Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  Flick burped on her shoulder and whimpered. Poor thing. Too many people grabbed on at the last minute, pushing his limit over four—and he hadn’t handled that well. Hell, no one had. A wave of nausea had burned through her, dropping her to her knees. She managed to roll out of harm’s way before anyone could snatch her vest, but she’d forced herself to fight through the sickness. Flick could barely hold onto her, and he wasn’t recovering as well as she.

  Kara had to stall long enough for Flick to regain his strength. Then she would grab Braeden and get back into the hallway to formulate a new plan.

  But she didn’t have much time. The Ayavelian soldiers swarmed Braeden. She didn’t know how he still had a vest. Only four or five at a time kept to her, which in effect meant they were just trying to keep her busy. Braeden was the royal. He was their target. If they tore off his vest, the game ended—and her team would lose.

  She had to get him out of there.

  A soldier raised his sword, his eyes locked on her neck. He twisted the blade so that the flat end glistened. He likely wanted to knock her out so the entire army could focus on Braeden.

  Fat chance.

  Kara summoned a gust of air. The tension pulled in her palm this time, hovering for seconds before she released it. The gust sailed toward him, pushing him off his feet. He toppled, landing hard on his rump with a yelp.

  She scratched Flick’s ear. “Ready, buddy?”

  He whimpered again. She hoped that meant yes.

  She visualized Braeden ten feet off, silently instructing her pet to take her to the man she loved.

  Crack!

  The room spun. Braeden’s olive face and black hair filled her vision. His eyes widened. She grabbed his shirt and rubbed Flick’s head again, imagining the roof of the fort.

  Something tugged on her vest. The rip of tearing paper filled her ears.

  Crack!

  The yelling dissolved. A breeze ruffled her hair, cooling the sweat on her neck. Her ears rang, twitching as the softer roar of the war below reached her. She sighed and smiled, relief washing through her. The crackle of fires floated through the chaos. Smoke stung her throat. She coughed.

  They stood on the roof of the fort’s only tower. Fireballs rained from above. Fires raged below. A ripple of yells echoed from the ground.

  “All right, we need a plan B,” she said.

  “Kara,” Braeden said, his voice a flat monotone.

  “What?”

  His face hardened, wrinkles forming on his forehead. His eyes locked on hers, thin slits as he glared at her. His hands balled into fists, as if he held himself back.

  A pang of panic thudded in her gut, replaced shortly thereafter by annoyance. “What? You were losing! You’re welcome!”

  He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Your vest.”

  She ran her hand along her chest. The white vest held on by only one sleeve, the other shredded and torn to bits. Half of it was missing. She cursed, and it took a moment for the dread to creep up her spine.

  Her vest was gone. She was out of the game.

  Braeden’s jaw twitched. “That soldier was lunging for me. I was about to duck and take him out when you appeared. He got you instead.”

  Kara reached for his shoulders, to tell him it was all right and just a game, but he took a step back. A flurry of anxiety crept through her core.

  Braeden crossed his arms. Flames erupted from his hands, bending around his biceps as they flickered. His skin darkened, flickers of charcoal gray seeping through the Hillsidian skin she knew so well.

  He was changing form—or worse.

  She froze, eyes wide. Flashbacks rooted her to the floor. He’d done this once before, and she’d been too petrified to move. Memories flooded her from the first time he donned his daru in front of her—the fire, the snarling, the way he’d laughed when she couldn’t speak. He’d wanted to be a vagabond. She’d said no. And whatever darkness ruled him when he donned his daru had left her speechless.

  His body trembled, growing. His bones popped, loud enough for Kara to flinch with each snap. He stared at the floor, scowl deepening with every second. Steam blasted from his pores, pushing through his shirt. His face widened. His irises expanded until it covered the whites of his eyes. Red flames crept up his shoulders, covering his arms in fire. Black flickers bled through the flames, casting eerie shadows on his face.

  Kara forced herself to swallow. Ripples of fear fluttered in her chest, replacing the usual butterflies she felt when she saw him. She gripped the tower’s edge, eyes wide as she waited for him to speak.

  A spark of anger swallowed the fear. He was her fiancé. She was going to spend the rest of her life with him. He wasn’t supposed to frighten her. She set her hands on her hips and frowned.

  “Now look—”

  “Give me Flick,” he said, his voice a growl.

  “Not—”

  He raised his gaze to hers without shifting his head. Red eyes bore into her. A chill shot down her back, stealing the words from her mouth. He frowned, the full rage of his daru concentrated into his glare.

  Kara swallowed. She held Flick to her chest.

  Braeden grimaced. “I would never hurt him, but I can’t talk to you right now.”

  Kara took a deep breath. Flick’s ears perked up, but he didn’t whimper. He squirmed, his paws shoving against her thumb as if he wanted free.

  She paused but ultimately released her pet. She lifted one hand in the air. Flick jumped on it, his little feet pressing into her palm. He leaned in as far as he could to sniff the air by Braeden.

  Braeden held out his charcoal gray hand. The flames up to his neck dissolved with a hiss. Flick jumped onto his palm and raced up to his shoulder. Braeden caught her eye once more.

  Crack!

  Kara flinched. When she opened her eyes, Braeden and Flick were gone. Firelight illuminated the sky, casting shadows into the night.

  She sank to the floor, hand on her heart.

  “What did I do?” she asked the empty tower roof.

  Braeden appeared in the throne room. A sea of heads turned toward him, bodies tense to attack. He stood by the door where he and Kara had entered minutes earlier. Flick chirped on his shoulder.

  Rage scorched his veins and ignited the depths of his fury. His chest rose and fell in short, quick bursts. Black flames crackled in his palms, but he isolated them to his lower arms as best he could to protect Flick. The fire seared the sleeves of his shirt. The stench of melting fabric stung his nose.

  Silence washed through the room. No one spoke. Weapons sank to the floor, sword tips and ax blades tapping against the stone like rain. The Ayavelian guards gaped. Hands shook. Eyes widened. He stared at the sea of faces, studying them. His senses sharpened. Heartbeats thumped in the chests around him. Several men caught their breath. He smirked.

  Fear me.

  A few swords clanged on the stone floor, the clash echoing in the quiet room.

  The Carden impostor stood beneath the banner, his eyes as wide as the others. Braeden walked toward the man. Soldiers parted to make way for him. The Ayavelian guard playing Carden whimpered. His skin bleached in places, and he shrank. Iridescent skin glimmered in the low firelight, casting red and blue circles onto the white stone wall. The man’s face narrowed, the eyes shrinking until three small pupils replaced the single black iris of the Stelian race. The guard’s mouth hung open.

  Braeden reached for the man’s red vest and pulled. It gave without effort. He dropped it to the floor.

  He reached both hands for the banner hanging on the wall and yanked. The edges resisted, bolted as they were into the wall. Braeden tugged again. The fabric ripped.

  He took a deep breath and imagined standing on the fort’s roof once more.

  Crack!

  The interior disappeared, replaced in an instant by the dark night sky alive with the roar of warring men. An almost-new moon hung in the sky, barely illuminating the fight below. Fire rained down in fireballs from the Kire
lms overhead. Thousands of heads bobbed below.

  Kara sat against the fort wall, her arms wrapped around her torso. She frowned when he examined her. Flick jumped off of Braeden’s shoulder and bounded toward her. The little creature curled in her lap and pressed his head into her abdomen.

  Braeden took a deep breath. He still didn’t know what to say.

  He waved the banner and let it loose over the battle. For a moment, nothing changed. He frowned. The Kirelms flying overhead would easily notice it, but those in the heat of the ground battle may not, especially with no moon to light the evening sky.

  But the yelling dissolved, followed closely by cheering. The war game ended. Within seconds, cheers died down, and the flood of bodies shifted toward Ayavel. Distant blurs of green, brown, and blue began to bob toward the fort’s gates.

  “Please change back,” Kara said, her voice soft.

  Braeden gripped the edge of the tower’s wall and leaned into it. He sucked in a slow breath and nodded.

  He pushed the anger inward, deep down to the hole where he locked it away from the world. He closed his eyes and focused on happy memories—lying in Kara’s lap after he proposed to her, dancing with her at the gala, chasing her through the Vagabond’s village in their week of solace.

  Almost all his happy memories involved her. She was his source of joy, the only way he could control the anger. His love for her gave him the strength to defy a mandate from his Blood—something few, if any, had ever accomplished. And if this game had been real, she would be dead.

  He listened to the night sky. Wind ripped through the air. A gust stung his cheek. A hint of pine tickled his nose. The trees clapped together, whistling as the evening carried on without a care. An owl hooted not far off.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the ground below.

  “Kara, do you know what my greatest fear is?” he asked.

  She shuffled behind him, shifting her weight, but didn’t answer.

  He spun around and leaned against the wall. She sat against the opposite wall, her thin frame pressed against the stone, both palms pressed into the floor. She eyed Braeden with a light frown, eyebrows twisted as she studied him.

  He crossed his arms. “I’ve never been scared of death. I used to fear my father, but I’ve discovered there are more frightening things in this world. I’ve fought isen, killed earaks, and even survived the Stelian feihl. But I could never imagine a world without you in it. That’s what I fear, Kara—losing you.”

  She tensed and looked away. A knot formed in his throat. Stress tugged on the muscles in his neck. A dull pain throbbed at the base of his head. He took another deep breath, but he couldn’t relax.

  “You’re the Blood, Braeden. Without you, we’d have lost the game.”

  “But this game reflects reality! The only reason we’re doing this is to practice. You’re not supposed to die in the game!”

  “I know, but I would do it again if it meant saving you.”

  Braeden cursed. “Your move was far too risky, Kara! You can’t repeat that mistake in the real battle.”

  “You’re going to be the Blood of a nation, Braeden! You’re more important. I thought that was obvious. You need to do whatever wins us this war.”

  “Don’t prioritize my life over yours. My life would be a miserable mess without you in it.”

  “And mine would be sunshine without you? This isn’t a one-sided deal, Braeden!”

  His mouth snapped closed. He didn’t have a reply.

  Her lip quivered. She tucked her knees below her chin and stared at the stone floor while she spoke. “The whole point of the battle is to kill Carden. And if you die, too, the Stelians die. Yakona can’t live without their Blood. That’s genocide. I’ve already committed mass murder, Braeden. If I can stop a genocide, I will.”

  Braeden lowered his head, one hand on his chin as he processed what she’d said. She pressed her face into her hands. Her shoulders bobbed. A sob escaped the otherwise quiet tears. He crossed to her and knelt at her feet, setting a hand on either side of her head.

  “I’m sorry I scared you with the daru,” he said.

  Her shoulders stilled, but she didn’t look up.

  He ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t know how else to deal with the thought of losing you. Even in a game, it’s too much.”

  She lowered her hands and lifted her eyes to meet his. Red splotches lined the skin around her eyes. She held his gaze, and he didn’t dare look away.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”—her voice broke—“You can use the daru against Carden, fine. But not on me.”

  His throat tightened at her intensity. He nodded.

  “I am deeply sorry,” he said.

  She reached for his hand and rubbed his knuckles with her fingertips. Her touch sent a shiver of pleasure through to his core. Her fear worried him—he never wanted to scare her, of all people. But his daru had this effect on people, and he understood. He pushed the memory of her wide eyes from his mind and wrapped her in a hug. She slipped her arms under his and hugged him close, resting her chin in the crook of his neck.

  “Promise me,” she whispered.

  “I promise. Never again. If I lose control, I’ll leave until I can cool off.”

  She nodded into his shoulder. He set a hand on the back of her head and leaned his head into hers.

  “I love you more than I can ever express,” he said.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Still want to marry me tomorrow?” he asked with a chuckle.

  She laughed. “For some foolish reason, yes.”

  “Then I’m happy.”

  She kissed the side of his head and pushed herself to her feet. “I need some sleep.”

  “Let’s get back to the castle,” he agreed.

  “Mind if we walk? Fresh air would be nice.”

  “Not at all.”

  Kara reached again for Flick, and Braeden wanted to stop her. He wanted to pull her into a kiss and forget what happened when the vest was torn off. But even a welcome distraction wouldn’t make it any less real. If this hadn’t been a game, he would have lost the love of his life.

  Somehow, he had to make her stay behind.

  A hand brushed his arm. With a sharp crack, the fort’s roof disappeared, replaced once more by the almost-empty flag room. A few soldiers stayed behind, some nursing injuries. More than a few cradled broken arms.

  Kara headed for the door, eyes on the flooring as she walked. He sighed and followed her out. He would make his case later.

  Chapter 3

  No Rest

  Kara rubbed her face as she headed back out into the fort’s hallways. Her shoulders ached. The torn remnants of her vest clung to her shirt, tickling her arm. She ripped the paper off and crumpled it into a ball.

  An arm wrapped around her. Warmth seeped into her body as Braeden held her. She smiled, a real one this time. They walked toward the door while the last of the Ayavelian elite clapped each other on the shoulders and helped each other to their feet. Anyone who needed a healer limped off, most with their arms around someone else for balance.

  Kara entered the hall and rounded a corner, following a pair of elite guards headed for what she thought was the exit.

  “This way,” Braeden said.

  She hesitated. He stood in the middle of the hall, his thumb pointing over his shoulder.

  Oops.

  She nodded and followed him in silence. Her feet throbbed, and she pushed away the thought of her tattered vest. She couldn’t deal with processing an in-game death right now. She wished for her bed, but the tension in her back tightened. She and Braeden shared a room, thanks to Evelyn. And while Kara hid her secret pleasure at that fact before, it filled her with dread now. He had that glint in his eye—there was something left unsaid, and it probably involved her staying back while he led the final battle. That wasn’t going to happen, and she wouldn’t escape the discussion tonight.

  Several minutes of silence pass
ed as they made their way out of the fort. Apparently, Braeden wasn’t going to speak first, and Kara didn’t know what to say. She’d done her best, and it wasn’t good enough. She’d lost the game, but at least Braeden made it. In the real world, only that mattered. They needed to kill Carden, and with Deidre at his side, death was a very real possibility.

  Kara stared out the passing windows. Smoke billowed upward in the darkness, illuminated by the fires still burning along the wall. Blue and brown heads bobbed along the fence, blasting streams of water at the flames. Bit by bit, the flames receded.

  All soldiers would have two days to rest and recoup. Ayavelian healers were the best in Ourea, and two days would be more than enough to let the men recover. Kara doubted she would be so lucky. The Bloods needed to discuss lessons learned from the game and alter their battle plan as necessary. They would need to strategize and debate. Even when she did get time to rest, she would worry. She didn’t even sleep well anymore. Since Braeden’s near-death experience at the Stele—and Gavin’s all-too-close rescue—she hadn’t slept through the night.

  Hopefully this would all end soon. Once it did, Kara would sleep for days to make up for all the stress.

  Kara reached the door to their bedroom first, with Braeden a few feet behind. She glanced at him as she twisted the knob. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes on the threshold and out of focus. She groaned. He was likely choosing his words for what would be a heated discussion about why she shouldn’t go to the final battle with Carden. Her eyes stung. She needed sleep, not an argument. Flick hummed from his usual place on her shoulder, his eyes drooping.

  The door swung inward. A man sat on their four-post bed, the dark wood blending with his cloak. He hunched, face toward the windows on the opposite wall.

  Kara’s heart skipped a beat. Braeden stepped in front of her, body tense, one hand on his sword as he examined the intruder.

  Stone turned around from his place on the bed and sat up straight. His salt-and-pepper hair framed the wrinkles in his face. He frowned and set his hands on his waist. “About time.”

  Braeden relaxed his shoulders. Kara took a deep breath and shut the door.