Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  A clamor of voices slipped through the well opening above as Stelians apparently rushed to their posts. So the battle had begun. The cries must have been due to Garrett. Roj hated to imagine what monster the muse had transformed into, but if the Stelians shouted loud enough to be heard in the aqueduct, it must have been quite a sight.

  Fear crept up Roj’s throat. He gripped his grimoire’s spine.

  Prepare, a voice said in his mind.

  Frine’s silent command rocked through Roj’s core like an earthquake. He recognized it, having lived through dozens of similar commands in his time at the capital. He tensed his jaw, trying to hide the effects of hearing the command. Though he felt no compulsion to obey, his heart raced at the sudden intrusion into his head. While he admired Blood Frine, he never cared for this part of his rule. The mandates were an element of his old life he’d wished away, but not even a vagabond’s life could disconnect him from his Blood’s commands. At least he didn’t have to obey.

  He chanced a glance at his Blood, only to see the king already studying him. The man’s brow wrinkled in concentration. Roj swallowed out of nerves, his throat suddenly dry. The Blood beckoned him closer.

  Roj leaned in, feigning calm. “Yes, Blood Frine?”

  “You must know I hold no ill will for you, vagabond. You are still welcome in Losse, despite your vagabond nature, regardless of the outcome of this battle.”

  A smile crept onto Roj’s face as a rush of relief swam through him. “Thank you, my Blood.”

  Blood Frine nodded and once more studied the well, shoulders tense.

  Roj examined his grimoire, but his eyes didn’t focus on the pages. A full pardon, given in person. The guilt of betraying his people sank away. He meant to protect them, and it seemed Blood Frine knew that as well. Roj no longer had to choose between nations—he lived to serve both the Vagabond Kara and Blood Frine.

  His smile grew until a rumble shook the aqueduct. He stumbled, his grimoire sliding in his hands. His stomach churned as he grabbed it, catching the cover before it splashed into the water. Rocks tumbled from above. He shielded his head with an arm as pebbles rained on him.

  Another scream from the beast. Another rumble through the rock.

  His grimoire shivered, and he glanced at it in time to see lines scratching from an invisible quill onto the page. Richard signed the short note, signaling Elana’s team to attack.

  Roj turned to his Blood. “Hillside is moving in. The Kirelms will wait fifteen minutes and then attack.”

  Blood Frine stood straighter and nodded. “It is almost time, then.”

  Ready yourselves. Again with the voice in his mind.

  The Blood’s silent mandate shook Roj’s core yet again. He turned away in time to hide the grimace, but he couldn’t hide the flinch. He simply hoped his Blood hadn’t noticed, but he wouldn’t turn around to see for himself. That would simply raise suspicion.

  Screams. Rumbling. Yells. War raged above them, and yet the Lossians remained still. None moved. Every soldier eyed the well opening through which they would momentarily slip into the battle above. They had to wait until all attention was focused elsewhere lest they be picked off one by one as they left the tunnels.

  A quiet pang in Roj’s chest sent a wave of shame down his to his toes. He wouldn’t contribute much to the fighting. He was a scholar, not a soldier. When the Lossians sailed into battle, he would be the last up through the well. He would keep his Blood in sight and use his magical talents as best he could to fend off attackers, but the sword the Vagabond Kara forced him to wear would go unused. He could wield magic, but he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do with a blade.

  He turned again to Blood Frine, examining the Lossian as he prepared to dive into battle with his soldiers. Roj wondered if he would see his Blood’s daru, the dark side of every royal yakona—a being of immense power drawn from the subjects around him. He doubted he would see such a sight, however much he longed to. Taking on the daru would help Blood Frine’s fight, of course, but it would leave any subjects nearby powerless as he drained their energy. They would be killed instantly, and he would lose access to their energy. It was a risk he doubted the king would take unless cornered.

  The ground rumbled again. The crackle of fire hummed nearby. Wood splintered, its echo carrying in the aqueduct. Roj balled his free hand into a fist. He couldn’t endure this much longer.

  He stared at his grimoire, silently willing Elana to write the words he needed to read for this tension to end. As if she heard him, her handwriting crawled across the page. Roj whipped his head around. Blood Frine caught his eye.

  “The Kirelms are attacking.”

  “Already?”

  “It appears they didn’t want to wait.”

  “Then neither shall we,” the Blood said.

  Roj opened his mouth to speak, to explain why that was a bad idea, but the words died in his throat. He couldn’t dissuade a Blood; he was no equal to royalty. Instead, he prepared for the silent mandate ordering the attack. His shoulders tensed. To distract himself, he fished out his quill and scrawled a note to Rieve explaining the change of plans. After a few breaths on the ink to dry it, he wished away the book. Its blue dust sailed into the air, dissolving into his grimoire pendant. He smiled, a dash of joy seeping through the fear. His pendant’s stone glowed blue, the light growing stronger as more of his grimoire disappeared inside.

  Attack. Blood Frine’s order still pummeled through him like a fist to the gut, but he didn’t flinch this time.

  The well opening blasted apart, revealing a gaping hole three times its original size. The ladder fell to the floor. Fire rained upon the soldiers. Lossians yelped and dove out of the way. Without pausing to doubt himself, Roj gathered the air around him and shot it upward like a shield against the fire, propelling the flames back from where they came.

  He guided the flames away. They dissolved with a whoosh, and Roj wondered if a building collapsed or if they would need to find another exit. As his mouth parted to raise debate, a Kirelm with no shirt shot through the opening, his silver skin a contrast to the dull stone. His black wings consumed the ceiling. He dove into the Lossian soldiers with his sword drawn. The blade sailed through a Lossian soldier’s stomach. The man screamed. Blue blood rushed over the blade. Other Lossians drew their swords and attacked the Kirelm. He lay on the stonework within seconds, swallowed by a swarm of blue heads.

  This couldn’t be. This had to be a mistake. The Kirelms were on their side.

  The Lossians around the body cursed and backed away. On the floor lay a Stelian, his charcoal skin dotted with dots of blue from his kill.

  Another of Blood Frine’s mandates shot through Roj’s head. Be ready! The Stelians have taken on Kirelm forms!

  More Kirelms—Stelians in disguise—poured through the opening, trapping the Lossian soldiers in the aqueduct. No time to think. Tension pulled on Roj’s shoulder blades as he prepared another attack. He funneled the energy into his palms, tugging on the air to create sharp arrows from the wind. He released shaft after shaft toward the attackers, slicing open anything within shooting distance. The Kirelms swarmed inward, several dropping like rocks to the water below and shifting as they fell.

  They hadn’t even gone to the surface before the Stelians attacked. They’d known. Somehow, some way, they’d known the Lossians were there.

  Roj didn’t have much time, but he had to warn the others. He stepped to the back of the onslaught and wished forth his grimoire. The book settled into his hands, and he yanked the quill from its pages. He fumbled with the inkwell around his neck until the lid popped off. He scribbled a quick note, hoping the smudges and smears would still translate into a legible warning for anyone else able to read his words.

  We were attacked. They knew.

  Chapter 18

  The Innocent

  Rieve stood beside Evelyn, her grimoire open in her hands as she watched the Ayavelian Blood in her periphery. Rieve had been a vagabond for little
over a month, but she already couldn’t imagine living without the freedom that came with it.

  Pulses of panic skittered through her chest with every heartbeat. Sweat lined the creases of her palms as she and Evelyn stood in silence at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Stelian castle. They should be in the melee or at least walking toward it. Instead, they simply watched, barely a few dozen feet from the lichgate into the Stele. Nothing but spires poked from the black forest, the fortress miles away. A black beast breathed fire over the walls, its massive wings casting gales that bent the trees. Garrett. From this distance, Rieve couldn’t make out the details of what the muse had transformed into, but it was as big as one of the Stelian towers. It had to be the largest thing in existence. She wondered if it had ever been a real creature or if the drenowith had simply dreamt it up.

  The scene played like a theatre show, too far away to consider it real. Birds sang a few feet off. Crickets chirped. A rabbit scampered through the underbrush in a thick patch of woods to her right. Only Garrett’s occasional shriek reached her on this cliff. The wind sauntered by. And even though she could see flames and war in the distance, she couldn’t hear the screams of those dying within the black stone walls.

  The contrast sent a shiver down her spine.

  Evelyn’s army stood in militant rows behind Rieve, the men standing at attention shoulder to shoulder as they waited for direction. Some eyed Evelyn, the woman who controlled them. Others eyed Rieve, no doubt curious about this new girl preparing for war alongside the Blood, almost like an equal. Almost.

  Rieve would have enjoyed herself if she weren’t so terrified.

  She swallowed hard as Garrett screeched again. His mouth opened a second or two before it reached her ears. The Ayavelian army was too far away to be useful. Rieve wanted to point this out, to suggest they get closer, but Evelyn was no fool. She hadn’t spoken since they left home, and Rieve doubted she wanted conversation or insight from a vagabond. They stood this far away on purpose. Rieve’s mouth went dry as she tried to form words anyway, to at least point out that she noticed. The Ayavelian Blood couldn’t hide from this battle. The warriors below needed her healers.

  She glanced back to her brother Zimmermann, who stood in the first row of soldiers. Before they left, he’d assured her he had a spot at the front but wouldn’t tell her how he’d gotten the promotion. She didn’t care. He was close, and only that mattered.

  He nodded once without looking at her, all soldier even as he let her know she wasn’t alone. She hid a smile with her free hand and once more faced the Stele. He would never let anything happen to her.

  Her grimoire trembled in her hands. Rieve flinched in surprise. Handwriting etched itself across the already open page as someone wrote in it. Kara, Richard, and Elana had already submitted their orders for the next wave to attack, so this had to be Roj. The Lossians must have begun their assault.

  Evelyn snapped her head toward Rieve, a scowl marring her otherwise beautiful face. Rieve forced herself to swallow in an effort to remain calm under the queen’s glare.

  “Well?” the Blood snapped.

  Rieve read through the note. “The Lossians have begun. We should move out now to reach the city in time.”

  There. Maybe that would be hint enough for the Blood.

  Evelyn shook her head. “What exactly does it say? Read it to me verbatim.”

  A shock pulsed through Rieve’s core at the queen’s silent command, which reinforced the verbal command she had given. Rieve took a deep breath, hiding the physical effect of the mandate as best she could, and read the note aloud.

  “The Lossian army is spread throughout the aqueducts of the city, at least a hundred to each exit. Frine has given the order to move out.”

  Evelyn’s scowl relaxed into a frown. “There’s nothing else?”

  Rieve shook her head. She wanted to ask—but didn’t—what else there should be.

  “Tell them Ayavel is coming as planned, then.”

  Rieve sighed with relief and dipped her quill into the inkwell at her throat. But even as she went to write her first words, more appeared.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  “Read it aloud, vagabond.”

  “‘We were attacked. They knew.’”

  Rieve tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but it didn’t help. Betrayed. Roj thought the Lossian army had walked into a trap.

  “We need to help them!” she said.

  Evelyn’s frown faded into a thin line that showed no emotion. She nodded. “Tell them we’re coming.”

  Rieve scribbled a note after Roj’s entry, trying her best not to let the ink blotch or smear. She blew on the note to dry the lines.

  A flash of silver glinted in her peripheral vision.

  At the village, the isen hunter Remy taught her how to duck and weave to avoid attacks. Since they were low on time, he wanted to focus on keeping her alive rather than teaching her to fight. Sometimes, running was the best option available—for her, it was really the only option. In the spirit of that training, Rieve’s body twisted, rolling across the ground on reflex to avoid something her brain hadn’t yet processed.

  A sword.

  Her book lay two feet away. Rieve hunched on a patch of dirt and stared at the sword embedded in the stone where she’d stood moments ago. Evelyn grunted and pulled her blade from the rock. Panic froze Rieve in place. Her queen had just tried to kill her.

  “Restrain her!” Evelyn yelled.

  The royal mandate shook Rieve once more, melting the frozen panic. She wished away her grimoire and bolted without a glance backward, running into the dark forest with no direction. Blue dust circled her head as she ran, her grimoire trying its best to dissolve into her necklace as she moved.

  Her boots pounded the rock and dirt as she kept her eyes focused on the black trunks ahead. There was no path in this wood, empty as it was, so she raced through the underbrush. Fallen branches scraped her shins. Stings raced up her legs, but Rieve didn’t dare look. She had to focus on escaping—somehow.

  Green lightning burst against the tree to her left. She chanced a glance backward in time to see a dozen or more soldiers chasing after her.

  A bolt of air sailed by her head, missing by inches and taking several strands of hair with it. She sucked in air, trying her best not to sob as she ran. She couldn’t outrun trained soldiers.

  Ahead, the forest to her left receded into the rock and revealed an opening to the woods hundreds of feet below. Rieve wondered if she could jump off and shift into a Kirelm form on her way down. The Kirelm form was the first she learned, and she was an excellent flier. It might give her an advantage, at least for a moment, but she’d never shifted midair before. It was too much pressure. She could easily fling herself off a cliff, fail the transformation, and end up killing herself for Evelyn.

  She needed to hide. She needed to dodge these soldiers long enough to conceal herself.

  A man grunted behind her. His boots stomped against the earth, close enough to sense through the dirt. Panic shot a fresh wave of energy through her veins. She twisted her head, hoping to see Zimmermann, but a different Ayavelian soldier glared at her a few feet behind. He would probably reach out and grab her in seconds. His eyes narrowed.

  He was going to kill her, not restrain her.

  Her foot caught on a branch. She stumbled to the ground, skidding over the leaves. Her palms ripped open. Silver blood streamed down the iridescent skin on her wrists. She suppressed a scream and pushed herself to her feet. The soldier grabbed her hair as he passed, apparently with too much momentum to stop himself. Her hair wrapped around his hand, yanking her scalp as he dragged her farther across the forest floor. She screamed this time.

  Rieve was no fighter, but Remy had taught her a few tricks besides running.

  In the split second she had before the other soldiers reached them, she focused her energy into her hands. A thin stream of lightning jumped from her fingertips, arching to hit him in the chest. He yelle
d and dropped, releasing her hair.

  She jumped to her feet and sprang forward again, the other soldiers almost on her heels as well. She couldn’t fall again, or she would die.

  Something glinted off to the right. She turned to look, but whatever it was rammed into her before she could register it as more than a blur. She collapsed into the mass. They flew sideways and, in seconds, sailed over the cliff.

  Rieve screamed. Her stomach churned, heaving her breakfast nearly into her mouth. Her cheeks flushed, and she closed her lips to resist vomiting. The ground loomed closer every second, the rocks at the base of the cliff zooming toward her.

  “Hush, baby girl,” a man said in her ear.

  She snapped her head around. Zimmermann, already in his Kirelm form, smiled. His silver skin glowed in the dusk. He reached an arm behind her back and under her knees, lifting her to him as he flapped his wings. Their momentum slowed, and instead of falling, he glided toward the forest canopy.

  Rieve laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She squeezed, hugging him.

  He coughed. “Too tight. Too tight!”

  “Sorry!”

  She held on, her grip a little looser as they flew.

  Men yelled from the cliff top. Rieve looked back. Soldiers grouped on the cliff face, their uniforms tightening as they shifted into Kirelms, too. She and Zimmermann only had a few seconds before these men dove as well.

  A few soldiers remained in their Ayavelian forms.

  “Some aren’t following us,” Rieve said.

  Her brother grunted. “They probably think I’m obeying orders. We don’t have long before they figure out the truth.”

  His wings pumped faster, propelling them forward and closer toward the ground. Rieve gripped his neck tighter and held her breath.

  Zimmermann let out a slow breath. “When we land, we need to run as fast as we can. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  A bolt of lightning flew past his left wing.

  He cursed. “Guess they figured it out.”

  Rieve looked over his shoulder. Three soldiers chased them in Kirelm forms. One had his hands outstretched, flickers of light dancing over his fingers.