Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Other Novels
A Quick Note
Book Description
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue: The Demon
Chapter 1: War Games
Chapter 2: Costs
Chapter 3: No Rest
Chapter 4: Union
Chapter 5: Reception
Chapter 6: Reckless
Chapter 7: Final Plans
Chapter 8: The Guild
Chapter 9: New Recruits
Chapter 10: The Seed
Chapter 11: Volunteers
Chapter 12: Exposed
Chapter 13: Reunited
Chapter 14: The Final Battle
Chapter 15: Second Chances
Chapter 16: The Handmaiden
Chapter 17: Dual Citizen
Chapter 18: The Innocent
Chapter 19: Siege
Chapter 20: Infiltrated
Chapter 21: Carden's Secret
Chapter 22: Revealed
Chapter 23: Bloodlines
Chapter 24: Redeemed
Chapter 25: Monsters
Chapter 26: New Enemies
Chapter 27: War Crimes
Chapter 28: Deliberation
Chapter 29: Final Arrangements
Epilogue: Surprises
About the Author
Boyce's Novels
Say Hi
Acknowledgements
ILLUSION
Book Four of the Grimoire Saga
A Novel by S.M. Boyce
The Grimoire Saga
Lichgates (#1)
Treason (#2)
Heritage (#3)
Illusion (#4)
BOYCE’S NOVELS
The Grimoire Saga
Lichgates (#1)
Treason (#2)
Heritage (#3)
Illusion (#4)
The Ourean Chronicles
The Misanthrope: Stone’s Story (#1) Fall 2015
The First Vagabond: Cedric’s Story (#2) Fall 2015
The Demon: Deidre’s Story (#3) Fall 2015
A QUICK NOTE
I hope you enjoy this finale to the Grimoire Saga. I’m excited to bring you the Ourean Chronicles next winter (a spinoff series with backstories of your favorite supporting characters in the Grimoire Saga), but it’s bittersweet to see my debut series come to a close.
Happy reading. It’s my cruel hope that I keep you from sleeping until you read the final pages.
-Boyce
BOOK DESCRIPTION
Illusion
Grimoire Saga #4
The final chapter in the war for Ourea ends with blood.
Kara Magari is an icon. A hero. The people love her. The royalty tolerates her. She has everything—an army, allies, and a close circle of chosen family. They believe she will end the war, and they shouldn’t. She’s as scared as they are. She just can’t show it.
The war she accidentally started ends with a final battle that will either save or enslave her people. She will do anything to win—until she learns the cost of victory.
Braeden Drakonin is afraid of what he’ll become when he takes over his father’s kingdom—that much authority can change a man. But his father has already tried to kill him more than once, and it’s time to end his reign. Braeden’s armies are ready. His strategy is foolproof. His generals are waiting for the order to attack. It’s only in the final seconds before the battle begins that he realizes he missed one crucial detail—the traitor.
Copyrighted Material
Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Montee
Cover and art copyright © 2014 by Heidi Sutherlin
Book design and layout copyright © 2014 by Sarah Montee
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Sarah Montee.
www.smboyce.com
DEDICATION
For J. N. Chaney, the Lewis to my Tolkien.
Prologue
The Demon
Deidre scanned the room. Candles illuminated pockets of the chamber that was once Niccoli’s office, their light casting the shadows of the seventeen men around her on crimson walls. The hush in the room mirrored the quiet night outside, where trees rustled in a soft wind. Chairs creaked as men shifted in their seats. Some rested their hands on sword hilts.
These men—elder children like her, others Niccoli had turned at some point in the last thousand or more years—all eyed her. Some glared. Some smirked. But everyone listened.
Carden’s Xlijnughl—his gray teleporting creature—purred, the low grumble humming in her ear. It sat on her shoulder, its tail curled around her neck for balance. The silver fur gleamed in the candlelight, smooth as silk. She smiled. Its presence had already raised a few eyebrows in the room, though no one had yet dared to ask her how she found it. After she’d killed Carden, the little creature ran laps around the room, apparently pleased with its own freedom. A night of scratching its ears and a few steaks later, she’d bought its loyalty. It would serve her well.
Deidre launched into her prepared speech for the elder children. “The yakona will slaughter each other soon, and I want you all to experience the feast of souls to follow. Carden takes no prisoners. You and your families will have your choice of warriors, healers, and ranking officials in the yakona kingdoms. Carden may even give you some of his own people if you fancy them. He wants you in this war.”
She loved the taste of lies, especially when the lies convinced fools to obey her. These idiots would die, and their children—the isen they had turned—would die along with them.
“Why should we care about yakona wars?” an isen asked, his voice rich with an Indian accent. Rami. His almond-shaped eyes caught her gaze and held it, unwavering as he challenged her. He leaned back in his chair, his brown skin even darker in the low light. But his fingers played with the hem of his shirt, betraying his nerves. He would be easy to break.
She shrugged. “Why not? It won’t even be a challenge for masterful isen like all of you.”
“That doesn’t mean we should meddle,” another man said.
Deidre panned the room to see who spoke. Andor, a thousand-year-old Viking, leaned his broad frame against the wall, thick arms crossed. He blocked much of the wall, towering a good two feet over her with a neck as wide as her thigh. He narrowed his eyes, and a black curl fell in front of his face. He never could conceal his bias well. He’d always hated her.
She feigned a smile. “It’s not meddling. It’s an opportunity. I’d hoped you were smart enough to see that.”
“An opportunity to die.”
“An opportunity to collect the finest souls in Ourea,” she corrected.
“We won’t obey a yakona Blood, feast or no,” another isen said. This one had an English accent.
She turned to the new voice—Rupert. Inwardly, she groaned. He rubbed his chin, presumably musing the ramifications of her plan, but winked when she caught his eye. His gaze shifted to her legs, and his other hand tightened its hold on his chair’s armrest. She suppressed the desire to gag. Pig.
Instead, Deidre forced a laugh. “It’s one battle. It’s not as if Carden can control you like Niccoli did.”
“What are you up to, woman?” Andor interrupted.
She let her annoyance seep through. “Care to elaborate?”<
br />
He took a few steps forward, his wide shoulders hiding the window as he moved. “You’ve never belonged here. You’ve never turned an isen of your own. You have no family, no faith in the isen life. It’s publicly known you think we’re all demons or monsters of some sort. Why should we trust anything you say?”
Rupert laughed. “She’s not even three hundred years old, good man. She can’t possibly be a threat.”
Andor huffed. “She tried to kill Niccoli once, or have you forgotten? What’s stopping her from killing us?”
“Many of us would have killed Niccoli, given the chance,” Rami replied.
A few heads nodded in agreement.
Andor crossed his arms, back straightening. “She’s killed others in this camp. Elder children like us, brothers. She can’t be trusted.”
Deidre looked at the floor to hide a smile. That murder spree had been fun.
“Don’t trust her,” Andor warned.
“This isn’t about trust,” she chimed in.
“No?”
“I don’t want your trust, nor do I trust any of you. This war with the yakona is about power. Succession. Niccoli is dead, and you’re all competing to take his place here at the guild. Those with the most powerful children win. You get powerful children by allowing those isen to consume souls of the most powerful mortals alive. It’s fairly simple. Like I said, this isn’t about trust or aiding the yakona. It’s preparation for the real war—the war to control this guild. He who wants to rule here would be foolish to waste this opportunity.”
The room hushed. A candle crackled in the silence. A few isen nodded. Good. At least some would take her up on her offer.
She continued. “Think it over, gentlemen. I don’t usually wait for anyone, but for you, I’ll let you decide by tomorrow morning. Those wise enough to take advantage of this offer can leave with me at sunrise.”
She stood and left without another word. Her boots clacked against the hardwood. The gray creature hummed from its place on her shoulder. She grinned. Rami would certainly join her, but she would use the extra time tonight to chat with those who still needed convincing.
Her mind raced as she walked down the hallway. As much as she hated to admit that Andor had her figured out, the stupid Viking was right. She would betray them. All of them. She would send them on a suicide mission with the promise of backup that would never come. She wouldn’t get to see them destroyed, but knowing the hell they would experience sufficed.
Ourea was a repulsive place, and Deidre despised everything in it. The yakona loathed her isen nature, but the isen made her what she was. Both would burn for their hatred, and she would light the flame.
Deidre lounged in Andor’s bedroom, waiting for the oaf to return from speaking with his children. Wooden planks lined the walls of his room, giving it the feel of a log cabin. She’d always detested his taste in decor—the same wood even comprised the dresser and bed frame. A single dagger hung on the far wall by the door, but nothing else decorated the room.
Each elder isen had his own home within the guild to fit his family, and she’d been paying each of them a visit as the night wore on. Andor was her final conquest.
She’d slipped into his manor as he and his children gathered in a meeting hall at the back of the house. A drunk sentry and a few quiet footsteps later, she’d settled onto his blue comforter to wait for him. She leaned against the headboard, hand poised to grab the dagger strapped to her leg if he got any ideas. She left her sword in her room to give the illusion of a peaceful discussion. Seeing her on his bed would make him uncomfortable, and she loved the way his jaw tensed when she toyed with him.
Dozens of boots stomped up the stairs. Floorboards creaked. A rumble of voices slipped beneath the door. She took a deep breath—time for the fun to begin.
The handle turned, and the door swung inward. Andor paused on the threshold, eyes on her the moment he peered into the room. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, squaring his shoulders in either annoyance or preparation.
She smiled. “About time.”
“Leave. I won’t be taking you up on your offer.”
She pouted. “Pity. I was quite hoping you and I could get to know each other better.”
His Adam’s apple quivered. She smiled wider. Sucker.
He walked in and closed the door. “Deidre, I know you. You very well may be a little demon, even if the rest of us aren’t. I mean what I said before—I don’t trust you.”
“That’s what will make you so fun,” she countered.
He frowned, eyes narrowing. He stared at her with a gaze that almost stole the smile from her face. It bored into her, sending a flurry of nerves through her chest as he waited for her to crack beneath his gaze. She held on, despite his scrutiny. She’d successfully killed Niccoli this time. She absorbed a Blood. She would bring Niccoli’s remaining guild to its knees. Andor—of all creatures—couldn’t shake her.
He inched closer, his boots thumping against the floor. Each slow step chipped away at her smile. He knelt on the mattress and leaned in, setting a hand on either side of her head. His fingers stretched against the wooden headboard in her periphery, cracking with his movements, but she never broke eye contact.
He inched closer until the world blurred around him, and she could see only his eyes. He was turning this on her, calling her bluff. Maybe he knew her seductions were always a tease, that she never followed through. Perhaps he even figured she imagined Michael on the face of any man who invaded her space, who got too close.
Focus, Deidre.
“What are you up to?” His hot breath rolled over her cheeks and tickled her neck.
She grinned, letting the joy of her plan wash through her. “It’s quite elaborate.”
“You’ve always been a fool, woman. This will be no different.”
“Oh, but it will.”
“So you admit this is a scheme?”
“Even if it were, and even if I did tell you all the juicy details, no one would listen to you. The other elder children have made up their minds.”
He frowned, studying her face. This close, she wasn’t sure he could see anything.
“I saved you for last, Andor. I knew you made up your mind in that office, but I wanted to give you one last chance to be wise.”
She ran her finger down his neck, starting at his chin and gliding the nail along the jugular. He tensed but didn’t move. He likely didn’t want to admit defeat, not to her. But he would.
“Woman, you must—”
“When the war ends, I’m going to come back here. Anyone who doesn’t join me now will be considered threats, and I will end them. I own Carden. He obeys me. And he will lead his army to this very house when all is said and done, and not even you with your many children can stop him. You’ll never stop me. Don’t pick the losing side, Viking. We’ll be back for those who chose wrong. So ask yourself, Andor—do you really want to be in this house when I burn it to the ground?”
Still as a stone, he watched her. Not even his chest moved She allowed herself one last teasing smile and leaned in closer. He flinched. She brought her nails back up to the base of his neck, right where the head met the spine. She locked eyes with him one last time.
“See you in the morning,” she said.
With a twist of her legs, she spun his body off of her and onto the floor. He landed on his back with a curse. She took her time standing, even as he rushed to his feet, knowing she’d won. The heat of his stare itched along her neck as she retreated. Once at the door, she winked and slipped into the hall.
He wouldn’t leave with her in the morning, even after their chat. She’d assumed as much. She wouldn’t have the pleasure of knowing how he died, but at least he would be afraid long after the war ended.
Chapter 1
War Games
Kara raced down a dark hallway, Braeden a foot or two ahead of her. The walls’ white stones whizzed by in her periphery. Their boots thudded along the cobbled floor, their
footsteps echoing. Torches flew past, one every dozen feet or so, the fires blurring as she ran and leaving orange streaks on her vision. Open windows filled the spaces between sconces, dark portals to the night outside. Flick clung to her shoulder, tail wrapped around the back of her neck for balance. His fur tickled her throat, but she pressed onward.
Kara let out a slow breath. For a training exercise, this was all too real.
A fireball blew past an open window a few feet behind them, crashing into the stones. A tremor shook the floor. Black pebbles splintered off and flew past her head, their ends orange. She flinched, but pressed forward. The Ayavelian fort through which they ran took the brunt of the assault, its rocky core surviving the fire from the Kirelms above. Through the open windows, glimpses of the chaos outside blipped in and out of view: fire raging along the wooden fences; a dozen more fireballs raining from the sky, their tails red streaks in the black night. A chorus of battle cries and clanging swords rang from the ground. A shrill scream echoed above the uproar.
Kara’s white vest crinkled as she ran, rubbing her skin as her arms pumped back and forth. If someone tore it off, she would be out of the game—effectively “dead.” She eyed Braeden’s vest—red to signify him as a royal. If his was torn off, he would be just as “dead” and would have to sit out—and her team would lose the game. While all red vests needed protection, Braeden carried the burden of killing Carden. The war ended when they killed his father, but if both Stelian royals died in this final battle, it would mean the genocide of the Stelian race. In fact, only the Lossian race had a surviving Heir. If any other Blood participating in the war died, their people would die with them.
No pressure.
A familiar voice yelled over the anarchy below. Gavin. He shouted an order she didn’t catch, but she only needed to hear the tone to decipher its meaning. He roared with all the authority of a king. The clash of a sword followed. He carried on the siege, stealing the defending army’s attention long enough to let Kara and Braeden infiltrate the throne room to grab the vest off a stand-in Carden and capture the enemy flag.