Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  Kara shrugged. “Without a wig or a fake mustache, I don’t have a lot of options.”

  “I see plenty of options.”

  Kara shifted in her seat and locked eyes with him. “I will never steal a soul. I made a promise to myself and my vagabonds.”

  “Who cares? Your safety matters more.”

  “Who’s going to jeopardize my safety?”

  “Stelians. Bloods. Isen. Bored farmers. You’re a little famous here.”

  She shook her head and turned back to the path. She clicked her tongue, urging her wolf to trot faster. His feet bounded over the grass, leaving Stone and his lazy horse behind.

  Their dirt path widened, the soil darkening as they crossed into the town. It twisted around a few tree-homes and opened into a circle with a stone well in its middle. A rope hung from a piece of wood above the gray stone, its bucket apparently lowered.

  Kara dismounted and headed for the well without waiting for Stone to catch up to her. Ryn followed behind, his nose almost to her face. His ears twitched in all directions, no doubt on the lookout for trouble. Kara smiled and patted his neck.

  Good wolf.

  Ryn snorted and looked over her shoulder.

  “Can I help you, miss?” a man asked.

  Kara pivoted to see a middle-aged man with tanned skin and black hair. His brown trousers sported a few black stains around the knees, and the frayed beige shirt had patches of white to imply its original color. A few hems on the shirt came loose, folding over him in a mismatched display of poor care.

  “I need two rooms for the night. Do you have an inn?”

  He nodded. “Don’t think you can keep a wolf in one of the rooms though.”

  Kara paused until she realized he thought she wanted to put Ryn in the second room. A bubble of laughter escaped her, but the man frowned as if confused.

  “No, the other room is for my—”

  She gestured back toward Stone, prepared to say “father,” but the young man from the Glasgow club now rode on the horse Stone had been riding. His olive skin, the dark hair, the eyes—he looked so much like Braeden. The nose was wrong, the face too squared, but still. He nodded once, eyes darting back over the homes in what she could only assume was an assessment.

  Kara had stopped mid-sentence, her mind trailing back to Scotland—waking up in the human world without her grimoire, panic flooding her chest at the sea of pink walls and blankets; hating Braeden, one of the few men she trusted, for disarming and abandoning her; discovering Deidre in the club VIP room; meeting Niccoli; discovering she was an isen; the sting of Stone’s barb as it broke through her spine; the agony of drowning.

  “Miss?” the man asked.

  She licked her lips, trying to snap out of it. “Um, my brother. The second room is for my brother.”

  The man nodded, apparently unfazed by her sudden pause.

  “I think you’ll be all right, then. Follow me.”

  He walked off across the town center as Stone reached her and dismounted. Kara followed the man, and her mentor kept his pace.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Stone said.

  “Something like that.”

  “You should always have at least one disguise,” he whispered.

  She shook her head. She was a lot of things—isen, murderer, vagabond—but she would never steal a soul, no matter the benefits.

  Stone smirked. Her hands curled into fists. She wanted to punch the grin right off his face. He didn’t understand honor or the desire to protect other lives. He only cared about himself, and if anything, Kara was his polar opposite. She would put everyone, including past enemies, ahead of herself to end this war.

  Kara didn’t sleep well. She managed to get an hour or two before the nightmares started—before the blackened Kirelm faces cluttered her mind, their screams filling her ears like a boiling teakettle. She woke up several times, shirt drenched with sweat, covers on the floor. In the final hours before morning, she lay on the bed, arms and legs stretched in every direction, and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes stung. A weight settled on the base of her neck, a pressure building in the back of her head. But she refused to close her eyes.

  Stone knocked on her door shortly after sunrise. The morning blew by in a haze of exhaustion. Her temple throbbed, and water clung to the edges of her eyes with every second she kept them open. The muscles in her neck ached, and her decision to stare at the ceiling seemed more and more a mistake. She longed to crawl back to the lumpy mattress for another chance at rest. Instead, she limped along from breakfast to the stable to the trail, following the still-disguised Stone and allowing him to lead.

  It wasn’t until Stone’s horse came to a stop hours later, blocking the path, that she blinked herself awake.

  Her eyes still stung, but she forced herself to focus and sat upright in her seat. Stone dismounted his horse, the beast’s tail swishing as it batted at flies hovering over its rump. A clearing lay before them, carved into the dense forest. A cloud hovered in the sky above the small field, but sunlight scorched its edges and cast white rays over the green canopy. Branches bent in a rush of wind. The cool air massaged Kara’s neck, and a wave of relief shot down her back. A bird chirped nearby. She smiled and drank in the day as the trees swayed around her. Lilac spun through the air, floral with a dab of honey.

  She glanced around. A wall of trees surrounded the path and clearing, their trunks so close together she would barely be able to slip between them, and only if she went through sideways. But a dozen feet off, a pair of lilac bushes framed the only entrance to the thick wood she could see, their purple branches sprawling across an opening of downed trees that formed a path through the forest.

  Stone—once again his normal self, instead of disguised as the boy from Glasgow—took off his horse’s bridle, hanging it on a low branch nearby. He unbuckled the horse’s girdle and slipped the saddle off as well, setting it on a log. The horse whinnied and trotted a few feet off before it threw its face into the thick grass in the clearing.

  “Aren’t you worried it’s going to run away?” Kara asked.

  Stone shrugged. “That fat thing won’t go too far from the grass. We’re fine.”

  Kara dismounted and patted Ryn’s neck, muttering a silent wish for him to return to the Grimoire. He caught her eye and dissolve into blue dust with a poof. The glitter floated toward the dirt, hovering in its descent, but her wolf was safely stowed away.

  “What is this place?” Kara asked.

  “A forest near a Lossian village. The locals think it’s cursed because those who come here never return. That’s the way Niccoli wanted his guild to appear—as nothing more than a cursed place people avoided. I doubt many yakona know what this really is.”

  A chill swept down Kara’s back and into her toes. A shot of adrenaline cleared her foggy mind. “So we’re at Niccoli’s guild?”

  “Almost.”

  Stone headed for the lilacs. Kara followed. Together, they crossed the purple threshold. The heat of the sun dissolved, leaving only the cool chill of a shaded wood with no breezes. Sunbeams broke through the leaves here and there, filling the path with a murky glow. Her senses burned, alert. The stink of sweat rolled through the lilac, souring the perfume. She glanced up. A man sat on a branch stemming from the second tree along the path. He wore a hooded shirt that covered much of his pale face, but Kara noticed his frown. The lines in his forehead deepened as she caught his eye.

  Stone nudged her side and shook his head. Apparently, she couldn’t look at anyone in the trees.

  She took a deep breath, held it, and let it out.

  The path widened, about twenty feet now, but the last of the light dissolved at the same time. The trees on either side of them arched thirty feet, creating a tunnel of branches that blocked out the sun. Metal cages hung from the branches along the center, each filled with a thick candle that spread enough light to illuminate the dozen feet until the next one. Shadows flickered across the trunks on either side of the
path, tormenting Kara’s imagination as she saw figure after figure in her peripheral vision. She tensed her jaw and pressed onward.

  As they continued down the path, the hair on her neck all but burned off from the stares of eyes she couldn’t see, likely sentries keeping watch on the path from the branches above, but she never again looked up. In the guild, she needed to follow Stone’s lead to stay alive.

  The road twisted and turned for a good ten minutes, until a pale light appeared around a bend. Kara blinked, eyes already unaccustomed to sunlight. She resisted the urge to rub her eyes and squinted instead.

  When her vision adjusted, a rocky mansion came into focus. It filled the center of a massive clearing at least two hundred feet wide. The house stretched five or six stories tall, with at least two dozen widows facing her on each floor. The roof sloped in a violent arch, its shingles beige in the sunlight streaming through an opening in the canopy above the clearing.

  The sun blazed through the opening, its beams falling softly to the clearing floor, but the heat didn’t reach Kara. She shivered.

  Several smaller houses dotted the edge of the clearing, about half the size of the great mansion in the middle. Dirt paths connected the various houses. Other walkways similar to the entrance cut through the forest around the house, no doubt pathways to other clearings like this one. Here and there, a head passed by a window. A few doors slammed in the distance, but nothing moved. No one walked along the paths or through to the other clearings of Niccoli’s guild.

  Stone headed for the manor. “This used to be a bustling city full of isen and slaves. There was never a quiet moment.”

  Kara followed. “What happened?”

  He laughed. “Well, I understand why the slaves are gone.”

  “And why is that?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I did say ‘maybe.’”

  She groaned.

  Stone trotted up the front steps and opened the double doors. A gust blew past them. Kara shivered again.

  “It doesn’t seem like anyone’s here,” she said.

  He grumbled and entered without answering, storming down the hallway. Kara had to jog to keep up with his long stride. Red wallpaper and white paint zipped by. She sped past archways and closed doors, catching a glimpse of a library and a stairwell before he threw open another set of double doors at the end of the hall.

  Kara paused at the doorway, eyeing this new room—an arena. Wooden seats covered a platform on either end, the chairs raised so that those in the back could see the black tiles that filled most of the massive floor. About four hundred seats altogether. Stairs led from the black marble through a gate and past the raised seats to a closed door perhaps a story or two above that, for all intents and purposes, seemed to lead outside.

  The arena stretched the full height and width of the mansion, the walls made of the same stone that covered the exterior. The sloping roof curved overhead, supported by dark brown beams that criss-crossed the air far above her head. Windows covered the space just below the supports. Rays of light illuminated the dust floating in the air, swirling as Stone disturbed the stillness.

  Her mentor headed for a rope on the far wall, his long stride swallowed by the sheer size of this new room. The line went through the ceiling and onto the roof, to something Kara couldn’t see.

  When he reached the rope, Stone wrapped it once around his hand and pulled. His face distorted with the effort. Somewhere far above, a bell tolled. The echo rang through the open room, empty and a little sad. He pulled again, and the bell tolled a second time.

  A door opened at the top of the seats. A woman stepped through, her blue dress swishing along the floor. Her boots clacked across the stone steps, the heel tapping with perfect rhythm. She caught Kara’s eye and frowned, but said nothing. She took a seat in the first row.

  The door to the opposite set of seats opened with a creak. This time, a dozen men filed through. They, too, frowned and whispered to one another when they saw Kara. They sat in the back row of seats.

  Stone rang the bell again, and again, and again. One by one, men and women filed their way into the arena seats until Stone’s ringing went unanswered for a good ten minutes. About half the seats were filled, all faces covered with frowns and scowls. Regret burned along Kara’s arms as she realized she stood in the center of the arena for all to see. She resisted the impulse to hurry to Stone’s side—she had to look strong, not like a lost kitten.

  Kara did, however, allow herself to shudder—these were folks she would’ve crossed the street to avoid in her human life. Some hunched in their seats, eyeing her with sneers she didn’t want to interpret. Others examined her with calculating glances, as if sizing her up as a meal. She clenched her fists and swallowed hard, suddenly regretting her decision to join Stone in this suicide mission to recruit the evil isen Niccoli commanded in life.

  “What a disappointing turnout,” Stone said.

  His voice echoed in the vast room, clear as the bell. Kara took another deep breath.

  Stone continued. “You may know me—I am Stone, the only isen to escape Niccoli’s command. I have a present for you, brothers and sisters—one I think you will enjoy.”

  Kara stood up straighter.

  “This is Agneon’s granddaughter,” Stone finished.

  Kara expected gasps or perhaps laughter. But the silence that followed was worse. Many sneered, and she caught the hiss of a few isen in the front rows sucking in their breath.

  She tensed, wishing Stone knew the meaning of tact or subtlety, but it was probably best that he ripped off the bandage. She didn’t have much energy, and she didn’t want to drag out her stay any longer than necessary.

  She clenched her fists.

  Let’s do this.

  Chapter 7

  Final Plans

  Braeden stood and rested his hands on the war table before him, leaning his weight onto the wooden planks. The boards creaked under his palms. Paper covered his end of the table, dozens of maps and scrawled notes set out for his final presentation with the Bloods. He’d spent every free moment poring over the war game reports from each army. He had a few suggestions on how to improve the final battle, but their success would all depend on how the Bloods reacted to his thoughts. He didn’t own them, and he needed their agreement for these crucial changes to stick.

  He took a deep breath.

  Today, they would finalize the war plan. Today, they would set the final pieces into place for the war on Carden’s front gate.

  A hinge groaned on the double doors at the far end of the room. Braeden peeked upward to find Gavin, one hand still resting on the handle of the door as it swung shut. The Hillsidian Blood nodded in welcome.

  “Gavin,” Braeden answered with a nod of his own.

  His former brother sat across the table and leaned back in his chair. “How are you?”

  “Fine, I suppose.” Braeden returned to his maps, studying the curves of mountain paths he’d already memorized weeks ago.

  “Are we enemies again?” Gavin asked.

  Braeden looked up. A flare of annoyance flashed in his chest. “What?”

  Gavin rested his heels on the table and leaned farther back in his chair. “I’m doing well. Thanks for asking.”

  Braeden chuckled and sat. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

  “And anxious. And stressed. And worried about Kara.”

  Braeden shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

  Gavin shook his head. “Worry does nothing, though. Wasted energy.”

  “I’m just trying to focus on the final battle for now.”

  “Congratulations on the bond with Kara. It was good to see you happy, if only for a day.”

  Braeden smiled. “Thank you.”

  The king returned his grin, but it faded. Gavin’s eyes fell to the floor.

  “This is still so strange for me. After I nearly let you die, I keep trying to go back to the way
we were. Brothers. But I can’t,” Gavin admitted.

  Braeden’s jaw tensed. “You’re right. It will never be what it was. I lied to you for years. That’s hard to forgive.”

  Gavin rubbed his neck. “And I hunted you like an animal. I tried to kill you on several occasions. That’s unforgivable.”

  They sat in silence, each staring at the table while Braeden hoped Gavin would speak first.

  “You didn’t kill me when you had the chance. That, I can appreciate,” Braeden finally said.

  Gavin nodded. “And you saved the Heirs from your father when you had every opportunity to stay with him. That, I can respect.”

  “I think we can be friends again. And hopefully, one day, brothers.”

  Gavin nodded. “Maybe one day.”

  Braeden fiddled with the papers in front of him, but his eyes slipped out of focus. He didn’t know what else to say.

  Gavin took a deep breath. “About Kara—”

  The hinge of the door creaked. Braeden flinched even as a flurry of anger twisted through his gut—what about Kara?

  Aurora stood in the open doorway, her new metal frame of a wing balanced alongside her good one. She nodded to those at the table and found a chair. Braeden returned the nod and fixed his eye on Gavin. The Hillsidian’s jaw tensed. He leaned back in his chair and resumed staring at the floor.

  “What were you going to say?” Braeden pressed.

  Gavin’s eyes shifted to Aurora, who raised one eyebrow. He paused. “I’m glad my—uh—attempts failed. You deserve her.”

  The anger dissolved. Braeden gaped for a moment, surprised, but relaxed into his chair and nodded. “Thank you.”

  The hinges creaked again. This time, Frine walked in with Evelyn in tow. The Ayavelian Blood scanned the room, but her back straightened when her eyes landed on Gavin. The Hillsidian’s shoulders tensed.

  Braeden let out a sigh. Gavin didn’t deserve Evelyn, either. He deserved better.

  Evelyn sat at the far end of the table, as far away from Gavin as was possible, while Frine sat a few seats from Braeden. With the massive table mostly unoccupied, Braeden stood to begin. This was a meeting of the Bloods alone.