Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  Chapter 25

  Monsters

  A loud crack echoed in Braeden’s ear. He rubbed his head and glanced around to get his bearings. Flick’s tiny body weighed on his shoulder. The pet purred in his ear.

  He stood in the middle of the throne room. His throne room.

  Evidence of his fight with Deidre covered the marble—fractures splintered across several pillars like spider webs, while patches of the stone floor lay in rubble. The Kirelm vagabond from earlier sat on the stairs by the thrones—Braeden’s thrones—with most of his body draped in the black banner once hung from the wall. Silver lines dipped along the fabric, evidence of the coat of arms sewn into the fabric.

  The Kirelm grinned. “Is it over?”

  “It’s about to be. Let the others know Kara’s safe,” Braeden said. He lifted the banner and dragged it away from the Kirelm, who stood and brushed off his shirt.

  With one hand wrapped around the flag, Braeden imagined his father’s study—his study—and scratched Flick on the head with his free hand. The little creature chirped, and yet another crack rang through Braeden’s ears.

  The study appeared before him, ransacked as well from Deidre’s torture. Puddles of red blood covered the rug by the fireplace. Braeden frowned, his jaw tensing as he imagined the horrible things Deidre must have done to the woman he loved.

  He shook his head. The isen was dead, and Kara was safe. For now.

  Fabric dragging behind him, he ran to the balcony. It caught on a chair by the fireplace, but he yanked it free. The seat shifted along the floor, wooden feet groaning in protest.

  The night sky filled with fireballs, their yellow tails staining the sky as they plummeted. Below, the war raged on. Men shouted, their war cries like a constant stream of thunder. Fires consumed whole rows of buildings and patches of the outer wall, illuminating the Stele in all directions.

  Braeden heaved the banner over the side of the balcony, both hands still grabbing onto the fabric as he let the wind spread it out into the air. The fabric tugged at his grip.

  He let it go.

  The banner fluttered over the war below, rippling in the cold night.

  Braeden closed his eyes, focused on his final task in this battle. He mimicked what he’d learned on his way to the throne room and reached out to the Stelians below with his mind.

  Stop fighting.

  His heart skipped a beat in panic. If the alliance didn’t see his flag, they may continue the attack on his people. He added a second command.

  Say, “I have been ordered to stop fighting. This war is over.”

  He leaned on the railing, heart in his chest as he held his breath, waiting for the swords to fall. The battle cries died. A lingering scream filled the air, but soon it faded away. Braeden’s jaw tensed. His grip on the railing tightened.

  A murmur rumbled through the crowd below, growing until it reached a crescendo. The men cheered. Swords glinted in the firelight, likely reflecting the light up to him as the soldiers below lifted their swords in victory.

  He sighed and backed away from the railing.

  One battle over. One left to finish.

  Kara knelt on the floor beneath a window and summoned her grimoire. She wanted space between her and Deidre’s corpse, but she also needed light, however scarce it was in the ballroom. Blue dust sprang to life from her pendant, illuminating the outline of a book. The tome solidified, dropping into her palms with a familiar weight. Her own green light replaced the fading blue shimmer. She opened the front cover, prepared to grab her quill and write, but the pages flew open to a passage written in Rieve’s handwriting. Lines crossed each other, the smeared ink evidence of a hasty entry. A second note covered the page below it, this one in Twin’s hand.

  Kara read through the entries, another drop of dread pooling in her stomach with each word. Her eyes widened.

  Rieve. Evelyn. Zimmermann. Twin. Hillside.

  A crack echoed through the room, signaling Braeden’s return, but Kara didn’t react. She didn’t even flinch. She couldn’t move.

  “Is something wrong?” Braeden asked.

  Kara swallowed hard. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. Anger swelled in her. Her skin glowed, casting a green hue on the stone floor.

  Be calm, the first Vagabond said in her ear.

  She murdered my people!

  Peace, he continued.

  I’ll kill her!

  Focus! he shouted in her mind.

  She clenched her hands into fists and took a shaky breath.

  Calm. Peace. Focus.

  “Kara?” Braeden asked.

  “Stelians are already attacking Hillside,” she said through her teeth.

  She looked up to see his face harden into a frown.

  “Then we’re out of time,” he said.

  “Could they have possibly heard your order just now to stop?” she asked.

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. Mandates are weaker the farther away you get from your Blood.”

  She scribbled a short note that help was coming, almost certain Twin wouldn’t see it. She paused, eyeing her words, and added a warning about Evelyn—if any vagabonds chose to open their grimoires, they could alert everyone nearby to hurry to the throne room to quickly regroup as planned. If not, she would have to wait for them and assemble them herself.

  “I added a note about what’s going on. Hopefully, the Bloods see it,” she said.

  “We can’t wait around much longer to find out.”

  Braeden handed her the wrist guard. She examined it for the first time since Deidre burned it. Some of the spikes had melted away, while others looked like the tips had been snapped off. She wondered if some of the metal was still in her arm.

  Hopefully Stone could fix it or make her a new one. Until then, this one wouldn’t serve any use. She was already exhausted and about to snap, and she’d only been without the wrist guard for about an hour. She didn’t want to imagine life without it.

  “Kara, we need to go,” Braeden said. Flick chirped from his place on Braeden’s shoulder as if to agree.

  “I’m coming.” Kara closed her eyes for a moment to stabilize herself. This war wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter 26

  New Enemies

  Braeden took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Kara. She leaned in, arms at her side, not returning the hug. He didn’t care. Flick purred and butted his tiny head against Kara’s.

  Finally, after a few seconds, she set her hands on Braeden’s waist.

  He kissed her forehead. “I know we’re supposed to meet in the throne room, but please take me to Hillside first and bring the Bloods later.”

  She hesitated, eyes downcast. “You promised we’d never leave each other. Something bad always happens.”

  “I know.” He hugged her tighter.

  “So no, I won’t.”

  “Kara, listen. We can’t wait around for the Bloods to find the throne room. If they lost sight of their vagabonds in battle, or if their vagabonds haven’t checked their grimoires lately, the Bloods will think they’ve won. They probably don’t realize Evelyn’s on her way to Hillside. I need to get there as soon as possible to help the defense guards prepare.”

  “Why won’t this war end?” she asked.

  “It will soon.”

  She grumbled.

  “Kara—”

  “Fine. I’ll take you to Hillside and explain what happened to the Bloods.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Braeden ran a hand along the back of her neck. He paused, debating his options. He should go to Hillside. A message in the grimoire wouldn’t be enough. He had to help them prepare. But he also needed to protect the love of his life. She could barely function without her wrist guard. She needed him.

  Her eyes flicked to his. “Go, Braeden. I understand.”

  He rubbed her shoulders and smiled in gratitude. “I love you, beautiful.”

  She grinned. Her eyes danced, and her skin
glowed a paler green with what he could only assume was joy.

  “I love you, troublemaker.”

  He kissed her forehead again. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and scratched Flick’s forehead.

  A crack echoed through the Stelian ballroom. The arched ceiling and Deidre’s corpse disappeared.

  After two lichgates, the crack of Flick’s teleporting rang in Braeden’s ear. He shook his head to dilute it.

  The Hillsidian lichgate sat before them, its golden gates visible and open. A line of tree homes led the way, the five-tree castle a beacon in the distance. Sunlight poured through the streets. Stelians swarmed the road, running in and out of homes. Sunlight glinted off their silver tunics like light on an ocean. Hillsidians peppered the landscape, mostly corpses. Screams pummeled the city, mixed with the clang of metal on metal. Electricity sizzled through the air as a bolt of blue lightning struck a building nearby. Flames sprung up on the roof, catching and racing toward the tree’s leaves.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Kara asked, eyes wide.

  “I’m sure. If the Bloods haven’t seen your message, you need to assemble them.”

  She nodded. “Find Twin. I’ll be back soon.”

  He set his hands on her face and kissed her. “Be safe.”

  “You, too, Charming.”

  He stepped back, watching her as she left. She forced a smile. The crack of Flick’s teleporting snapped through the air. Braeden flinched, and when his eyes opened, Kara was gone.

  He took a deep breath and charged into the city. Green light flashed out of the corner of his eye, and his stomach churned as he crossed the lichgate. He ran, ducking the Stelians on his way to the castle. A Blood’s commands were strongest when given to those nearby, so he needed to get to the town square. It was in the heart of the city, and he could likely reach every Stelian from that vantage point.

  With every step, he muttered, “Stop fighting. Stop fighting.”

  He directed the mumbled mandate to anyone within range. Stelian after Stelian relaxed, glancing around with frowns and wide eyes. No one swung at him. Eventually, the Stelians blocking him from the castle parted, making way.

  He caught sight of his hands—olive. He was still in Hillsidian form. He sighed and pressed on. He would have to change his appearance once he got to the balcony. He was a Stelian. He couldn’t hide that anymore. Hell, he shouldn’t hide that anymore. He was the Stelian Blood and proud of his strength. There was no shame in who and what he was.

  The balcony neared. Braeden shifted into his Kirelm form, body shaking as wings sprouted from his back. He shot into the air and stretched his feathers to gain height. He heaved himself over the railing and slid, boots skidding on the polished stone. His body hummed once again as he shifted form.

  Charcoal gray skin bubbled through the pale silver of his Kirelm form. His body thrummed and grew as it returned to his natural state—Stelian. His shirt stretched with him, the Ayavelian fabric designed to give as its wearer shifted. The balcony railing receded slightly as he grew a few inches taller.

  When his body settled, the Stelians below watched him with wide eyes. Several of his soldiers had Hillsidians trapped in their arms, the natives wriggling as they tried to free themselves. Swords littered the cobblestone ground. In the distance, men yelled. Fires raged in several tree-homes to his left.

  He raised his hands and cleared his mind, focusing on one more mandate—stop fighting.

  The clamoring quieted, replaced by the crackle of fires and the murmuring of those Hillsidians trapped by Stelians.

  “I am Blood Braeden Drakonin. Carden is dead. His orders mean nothing, and this war with the world is over. We Stelians are not the enemy. I want peace. I want you to know what it means to live free, to trade with the other kingdoms and be respected for the powerful nation we are. If you hate the Stele, we will find another home. But know that with me as your Blood, you are now free to live anywhere you please. A new age is upon us!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers, though those with Hillsidians didn’t let go of their charges.

  Braeden continued. “Release whatever prisoners you have. This is their home, and we are guests. Another army approaches, ready to tear this kingdom apart, and it is our duty to protect them as repentance for this assault on their home.”

  A Stelian solider in the front released his prisoner. The Hillsidian slumped to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. The Stelian lifted the man’s arm and pulled him to his feet, letting the soldier lean on him as he regained his footing. The Hillsidian soldier grimaced, though Braeden couldn’t tell if it was from his wounds or from the Stelian’s touch.

  “Which Hillsidian is in charge?” Braeden asked.

  “I am, sir,” a man raised his hand in the throng below.

  The crowd parted to reveal a stocky man. He limped his way forward, putting too much weight on his left foot as he tried to stand.

  Braeden shifted to his Kirelm form one last time, body humming as his muscles shrank. Once his wings sprouted, he floated to the ground. In seconds, he shifted back into his Stelian appearance, doing his best to ignore the impulse to shift to Hillsidian. His years of conditioning and life in the Hillsidian castle pushed back, urging him to match the natives. He shook off the desire and resisted the urge to study his gray hands.

  The soldier nodded in welcome. “As I’ve never seen your Stelian form, would you do me the honor of shifting to the face I recognize so I can confirm who you are?”

  Braeden frowned, but the man had a fair point. He obliged, shifting to his Hillsidian form. The olive skin bled through the charcoal gray. Braeden cracked his neck and spread his arms open wide. “Satisfied?”

  The man nodded. “I’m Captain Fenner, Blood Braeden. I was ordered to guard Hillside in Blood Gavin’s absence.”

  Braeden shook his hand, remaining Hillside for the time being to make the guard comfortable. “I can only apologize for not getting here sooner. I had no idea this was in Carden’s plans.”

  Fenner shrugged, but winced and held his shoulder.

  Braeden set a hand on the man’s injury and channeled his energy, summoning his magic to heal. Tension pulled on his shoulders and chest, but he channeled the magic until he heard the pop of bones snapping into place and a sigh of relief from Fenner.

  “Thank you,” Fenner said.

  “You’re welcome. But I’m afraid this isn’t over.”

  Fenner laughed. “That would be too easy, I suppose. What’s next?”

  Braeden rubbed his neck. “The entire Ayavelian army is on its way here. My best guess is it—and Blood Evelyn—should arrive in about ten hours. We need to rally all remaining forces from both Hillside and the Stele outside the city to keep her army from getting in.”

  Fenner cursed. Braeden nodded. They needed to prepare, and most importantly, they needed to get those who couldn’t fight into the vaults below the city. He’d often explored them in his free time as a young boy in the castle, as they reminded him of a safe version of the feihl caves—a labyrinth without the monsters. Civilians would be safe there.

  “Are all the civilians in the vault?” he asked.

  “Most are. We need to rally the last few.”

  “Can you convince the Hillsidians that my soldiers aren’t going to hurt them?”

  Fenner let out a long, slow sigh. “I will try.”

  Braeden resisted the impulse to echo that groan. This wouldn’t be easy.

  Two hours after he arrived at Hillside, Braeden sat with a huff on a thick tree branch outside of the city, near where Kara left him earlier. He rubbed his face, but hesitated at the sight of his olive skin. He’d remained in his old form for this long to make the Hillsidians more comfortable, as they’d come to know Braeden, adopted prince of Hillside—not Braeden, Blood of the Stelians they’d been raised to fear.

  A Stelian knelt in the underbrush a few yards off, the man’s gray skin dotted with glittering beads of sweat. He fussed with hi
s pack, his sword glinting in the grass at his feet. He looked up, catching Braeden’s eye. Braeden nodded a hello, and the Stelian soldier returned it with narrowed eyes.

  Braeden frowned. They were his people, but they didn’t know him. They couldn’t. He’d been running from them his whole life. He took a deep breath and let his body shift to its natural state—the charcoal gray skin that reminded him of his father.

  Despite the horrors he’d committed in his attack on the Stele, he wasn’t his father and would never become as evil as that man. Somehow, he would make his own way. He could change the Stelian reputation. He’d resisted a direct mandate from his father at the Gala. He’d survived a Sartori attack. He’d broken into his own kingdom to liberate it. If anyone could solve this puzzle of how to make things right with his people, he could.

  The wind rattled the leaves above him, slinking over his skin and drying the sweat on his jawline. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

  When this ended, he would sleep for days.

  Feet shuffled against the dirt at the base of his tree. He peered down.

  Fenner crossed his arms and squinted upward. “Is that you, Blood Braeden?”

  Braeden nodded. “What is it?”

  Fenner leaned against the trunk. “The last civilian is in the tunnels. She almost took the head off one of your men. Mrs. Ralley always was a fighter.”

  “Is the soldier all right?”

  “Seems to be. He’s with a healer.”

  Braeden picked at the tree bark under his foot to distract himself, keeping in mind the Stelian soldier on the other side of the tree. He held tight to his Stelian form despite the urge to shift as he spoke to a Hillsidian guard. The bark peeled back, flaking as he tore away the tree’s skin. “Any sign of the Vagabond or Blood Gavin?”

  “I’m afraid not. But every lichgate into the city is covered, with Hillsidians in the trees and Stelians standing guard, hiding as best they can. With all due respect, though, a child could spot your men without much effort. Maybe Ayavel won’t realize you arrived in time.”