empty corridor one step at a time, side by side.

  “Think we’ll win this?” Kara asked.

  Braeden kissed the side of her head and pulled her closer. “I know we will.”

  Chapter 13

  Reunited

  Around midnight, Braeden sat on the floor in front of his bedroom windows, weight on the palms of his hands as he watched the stars. Wind howled against the windowpanes, and the glass shivered with each gust. A sliver of the moon hung in the sky, barely casting enough light to be seen. He imagined the dark forest below, swaying in a lingering storm, but couldn’t see the trees from his angle.

  Kara whimpered and twisted under the sheets behind him, the fabric rustling as she tossed in her sleep. He stared at her, heart tearing as the love of his life lived through more nightmares. Hopefully, she could sleep through the night again someday, but he didn’t know how to help her.

  He needed to sleep, too, but he couldn’t. Most of Ayavel was likely awake as well, staring at their ceilings as they prepared to leave for war. Braeden’s mind raced with attack plans and risks. Little blips of fear swam through his gut like shocks, worsened when he thought of the potential traitor he couldn’t name. He ran through the possible identities, but he doubted it was so easy—in all likelihood, he’d never met this mole. Or moles. There could be many.

  He pushed himself to his feet. He needed to move, to burn off this energy. He threw on his shirt and shoved his feet into his boots, careful to tiptoe so as not to wake Kara. A floorboard groaned beneath his foot, and he paused. Kara lay still, not making a sound. Flick stretched and rolled onto his back, leg kicking in his sleep. The tiny thing snorted.

  Braeden twisted the doorknob. The latch clicked as it released, allowing him into the hall. He inched the handle back into place as he left with the same quiet care.

  The hallway arched overhead, the white stone carved with curves and detail he’d never cared to notice before. Orange light flickered from sconces every dozen feet or so, every other holder empty to conserve fuel. Shadows swam along the walls with the wavering flames. Braeden meandered through the quiet hall, his feet taking him over the tiles without direction. He slipped his hands in his pockets and monitored the hallway, watching without seeing. His thoughts wandered farther than his feet, taking him to the Stele. He would either rule it or die fighting to free it.

  He scuffed the toe of his boot on the tile, kicking it in an effort to distract himself from his own thoughts. It didn’t work.

  His feet stopped. He looked around, blinking as he took in his surroundings. He couldn’t let his guard down, not in Ayavel. He doubted Evelyn would openly attack him, but he didn’t want to give her the opportunity.

  He’d stopped in front of his office. The door sat ajar.

  He frowned and leaned an ear to the wood. The rustle of fabric on leather—his chair—snuck through the gap. His shoulders tensed. He drew the energy from his back to his hand, allowing the weight of his magic to pool in his fingertips. Dark wisps of shadow erupted in his palm, swirling as they awaited his command.

  With a nudge from his boot, the door swung inward. A beam of light from the window swept across the darkness, illuminating the floor and a few books on the bottom shelves of his bookcases. His chair faced the dark window, a lit candle casting a dim glow through the air. Leather creaked again, and the chair tilted backward. Papers still covered the desk, littered in the messy heap he’d created the last time he visited his office.

  The chair shifted forward and spun. Gavin nodded in welcome and turned again to face the window.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Braeden asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Gavin said, still facing the night sky.

  The black mist in Braeden’s palm dissolved with a hiss. He shut the door behind him, shutting out the hallway light with the click of the door handle. The candle on his desk flickered, fizzling as it lurched in a small draft. It cast a thin glow on the desk chair, but the office shadows consumed most of the room.

  “Why are you in my office?” he asked.

  “It was my office until you asked for one. Did you know that?”

  “I didn’t.” Braeden walked around the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms as he stared out of the window next to the man he once called a brother.

  “I think Evelyn was upset with me when you got it. She convinced Aislynn to give it to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Spite. Fear. I don’t know. I haven’t understood that woman for a while.”

  Braeden glanced at the chair. Gavin rested his head on one hand as he stared into the darkness outside. The room hushed. Gusts pummeled the window again, though now Braeden could see a black outline of the forest below. They rustled, swaying as the night wore on.

  “Don’t die,” Gavin finally said.

  “You, too.”

  “And…” Gavin cleared his throat.

  “What?”

  “Thank you for bringing my father back to me.”

  A pang of happiness broke through Braeden’s chest. Gavin hadn’t called Richard his father in quite a long time.

  “It was more of Kara’s doing, but you’re welcome.”

  “He’s in the library if you want to talk to him before… well, it’s better not to take any chances. Last words and all.”

  “We’re not going to die.”

  Gavin nodded, not looking away from the window.

  “Good night, Gavin. And good luck.”

  A grin broke across the Blood’s face. “We’re Hillsidians. We don’t need luck.”

  Braeden laughed, a second flurry of joy tumbling through him. He was Hillsidian, at least partly. Hillside would always have a place in his heart. He stood, leaving the king in their shared office. He shut the door behind him but reopened it a hair to leave it as it was when he found it.

  It took twenty minutes and a wrong turn, but Braeden eventually made his way to the library. He wandered down the main aisle, passing the dark rows of books as he searched for his adoptive father. A flicker of recognition hit him as he passed the forgotten shelf where drenowith lore used to be stored, and he grinned at the memory of his stolen book. It was safely in the Vagabond’s village, where he’d stowed it on his trip with Kara.

  Shadows crept along the back walls, denser in some places than in others. A light radiated from the back corner, so Braeden ambled toward it. Richard sat in an armchair by an empty fireplace with an open book in his hands, three candles illuminating him in a halo of light. Several other empty armchairs covered the reading area. He smiled and set his book down as Braeden approached.

  “Father,” Braeden said with a nod.

  Richard’s smile widened. “Son.”

  Braeden sat in an empty armchair. “What are you reading?”

  “The history of an Ayavelian Blood named Morissa. It seems there are many female Bloods in Ayavel. It’s rare to have so many.”

  Braeden grimaced. “Interesting choice.”

  “I know you’ve never been fond of Blood Evelyn, but surely you don’t mind the Ayavelian race itself?”

  “Not at all. I’ve enjoyed staying here.”

  Richard’s smile fell. “But it still wounds you to think of Blood Aislynn.”

  Braeden frowned. He leaned back in his chair and looked away.

  “Is what she said in your trial true? I heard she claimed she knew your identity all along.”

  Braeden nodded.

  “And yet…” Richard closed his book and sighed.

  “And yet she betrayed me, sent me off to die in the Stele when she realized Kara had connections to the drenowith. She played me like a pawn in the end.”

  “I imagine you looked to her as a mother.”

  Braeden shook his head. “She kept
her distance, same as Blood Lorraine. My mother was the only one I loved that way.”

  “It never felt right to ask, but is that why you became an isen hunter? To find the isen who stole her soul?”

  Braeden sighed and shook his head. “The thought fueled me at times, but I became a hunter to please you. It gave me purpose. I only wanted you to be proud of me.”

  “I am, hunter or no.” Richard set a hand on Braeden’s shoulder.

  Braeden smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  “As ready as one can be, I suppose.”

  “Is the plan to lock Kara in her room so she can’t get hurt?”

  Braeden laughed. “She’d flay me alive if I survived to unlock the door.”

  Richard chuckled. “I imagine you wish you could, though.”

  “I do, but she’s strong. As scared for her as I am, I can’t control her. She’s the Vagabond. She’s fighting for her people as much as I’m fighting for mine.”

  “Are you fighting with Gavin’s army?”

  Braeden shook his head. “Kara and I leave with our team tomorrow morning. We’re going in another way.”

  Richard nodded and looked away, apparently understanding that Braeden couldn’t discuss his mission further. Braeden smiled, grateful he didn’t have to explain anything.

  “May I come visit?” the old man asked.

  Braeden laughed. “What?”

  “When we win. May I visit the Stele?”

  “Any time you like. Bring a sweater.”

  “Noted.”

  Braeden rubbed his hands together, not sure how to say what he wanted to say. “I won’t see you again until after the battle, so—you know, um—”

  “Survive.”

  “Yes.”

  “You as well. I want little Stelian grandchildren.”

  Braeden burst into laughter. “Bloods, I’m not ready to think about that.”