Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  To scream like that, she had to be in incredible pain. Braeden sucked in a breath and prepared himself for the worst. He got her into this mess, and he’d get her out of it.

  He scratched Flick’s head. “Ready, buddy?”

  Pain tore through Kara. Her body ached. Her lungs wouldn’t operate. She gasped, but no breath came. White light blinded her when she opened her eyes. Fresh lines of agony ripped across her stomach, her chest, her face. Deidre couldn’t have stopped with the wrist guard—daggers of pain cut across her torso. Her cheeks flushed. She choked on bile.

  Drowning in the bathtub was a hiccup compared to this.

  She could barely function. Thoughts came across in fractured phrases, nothing but nonsense in her mind. Anxiety pulled on her body, yanking her shoulder blades together. Something fizzled. A flash of red blurred across the white.

  Deidre cursed. Something crashed. Something else splintered apart.

  The pain receded. Kara sat upright and nursed her arm. Patches of her vision returned. Her hand hung limp at the wrist. Black char covered most of the skin on her arm. The edges of the leather wrist guard blended with her freckles. She couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

  A figure crossed her periphery. Kara glanced at it. Deidre raised a hand, a brilliant white light in the center of her palm. She threw it like a baseball at Kara’s head. Out of instinct or perhaps sheer luck, Kara ducked. It sailed past. Something crashed behind her. A fresh wave of nausea tore through her gut. A current of pain shot through her arm and into her shoulder. She cursed and scooted back across the floor.

  Deidre aimed again and loosed another ball of light. Kara twisted away, but not in time. The light hit her upper chest—and sailed clean through.

  Kara screamed, louder than before with the combined agony of her burned wrist and now the hole through her body. Blood spilled across her shirt. White and black flecks danced past her eyes. She gasped for air. Her mind retreated, unable to take the pain.

  Deidre smiled, her grin spreading across her face. She drew her sword.

  Crack!

  Deidre’s eyes shifted to something behind Kara and cursed. A wave of air hit her in the chest. She sailed into the wall and tumbled to the floor.

  A warm hand caressed Kara’s forehead. Braeden appeared beside her, kneeling. Flick whimpered from his shoulder.

  Crack!

  Flick’s familiar teleportation left Kara less ill than Carden’s little gray creature, but she retched anyway. Her world spun. She couldn’t take this. No more.

  Please, no more.

  The light faded. The temperature fell. A narrow line of light outlined a small door, only about half as tall as it should be. Shadows filled the small space, along with the outlines of thin sticks leaning against the far wall.

  “Where are we?” Kara asked.

  “A broom closet. I used to come here as a child when Carden scared me.”

  Kara smiled but coughed. Another wave of pain ripped apart her lungs. She sobbed. Her hands shook. She wished she could hold both her new injury and wrist, but the former went largely unattended.

  “You cowards!” Deidre screamed in the distance. Her voice bounced through the door, muffled almost beyond recognition.

  Braeden lifted Kara and leaned her against him. She grimaced. She sat with her back against his chest. He slipped an arm under her burnt wrist. She flinched. Every breath hurt. Pain became aches, and the aches throbbed with every heartbeat. The longer she sat still, the deeper the agony dug into her core.

  He ran a hand through her hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She scoffed, her voice weak. “It hurts.”

  Deidre screamed in frustration, her voice a little clearer this time. “Look at the mighty Blood of the Stele, running like the scared child he is!”

  Kara flinched at the venom in Deidre’s voice. “She’s crazy.”

  Braeden lowered her hand and eased it into a beam of light. The black burns welded her wrist guard to her skin, as she’d feared. Red boils covered her lower arm.

  “Can you heal me?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Braeden.”

  “I—I don’t…”

  “Please.” Her voice broke.

  He hugged her, pulling her to his chest. “I can’t heal you. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and it looks like she beat you within inches of your life.”

  Kara released a slow breath. She’d refused to take off the wrist guard at the start of the battle because of all the horrible things she’d done without it on. She’d sworn to herself to never remove it again. With Braeden so close, it made sense to resist the temptation. With the untamed power fueled by fear, she could do more than kill him—she could burn down the Stele in the process or possibly kill every Stelian alive. She hadn’t wanted to risk that.

  But now, she faced dying herself. Everything died, but she didn’t want her second death to come so soon.

  Her cheeks flushed. She relaxed into Braeden, letting him take her full weight. Her muscles couldn’t hold her anymore.

  His voice rushed by her ear. His chest hummed with the sound. The words blurred together, none of them making sense. She groaned, fighting the desire to sleep. She had to know what he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Let me take the wrist guard off,” he said.

  She shook her head, nausea rippling through her mouth as she spoke. “Don’t think you can.”

  “I’ve got to try.”

  “I’ll lose control. Kill you.”

  “I don’t care.” His voice cracked.

  She wanted to smile, to tell him it would be all right, but her mouth wouldn’t obey. She lay there, in his arms, her senses fading with the blood that drained on the floor.

  Her eyes slid shut.

  “Kara, come back to me,” he said in her ear.

  Her back and neck muscles relaxed into him. The pain dissolved. Inwardly, she smiled.

  I’ll try.

  Chapter 23

  Bloodlines

  Braeden’s vision blurred with tears. His throat stung. He relaxed his hold on Kara so she could be more comfortable and set her head in his lap. He ran his thumb along her cheek, heart racing as he tried to figure out what to do.

  Strands of her blond hair covered her eye. He brushed it aside, hands shaking as he tried to keep it together. He’d seen wounds this bad before. They always led to death. No magic he knew could heal her at this point.

  Risk or no, he wouldn’t let the wrist guard stay on if there was the slimmest chance removing it would save her. He reached for it, fingernails digging under what bits of the guard weren’t fused to her skin. If she could still feel, this would hurt. He didn’t know what would happen. She might lose her mind and rip his head off—or worse, nothing might happen at all. His chest ached. He couldn’t imagine a world without her.

  “Heir Drakonin,” she said, a second voice layered on top of hers. A man’s.

  He sucked in a breath—he’d heard that second voice twice before, when he’d witnessed the first Vagabond possess her body. His eyes snapped to hers. She stared at him, but her eyes slipped in and out of focus.

  “Is this the first Vagabond?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Kara doesn’t have much time. You must take off the wrist guard.”

  “What will happen?”

  “Her body will heal. I saw it happen at Niccoli’s guild. I believe it will happen again. You must give her space, let her burn off the energy as best she can.”

  “Will she lose control?”

  “It’s possible. Whenever this energy has taken over in the past, she’s been scared or angry. Her emotions led to a loss of control—I believe Stone deduced this in Agneon as well, but that’s only a theory. Her training with Stone was focused on teaching her to control her emotions in the heat of battle to allow her to maintain her composure and, therefore, control the power. So maybe if she focuses on peace and remaining calm, she can manipulate the en
ergy enough to maintain herself.”

  “Is she strong enough to do this?” Braeden asked, voice breaking.

  “She’ll have to be. I’ll speak with her, guide her through it. But short of letting her die, we’re out of options.”

  Braeden reached for the wrist guard. Kara’s hand yanked away.

  “Let me save her!” he snapped.

  “One more thing, Braeden, and this is important.”

  Braeden glared at the floor, unable to look at the voice. He would see Kara even though the first Vagabond spoke.

  “The wrist guard is destroyed. I don’t know if Stone can fix it. Whatever we learn today about her power, it won’t be a cure. This is her curse, one both of you must learn to live with. She can lose her mind at any moment. It will take years to learn to control the power without the wrist guard’s help.”

  “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  But the First Vagabond plowed ahead. “When she comes to, keep your distance. Speak quietly, calmly. Don’t let her get emotionally charged. Do whatever you can to keep her calm.”

  “Fine!”

  Braeden reached for the wrist guard. Her arm tensed when he grabbed it but fell limp a second later. He turned over her arm, casting a glance at her face out of the corner of his eye. She lay against him, eyes closed. The first Vagabond was gone.

  A layer of leather served as a second skin to her right wrist, and lines covered the brown fabric in a marbleized pattern. An occasional hole betrayed red blisters where freckles should have been. Crimson blood coated her arm, sticking to the leather even as it pulsed from her open wounds. The buckle around her wrist was long gone, replaced by a strip of brown leather now fused all the way around her lower arm.

  Braeden sucked in a breath and pulled at the leather. He had to move fast and hope she was out cold. What was left of the guard tugged at her skin, refusing to let go. He pulled it back, one hand clamped on her arm as the other peeled the second layer off. He had to remove the spikes from her skin, since the metal kept her power at bay.

  She whimpered and clawed the stone floor. Two nails snapped. Flick whimpered as well, pushing himself into a corner of the closet. His ears sank against his back, and he curled into a ball, wide eyes on Kara’s face.

  Braeden bit his cheek. It drew blood. He grimaced and pulled a knife out of his pocket. The metal gleamed as he dug it along the fused leather, slicing apart the fabric so he could pull out the spikes. He managed to pry an inch of the leather away from her wrist. Kara yelled, eyes shut tightly. Two spikes appeared in the strip, their sharp tips coated with blood. More red liquid pooled in the indents they left behind. Two scars an inch long lay on either side of the spike indents, implying the wrist guard had been ripped off before, but he couldn’t pause to examine them.

  Inch by inch, the spikes pulled free of her skin. Braeden didn’t know how long it took because every second crawled by. But when he ripped out the final nail, he tossed his tool aside and set his blood-drenched hands against her face. Red streaks followed his thumbs, but he didn’t care. She wouldn’t care. Hopefully, removing the spikes would work. He couldn’t take the wrist guard off completely—most of the band had been fused to her skin.

  He channeled healing energy into her temples, focusing whatever magic and strength he had left into her body. Perhaps he could start the process for her and encourage her magic to take over.

  She took tiny breaths, her chest barely moving as she labored for air. A flood of panic charged through his arms and legs. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He stared at her. His fingertips pushed against her skin, the little indents filling with the blood covering his hands.

  Maybe it failed. Maybe he’d really lost her.

  She lay in his lap, her chest rising less and less with each breath. He shook his head, fighting his throat as it tightened. He wouldn’t give up. His fingers tensed, and he released another wave of healing energy into her head.

  A ribbon of green light curled from one of the spike indents in her wrist. It puffed, dispersing like a huff of smoke. Another emerged from the same wound, this one wriggling like a fast-growing sprout. It twirled, wrapping around her arm and spiraling toward her neck. Another sprang from one of the gaping wounds on her hand. In seconds, dozens more sprung from her body, writhing as they crawled over her skin. Her skin glowed green, illuminating the dark closet like an eerie sunrise.

  The spike wounds on her wrist thinned and closed completely, pushing blood ahead of the fusing muscle. Tiny red rivers trailed along her arm, fed by the healing punctures. Skin stitched itself over her hand, closing the wounds. The leather wrist guard fell off and hit the floor with a thunk. Her fingers twitched. She frowned in her sleep and gasped.

  Relief sank into Braeden’s core. He trembled, his body shaking with a surge of gratitude.

  Her eyes opened, the green light even infiltrated her irises. Braeden flinched with surprise, but she stared at the ceiling. She pushed herself upright and lifted a hand to her forehead.

  Braeden wanted to wrap his arms around her, but the first Vagabond’s warning rang in his mind.

  Keep your distance.

  He set his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her, unable to be any farther away than necessary. “Are you all right?”

  Those now-green eyes snapped to him, her face smooth and expressionless. She nodded. Her ear twitched. Her head twisted to the left, as if listening to something he couldn’t hear.

  “Peace and focus,” she said with a nod.

  Braeden swallowed hard. That must have been the first Vagabond talking to her.

  “If you start to lose control, just think of something happy,” Braeden added.

  “So think of you,” she said.

  He smiled, but she didn’t. She studied him, her features relaxed. Not a wrinkle. No expression. No smile. It wasn’t a compliment. Apparently, she’d simply stated a fact. He cleared his throat, a dizzy spell rushing through his head—maybe he gave her a little too much of his energy. It didn’t matter. At least she wasn’t dead. He had to believe she could maintain control.

  “It’s time to end this woman,” Kara said.

  Braeden nodded. “Do you think you can do it?”

  A wicked grin spread over her face. Her eyes narrowed, and her teeth gleamed in the green glow of her body.

  “Oh, I’m ready,” she said.

  Braeden shuddered. He wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 24

  Redeemed

  Kara took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway. Her body hummed. Green light pulsed along the wall, reflecting the glow of her ancestral magic as it pulsed beneath her skin.

  She slipped off her tattered boots—what remained of them, anyway. Her shoulders relaxed. She wiggled her toes, relishing the freedom of the stone floor. A chill swept up her heels.

  Deep breaths, Kara, the first Vagabond said. His voice buzzed through her mind.

  She sucked in another breath and held it, savoring the relief that coursed through her mind as the fresh oxygen poured into her.

  Good, Kara. Remember—calm, peace, and focus will get you through this. I’ll be here with you.

  Thank you, she replied.

  Braeden followed her into the hallway and shut the broom closet door. She sensed his movements even with her back to him. Flick purred on his shoulder.

  “You two should stay back,” she said. She didn’t want him in the line of fire.

  Braeden paused, probably frowning. She kept her attention ahead.

  “Promise?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  A rush of fear plowed through her. It wouldn’t be enough. She’d lose control. She’d kill. Perhaps she should lock him in the broom closet to keep him safe. She could wedge a chair under the handle, or—

  The glow of her skin brightened. Green light stretched farther down the hall. She tightened her hands into fists and closed her eyes.

  Be calm, the Vagabond said.

  She took slow steps along the stone. The cold
tile chilled her feet.

  Experience peace.

  Her hair tickled the base of her neck.

  Focus.

  Braeden sighed behind her.

  You have all the time in the world, Kara. Bring her to you.

  Time to begin.

  “I’m waiting for you, Deidre!” she shouted. Her voice carried through the halls, echoing in the vast, empty castle.

  The hallway ended in a sharp turn to the left. A window at the end of the hall let in the orange glow of a wildfire outside. Memories tugged at Kara’s mind—she knew what caused that, but she pushed away the thoughts. At this moment, she existed to kill Deidre.

  The lilac and pine scent of an isen drifted through the air. Kara’s body tensed. An ache crept down her back. She would find Deidre on the other side, and she would attack first. No banter.

  She turned the corner.

  Nothing.

  The gray corridor continued, ending in yet another sharp turn. Perhaps her senses were better than she realized. Deidre must be down that hall, instead. Kara continued along, her bare feet not making a sound as she passed through the castle.

  She turned the second corner.

  A stairway. No isen.

  Kara walked upstairs, each step taking her closer to the greatest fight of her life.

  Calm.

  She took another deep breath.

  Peace.

  She would win this.

  Focus.

  Deidre would die.

  A tremor of glee raced down her spine. Murder. That sounded fun.

  Kara stopped on the steps and closed her eyes. She took the deepest, slowest breath of her life.

  Calm.

  A hand reached for her from behind. The air parted as the fingers stretched for her, shooting vibrations through her core. She waited for it to touch her, but it paused. He changed his mind, then.

  Peace.

  “Ready to go again?” a woman asked.

  Focus.

  Her eyes snapped open. Deidre stood at the top of the stairs, eyes locked on hers. Red blotches covered the woman’s white shirt. A rip in the bodice revealed pale skin beneath it. Dark curls framed Deidre’s wicked smile. The gray Xlijnughl perched on her shoulder. Its tail curled behind it, twitching as it balanced. Deidre backed away, apparently inviting Kara up the steps. She obliged the woman.