Treason: Book Two of the Grimoire Saga (a Young Adult Fantasy series)

by S. M. Boyce

  “I guess.”

  “I know,” he said. His eyes shifted out of focus.

  She shrugged. “I guess I should thank you. That fall from the steps hurt pretty badly. I wouldn’t have gotten away. Niccoli would have turned me if you hadn’t interrupted.”

  “No, I suspect you would have escaped that time. Again, you underestimate yourself. But he would have caught up to you eventually. He would have found you, and you would have been his slave until he died. By then, everyone you knew would be dead. You would have lost all sense of reason and probably killed hundreds of thousands, maybe millions by that point.”

  “Thank you for that lovely look into what could have been.”

  “So yes”—he continued as if she hadn’t said anything—“you’re welcome. Please refrain from pinning me against walls in the future.”

  “I’ll try.”

  The conversation died. Instead, they listened to the crickets outside. Kara toyed with her right hand, clenching and relaxing her fist in an effort to retract the barb.

  Stone nodded to her wrist. “Would you like to know how it works?”

  “Yes.”

  “A soul is a pool of energy that clings to the spine, blood, and brain. Our barbs, then, work in two ways, both piercing the skin and absorbing the soul from the body much in the way it leaves naturally upon death.”

  “How do I control the barb?”

  “Meditation, mostly. You need to connect with the desire to steal, rather than suppress it. Acknowledge its existence, but forbid the desire. Even you will not pick it up quickly, but we will practice together.”

  Kara looked at her palm and stretched her fingers. The barb moved with her, extending and retracting as she moved her hand. The sharp tip reminded her of the spikes at each end of the table where Aislynn had tried to drain Adele’s blood from her.

  “Stone, how much do you know of what the Bloods did to me and one of my drenowith friends?” she asked.

  “Only rumors, none of which are very flattering.”

  “To whom?”

  “You.”

  Kara grumbled under her breath, but described the table and what happened anyway. Stone listened, quiet and thoughtful, and didn’t interrupt to even clear his throat.

  She scratched the wrist guard. “The spikes on the table were curved like our barbs. Did an isen really help make it?”

  “I can’t say. Might I be able to see this table?”

  “I don’t know how to get back to it. All I know is that it’s in Ethos.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve read documents about that table. It likely works in much the same way as we do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stone rubbed his hands together. “Well, I’d imagine the barbs on the table tap into the soul’s essence, connecting it to another’s. Essentially, a bit of one soul is transferred to another. That is how this Evelyn girl was given the bloodline when she wasn’t born with it—a piece of her aunt now lives within her.”

  “Now that is a scary thought.”

  “Evelyn isn’t controlled by her aunt in that sense, but her aunt will essentially become her conscience, and she will rationalize in a similar manner. As for the table itself, I would imagine one of the seats is designed to give the small bit of soul, while the other is designed to receive it. I have to see it to be sure.”

  “Why would you want to be sure?”

  “Everyone has a purpose in life. Mine is to learn as much as I can about everything I come across.”

  Kara didn’t have a reply, so she stayed silent.

  Stone got to his feet and stretched. “As I wasn’t quite expecting you, I must restock my kitchen. Will you stay here and out of trouble?”

  It was a legitimate question. A request. No compulsion tied her to the cave. He’d actually asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Stone’s dry voice fell into an even flatter monotone. “Splendid. Feel free to walk about the house. I’ll find you if you get lost.”

  “It’s that big?”

  “I’ve had several centuries to carve it. Bailey doesn’t enjoy being idle.”

  “What’s it like, having souls inside you?” she asked.

  Stone paused at the doorframe.

  “Before Bailey, my mind was merely busy. Full of thoughts, some of which weren’t mine. But Bailey is louder, harder to ignore. I often feel like he’s standing next to me, suggesting what we should do and nagging me when I ignore him.”

  “Has he forgiven you?”

  “Long ago.”

  “Then why won’t the first Vagabond forgive you?”

  “Because he blames himself for what happened, not me. His longing for peace blinded him to the truth of life for so long, yet it wasn’t until he himself died that he even saw it.”

  Kara’s shoulders tensed. The first Vagabond had shown her ages ago, when she first found the village, what his most influential memory had been: the night his followers and lover were murdered. He’d lost everything and realized too late what it meant to be a Vagabond.

  But he had also realized too late what it meant to live. He hadn’t lived at all, but served those who rejected him by slaving after the near-impossible purpose of universal peace. His memory and his memory alone had fueled her into denying her growing love for Braeden, but she couldn’t deny herself anymore.

  Kara had nearly died, and now she wanted to live fully. Completely. And that life involved Braeden for as long as he would have her.

  Stone opened the door. “I have a lot to teach you, but use the next few days to rest. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  He walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

  Kara listened for Stone’s footsteps to fade away. She waited, standing in the middle of the room even after the echo disappeared. When a good ten minutes passed in utter silence, she took a deep breath to prepare herself.

  “Vagabond, can you come out again?” she asked.

  Nothing moved. Kara waited, hoping she could have a chance to talk to him alone, but no answer came. She sighed and turned for the door, only to jump back when she saw him standing in front of it.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “We obviously have a lot to talk about—Cedric,” she added with a grin.

  He sighed. “I can’t believe he told you.”

  “Sure you can. I mean, come on, this is Stone we’re talking about. And I think ‘Cedric’ is a nice name.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s part of my old life. I’m the Vagabond now, and using my old name is merely a distraction.”

  No, Kara wanted to say, she was the Vagabond. He was a ghost. He had every right to move on, to be at peace, to find Helen in the next life. But Kara kept that to herself. He could read her thoughts, and if he’d chosen to do so at that moment, her intention was clear: she just wanted him to finally be at peace.

  “Are you still upset with me?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Dying makes it easier to forgive, I guess. I’ve said a lot of selfish things in my life and held too many grudges. As for you, I want your help and advice. You just can’t threaten the people I love if I don’t take it.”

  He nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “I’m sorry for everything I said that night you called me into the Grimoire,” she said.

  “As am I, my girl, for what I said.”

  “I was just so mad,” she said with a laugh.

  He grinned. “As was I.”

  Kara walked over to the bed and sat down, though the first Vagabond didn’t move from his place at the door.

  “This is all so much to process, Cedric—er, Vagabond. Are you sure I can’t call you Cedric?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  His shoulders sagged. “The man I was—Cedric—died with Helen. That name embodies all of my mistakes, my weaknesses, my distraction from my ultimate purpose. I will not
let myself be free from this world until I make things right. When I earn that name, I can have it back.”

  Kara leaned back. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “No need to apologize, but thank you. It’s why I never wanted you to have personal connections. I just didn’t want you to end up like me.”

  Kara sighed. “That explains a lot. But—and I’m not trying to make you angry with this—it seems like not having personal connections is a weakness. If you don’t have loved ones, who do you fight for?”

  The Vagabond frowned. “Some people can’t fight for themselves, Kara. They need heroes. You can’t leave them behind simply because no one else will fight for them. I fought for them. I had hoped you would, too.”

  “I will. I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy as well.”

  The Vagabond looked at the floor.

  A twinge of regret shot through Kara. After all, that’s what the Vagabond had always deprived himself of—happiness. She wanted to apologize, but she’d meant what she said. She wasn’t trying to be mean…just honest.

  The Vagabond sighed. “I didn’t handle our dispute very well. I’m sorry if I took it too far.”

  She shook her head. “It’s all right, Vagabond. As mad as I was, I still wished you were there with me through everything that’s happened since. How much do you know? I didn’t have the Grimoire there for a while, and—”

  “I never leave you, Kara. I can find you anywhere. I just can’t speak to you unless the Grimoire is near. I saw everything.”

  “I wish you’d been able to help me when Gavin proposed, or when I was running away from Ayavel. I felt so alone.”

  He sighed, and in that breath disappeared from the door and reappeared beside her. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Kara, I’m sorry I was so arrogant as to force you to do things my way. I wish I could take back my threats. I would never have hurt Braeden. But if I’ve learned anything in all my time in this life, it’s that the past can never be undone. We must simply learn from our mistakes, however grievous, and swear to never repeat them.”

  She nodded and suppressed the urge to hug him. He wrapped an arm around her, though, and pulled her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, surprised that she didn’t fall through him. Frost spread across her skin wherever he touched her, but the hug was nevertheless comforting.

  “Do you remember Aislynn’s memory?” he asked.

  Kara shuddered at the images that had flashed across her mind when she’d read the queen’s most influential memory. The pain had taken Kara by the throat, making it difficult to breathe. It seemed as though days had blurred into a single, painful moment Aislynn could never let go. She was broken because of her time in Carden’s torture room, and she would never heal.

  The Vagabond pulled Kara tighter. “Her memory told you that she hunted drenowith, even though she denied it when you made the accusation.”

  Kara sat up straight. “But why? Was she scared about her guards knowing?”

  “Do you think she lied?”

  “I was in so much pain, I can’t honestly tell you.”

  “I believe she spoke the truth as far as she understood it,” he said.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. How can her memory tell me one thing and she honestly tell me another?”

  “We often distort our memories, churning them to benefit us and vilify others. But the memories you see with your gift are always the truth. They will never lie to you.”

  Kara’s shoulders drooped as yet another mystery of her life as a vagabond came to light. It was as if she would never learn close to what she needed to know to survive.

  Cedric—ugh, Kara wished he’d let her call him that—lifted her chin with his finger. “Have faith in yourself. You are the strongest vagabond I have ever met in my life.”

  She grinned and looked down at the floor. The ice on her chin disappeared, and the room warmed. She looked around, but the Vagabond had disappeared.

  She laughed and stood. It was fine; he didn’t need to say goodbye when he faded out like that. He never really left.

  Kara debated a nap, but she couldn’t resist the prospect of a house so large she could get lost in it. She walked to the door and opened it to the creak of squeaking hinges. Stone obviously didn’t entertain much.

  Braeden charged through forest after forest on Iyra, racing for Stone’s mountain home. Stone was his last hope for finding Kara, but the pit in Braeden’s stomach brought on an unwarranted sense of dread.

  Wherever Kara was and whatever had happened to her was completely Braeden’s fault.

  Kara walked through a few dozen hallways, explored twenty-seven rooms, and discovered a small indoor waterfall before she began to wonder how much time had passed. It had to be at least four hours. Stone really should have returned by now.

  After a half-dozen wrong turns, she managed to retrace her steps to her bedroom. She continued past it, though, and walked down a stairwell to a den. Moonlight inched through the open cave entrance visible nearby, while a small hallway in the back of the room led to the kitchen. Stools sat beneath an open counter. Even though Stone had centuries to build his home, he must not have slept during its construction. The house went on forever.

  Paintings of places she’d never been and people she didn’t know lined the walls. One particular painting of a familiar blond man caught her eye, but she couldn’t place who it was. As she examined it, she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot.

  Stone must be back.

  “Stone!” someone shouted from just beyond the cave.

  Kara paused. Maybe not.

  The man yelled again. “Where is she? Stone, you backstabbing son of a—”

  Braeden rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks when he looked her way. Kara held her breath as she took him in. His black hair sat at an odd angle on his head. Dark circles under his eyes meant he hadn’t slept much lately. Whatever Stone did had royally pissed him off, but Braeden’s face went blank when she caught his eye. He swallowed so hard she could hear it from across the room.

  Her heart fluttered, but not out of joy. Braeden hunted isen. That’s what he did best. And Kara was now an isen.

  Would Braeden kill her for that?

  “Kara?”

  “Hi,” she said with a weak smile. Where could she even start?

  “Kara, I’m so sorry,” he said in one rushing breath. He started walking toward her, but she backed away.

  She wasn’t quick enough.

  “What—?” He paused, probably smelling the telltale lilac and pine scent that only mingled together in such a way for one creature: isen.

  His chest froze, as if he wasn’t breathing. His eyes narrowed into a glare that made her shudder, and he reached one hand for his sword.

  She took a quick breath. “Braeden, let me explain.”

  “What did you do?” he asked, but it came out more like a breathy growl. His words grated against the air, loud and commanding. His form flickered, and for brief seconds of his rage, Kara could see the smoking gray giant that was his true self.

  “I—”

  “Answer me, isen!”

  “Don’t use that tone with me!” she snapped. She didn’t want to fight him, but she would.

  He drew his sword. “What did you do to her, Stone?”

  Wait—Stone?

  She hesitated. “What are you talking about? It’s me. I’m an isen. I was born an isen. Stone just—”

  “Don’t lie to me!”

  He stalked closer. Kara inched backward. Her magic pulsed at her fingertips, itching to break free, to fight! but she couldn’t hurt Braeden. She wouldn’t. She bumped into the couch and inched around it, slowly backing away from him at the same rate he came closer.

  His glare sent a shiver down her back. She didn’t want to hurt him, but he sure looked like he wanted to hurt her.

  “Braeden, I mean it! It’s me!”

  Before Kara could react, he grabbed h
er neck and pinned her against the wall. The grip held her in place, just loose enough for her to breathe. Inwardly, she kicked herself for not seeing that coming.

  Tension pressed against the wrist guard. Anger brewed in her gut, bubbling and hissing with a foreign rage she didn’t understand. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to rip the wrist guard clean off, but she tensed her jaw instead. Stone had been pretty clear about leaving it on, and probably for good reason. She just needed to keep Braeden busy until Stone returned, which would prove Kara truly was an isen.

  Braeden leaned in close. “I gave you the Grimoire to protect, but that wasn’t enough, huh? No, you found her. You stole her soul because that’s what you demons do. You destroy every good thing in this world. She was my one good thing, Stone!”

  She tried to correct him, to point out that she certainly hadn’t gone anywhere, but Braeden set the tip of his sword on her heart.

  Isen were hard to kill, but she was pretty sure getting stabbed would still hurt.

  Kara jabbed a fist into his throat. He gagged, and his grip loosened. She slipped out of his hands, but his blade slid along her stomach and caught the loose fabric of her shirt, trapping her. It pulled her back with a sharp yank. Braeden pinned her against the wall again with his left forearm.

  “Change back, Stone.”

  “I’m not Stone!”

  “Be a man. Change back!”

  “Stop it!”

  Kara kicked him in the knee with everything she had. He cursed and buckled under the blow. She didn’t feel too guilty, though, as the sound of joints popping back together already resonated from his wound as it healed itself. She darted for the stairs. When Kara glanced back over her shoulder, he still leaned against the wall as if in pain.

  She wished he would calm down for a second to just listen. Maybe she could trap him somewhere, thereby leaving him no choice but to listen. Or maybe she could—

  Something grabbed her feet and sent her onto the floor, kicking the wind from her.