Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  Elana rubbed her arms to breathe life into her skin. Kirelms could withstand significant heat and cold, but the snow pushed her past comfort. She longed for Richard’s order to attack. She would warm up as soon as they dove toward the Stele and out of the snow. She just needed to get moving again.

  She’d already seen Kara’s order come through, and a second pang of fear coursed through her at the thought. Any second now, the final battle would begin with the first wave of attack—Garrett. She wondered what form the muse would take and sucked in a breath of excitement as her imagination wandered. He would have to choose something massive to make a difference. She didn’t even know of a creature large enough to attack the Stele.

  “Any word?” a woman asked.

  Elana twitched in surprise. Blood Aurora stood a few feet away, arms folded over her chest. The metal wing on her back glimmered in the burning mountain sunset. Elana chided herself for not hearing the queen near.

  “No, my Blood.”

  Blood Aurora smiled. “You don’t need to use titles with me. You’re a vagabond. I don’t command you anymore.”

  Elana’s mouth dried, her reply dying on her tongue. She nodded instead, knowing full well she wouldn’t stop. Friend or no, vagabond or no, Blood Aurora was her queen. A breeze tumbled by, shuffling the feathers on the royal’s good wing. Her metal replacement for the lost limb held tight, forever bent in the shape of a stowed wing. Elana rubbed her thumb along her own wings, a rush of gratitude boiling in her stomach. A pang of guilt followed shortly thereafter.

  Aurora’s chariot—a small, golden contraption Gurien built for the queen—rested on the other side of the mountain, out of sight. Two soldiers had pulled it to get their thin queen onto the mountain peak, but none had seen her emerge. Everyone was told to prepare and monitor the black castle below while the queen joined them.

  The Kirelm Blood examined the Stele, smile fading as her eyes shifted over the towers. She took a deep breath, hands tightly clenched. Her back straightened, the single braid she so often wore now wrapped in a bun on her head for safekeeping during the battle. Her silver skin glowed in the sun, cool and brilliant against the endless white.

  Elana couldn’t help but stare.

  A whoosh of wings snapped by overhead. Elana flinched. General Gurien landed in the snow beside Blood Aurora with a muffled thump, his forehead towering over the queen by a good foot. He bowed.

  “Any word?” he asked.

  Elana suppressed a giggle. For as much as they’d fought in the past, they were always so similar. And yet, since Blood Aurora had returned from Ayavel, she had grown so much. She no longer cowered, waiting for direction—she gave the orders, now, with confidence Elana envied.

  Blood Aurora touched Elana’s shoulder. “When the battle begins, you should move to the lower peaks but remain with me on the mountain.”

  Elana tensed. “Those weren’t my orders from Kara.”

  “I understand. But if you’re wounded or killed in flight, I will have no access to the other armies. I must focus on the battle, not protecting you. I can’t risk you dying.”

  Elana released a small huff of frustration before she could control herself. “What if something happens out there? Someone will have to fly back to me. It will slow everything.”

  “We mean no offense, Elana,” Gurien said.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I know.”

  “Can you fight?” he asked.

  Somewhat. Not really.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Then please remain behind,” Blood Aurora said.

  Elana couldn’t fathom waiting in the snow and watching death unfold just out of reach. Being in the melee would be dangerous, of course, but it would distract her enough to make the battle bearable.

  “My Blood—”

  Blood Aurora knelt to eye level and set a hand on each of Elana’s shoulders. “You may not have to obey me anymore, but you’re still a Kirelm. You’ve been with me most of my life, even when I wasn’t wise enough to be grateful for you being there. I don’t want you hurt, Elana. If you could fight, this wouldn’t be an issue. I can’t risk you or your connection to the other grimoires. I need to know where you are, always. Do you understand?”

  Elana sighed but nodded. Even Kara had voiced her concerns about Elana’s volunteering, but she’d been the only choice. No other Kirelm vagabonds volunteered.

  “Thank you,” Blood Aurora said.

  Elana settled back into her rock, fingers playing with the pages of her grimoire. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all. She would have to tell Kara.

  Darkness crept over the valley, casting much of the forest in a murky shadow. Fires erupted within the Stele’s walls. Black trees swayed along the hills below, twisting in the same winds that created white flurries of snow along the peaks. To any other yakona, the canopy would be a blur of grays. But with her keen Kirelm eyesight, Elana saw every detail of the leaves so far below. They rushed in the gusts, pushing against each other with nowhere to go. She imagined the chorus of applause that must rattle the forest with every breeze.

  She took a deep breath, finally calm. Very well. She could sit this one out.

  As she studied the landscape, one section of the forest bent against the wind. She frowned. The canopy rustled. A shiver raced through the leaves. She stood, holding the book in her arms as her eyes widened. The movement must have been Garrett.

  A black head popped through the treetops, almost the same shade as the leaves. Its yellow eyes shifted around the sky. Leaves trembled beneath the creature’s nose. Its mouth opened, and a horrifying screech cut through the air like metal across stone. Elana jumped. Terror rooted her feet to the snow. The beast leapt into the air, surrounded by fractured branches and a flurry of leaves. Trees bent in the gale from its wings. It soared aloft, each slow beat taking it dozens of feet higher. It must have been huge—perhaps even the size of the Stele’s smallest tower. It screamed again, and Elana’s knees shook.

  Gratitude flooded her core. Suddenly, she didn’t mind staying on the mountain.

  A screech echoed through the peaks. A chill shot down Elana’s calves. Her shoulders tensed, but she forced herself to look at her grimoire. No pages turned—no note from Richard. She swallowed hard. Soldiers stood, hands reaching for their swords as they examined the valley below. Every pair of eyes remained fixed on the creature above the Stele’s black forests.

  The wyvern raced toward the castle, moving faster than a beast that large should. It screamed, tearing apart the last shreds of Elana’s confidence. Even if the horrible creature was Garrett—and it must have been—she had no desire to fly in the same airspace lest he forget himself and eat her whole.

  Never had Elana had such respect for the muses. Those creatures could do anything.

  A stream of fire shot from his mouth and pummeled the walls. Flames erupted across the stone, burning everything and anyone that could catch fire. Men ran along the lanes, some waving their arms as their shirts erupted into flame. Others fell off the edge, plummeting like rocks down a well. Aches throbbed in Elana’s arms as she strained to keep calm, her body coiling around the fear of what this beast could do.

  Be ready, a voice said in her mind.

  For a split second, Elana thought it was the first Vagabond, finally speaking to her as he spoke to Kara. But a flash of recognition killed the joy. It was Blood Aurora. The queen’s silent command struck Elana in her chest like a jab. She staggered. Even though she felt no driving need to obey, Elana still tensed at hearing her Blood’s order. For so long, Elana had been forced to obey these commands. Habit was hard to break.

  Every soldier nearby tensed in unison, obeying their Blood when Elana did not. Metal rushed against leather as men drew their swords. Knuckles cracked. Wings beat against the air, just enough to warm the muscles for a fast takeoff. Everyone awaited her grimoire’s final order to attack.

  Elana turned to Blood Aurora, only to see the Blood eyeing her with a puzzle
d expression.

  For a moment, Elana couldn’t imagine what would distract the queen from the final moments before an attack. But it hit her like a snowball to the face—vagabonds weren’t supposed to hear their Bloods’ commands. It was a lie, an urban legend spread to protect any suspected vagabonds. And since Elana flinched at the order, she likely just disproved that myth for Blood Aurora. Her throat went dry. Friend or no, she needed to cover her tracks. To protect the vagabonds who chose to remain anonymous, Elana had to do something.

  She pretended to shiver, allowing her body to shake a bit more violently than natural. Inwardly, she cringed. She never was a good liar.

  Blood Aurora’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She hadn’t bought it.

  Luckily, Garrett served as a distraction. The wyvern-muse dove into the wall of the Stele, crushing the stones beneath him. Seconds later, a delayed rumble shook the mountain. He lifted, a massive hole now rent through the stone, and dove again into another section of the castle.

  Her grimoire shook in Elana’s hands. A page turned itself, settling with its brothers and exposing fresh writing. Kara’s note to begin filled the top of the parchment, same as it had before. But now, a short note from Richard notified the Kirelms that Garrett, Hillside, and the isen were about to attack.

  Elana stood. “Hillside and the isen are attacking. We’re supposed to wait fifteen minutes before—”

  Kill everything wearing a Stelian coat of arms, a voice in her mind interrupted.

  Blood Aurora’s second silent command shook Elana once again. She couldn’t finish her thought. Her skin prickled, and she rubbed her arms to hide the second flinch. With all her heart, she wished the impact of the Blood’s mandates didn’t affect her physically.

  Blood Aurora and General Gurien nodded in unison, neither seeming to hear more than her first few words. The army jumped into the air, thousands of wings disturbing the snow. A white blizzard erupted on the peak, all but blinding Elana. Ice stung her neck. She held her arm over her eyes, shielding herself from the icy bite of their liftoff. Thousands of Kirelms soared toward the castle in silent synchronicity, General Gurien in the lead. More joined from other peaks, thousands of silver dots against the darkening sky.

  A beat of panic pummeled her. They were supposed to wait, not dive in. She cursed under her breath, temples throbbing with stress. She eyed the castle again, searching for the Hillsidians. Nothing. A swarm of black dots caught her eye, flitting over the fortress like a swarm of flies. The horde from one of the towers, darting for the wyvern in dizzy arcs. Garrett bared his long teeth, snapping at them as they got closer. His mouth clamped shut, muscles flexing with each snap. She suppressed a shudder and focused on the swarm, only to see tiny black dragons. Each maneuvered in its own way, but all raced toward Garrett. They landed on him, digging their silver claws into his scales. He screamed and dragged his massive paw over his neck, crushing one or two. But too many bit into him at once for it to make a difference.

  He swept his tail over his hide, crushing several more, but the trail of black dots never ended. It seemed for each he killed, two more took to the air. He pumped his wings and shot into the air like an arrow. Several slid off and fell, only to throw their wings open and catch themselves.

  Elana pulled at her braid and sat on her boulder.

  The Kirelm army reached the castle. Fireballs rained upon the castle, lighting up the growing darkness even as Elana’s eyes adjusted to the coming night. Flares of fire surged, burning white streaks into her vision as the war waged below her.

  “It’s just you and me, now,” Blood Aurora said.

  Elana tore her eyes away from the melee long enough to see the queen sit on a nearby boulder. Her metal wing grated against stone, sparking. Aurora cursed and shifted her weight, trying to settle onto the rock.

  A whisper of shame trickled through Elana. She couldn’t join the fight, but neither could her queen. Of them, the queen had a right to be there. Elana suppressed the burning need to point out that the armies should have waited before diving in, but it was a moot point now. No need to antagonize her Blood.

  “Are you okay?” she asked instead.

  Blood Aurora chuckled, but the laughter died in seconds. “No.”

  “Would it help to talk about it? I mean, if you want. Only if—well, if it would, uh…” Elana wanted to punch herself. She snapped her mouth shut and tugged again at her hair.

  Blood Aurora hesitated. “If I told you the truth, could you handle an imperfect queen?”

  Elana twisted in her seat. “Of course.”

  “It isn’t pretty.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Blood Aurora nodded and rubbed her temples, eyes cast to the snow. “I am… disappointed. I, Blood of Kirelm and Lady of the Skies, was carried to war in a basket. I’m a ground-ridden ruler of those who can fly.”

  Elana fiddled with her hem, not sure of what to say. Pinpricks dug into her throat as she imagined what it would be like to never again fly, to never again savor the rush of wind caressing her face or the chill of a cloud’s bite—agony.

  The queen continued. “I smile and carry my burden with all the grace I can muster. But to those I trust—Gurien, you, and perhaps Kara when she’s no longer overwhelmed—you see the truth.”

  Elana shifted on her stone, leaning toward the young queen. “I wish I had something wise to say.”

  Blood Aurora smiled. “That’s not necessary. I shouldn’t have said anything—this is certainly not the time. Please, stay focused, Elana. We can’t be distracted. Have you updated the others?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, go on.”

  Elana turned and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. What a disaster. She should have said something, anything, to comfort her queen. But she’d lost the opportunity, and she may never get it again.

  She pulled out the inkwell from around her neck. She fished the quill from between the pages of her grimoire and wrote a note for Roj and the Lossian armies, updating them on General Gurien’s attack and Garrett’s plight. Hopefully, someone could help him.

  With that, her usefulness ended. She sat on the edge of her seat, book open on her lap, and stared into the fires quickly turning the Stele to rubble. She hoped Braeden would have something to rebuild once he killed his father. At this rate, he would have only corpses to rule.

  Chapter 17

  Dual Citizen

  Roj, vagabond and Lossian scholar, stood in the Stelian aqueducts beneath the main castle, waiting for word to attack. A current of water pulled at his bare feet as he waded through the city’s fresh water supply. Lossians swam better without shoes, and Blood Frine ordered boots-off in an effort to prepare as best they could. Roj’s webbed toes wiggled against the smooth floor, relishing the cool flow over his skin in their newfound freedom. He hated boots.

  The aqueduct’s stone walls formed a wide arc three yards tall and twice as wide. Water swept over their ankles, only two feet deep in the shallow points. Every dozen feet or so, trickles of sunlight broke through a hole in the ceiling—likely the wells citizens used to access the fresh water below. With each passing light, the beams seemed to darken as the sun no doubt sank behind the mountains he’d seen once the Lossian army crossed through the Stelian lichgate. No one on the streets above could imagine the thousands of Lossians filling the aqueducts below, prepared to attack at Roj’s command. He squirmed at the thought. Blood Frine led the way, though the Lossian Heir was forced to remain behind lest something go sour during the battle.

  Blood Frine raised his hand, palm out—the signal to stop. So they would join the war from here. Two Lossian soldiers trotted toward the hole above. One knelt beneath it, while the other stood on his hands. With two quick thrusts Roj almost didn’t see, the second Lossian sailed into the air and grabbed the rocks of the well. He swung, catching his heel on a protruding stone, and paused with his body blocking most of the opening. He reached into his pack and pulled out a rolled collection of planks and
rope. He leaned into the wall, freeing his hands to work. Moments later, he leapt to the pavement and landed on his feet, a rope ladder unraveling behind him.

  Roj’s clothes clung to his sides and legs, soaked from their trips through the aqueduct’s deeper channels. Now that they stood in a shallow area near the city center—according to Braeden’s maps, anyway—his grimoire lay open in his hands. His wide hand balanced the cover across his palm, cradling the precious book as if he held a child. Protecting its knowledge was an honor, one he simply could not refuse when offered. He monitored the open page, waiting for the signal to strike. Kara’s order already came through, and now he waited for the first wave of attack.

  Blood Frine stood beside him, and Roj could barely contain himself. The Blood stood within ten feet and would look to him for the order to attack—Roj! His heart fluttered with joy. He admired his Blood’s tenacity and devotion to his people, as well as the sense of honor and nobility he instilled in those he ruled. Roj had left the great Lossian’s command for the vagabonds with significant guilt. But he and the Vagabond Kara shared a dream. As much as he respected Blood Frine, he longed even more for peace in Ourea. Agreement. Open trade. A sharing of ideas and knowledge. He’d tasted that life in the Vagabond’s village, where he learned the basics of self-defense from a Kirelm and traded a Lossian bracelet for an Ayavelian book on magical theory. Another bubble of excitement washed through him. Peace was possible; Kara’s village had shown him as much. He hoped this final battle would make his dream real.

  The water gushed by.

  A screech echoed through the sky far above, muffled by the aqueduct’s stone walls but powerful nonetheless. The scream blasted through the tunnel. Echoes followed, reliving the sound over and over in softer tones. Roj froze. He’d never heard a cry like that before, one that could freeze him to the ground.

  The shriek blasted through the tunnels again, louder this time. Whatever this beast was, it had come closer.