Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga

by S. M. Boyce

  Kara drew her sword. She raced to him. Andor rolled onto his back, eyes narrowed on hers. A shadow erupted from his fingers—likely some Stelian attack she’d never before seen. It raced toward her like a ghost. She dodged it, but the edges of the shadow brushed her right shoulder. Ice burrowed into her skin, shooting daggers through her veins. Frost crackled over her clothes. She cursed. Her grip loosened. The sword fell from her fingers and clattered on the tile.

  Andor summoned fire. It raged along his palms, the flames licking his fingers. He reached for her neck. She summoned the red sparks again and shot at his feet. The attack sizzled and wrapped around his ankles. His back arched as if a bolt of lightning had shot through him.

  She shuffled away, putting distance between them. He fell to the floor, chest heaving. Her shoulder burned. She grimaced and sat on the black tiles, slouching as she nursed her wound. She had to end this agony.

  Kara summoned the sparks again, but with the intent to heal—she’d never tried this before, but according to the lessons in the Grimoire, the red attack could either disarm or heal based on the summoner’s intent. She took a deep breath and visualized the soothing sensation of the pain receding. She set her palm on the injury. The red sparks shot into her skin. Her body twitched, the electric charges tickling her wound. She grimaced. Pain rippled through her body in one final wave before it receded into her veins and dissolved. She bent her fingers, relishing the rush of blood to her hands. She sighed with relief.

  A fist appeared in her peripheral vision. She thrust herself backward, shoulders smacking against the tile. She strained her neck to prevent her head from cracking open.

  Andor stood to her left, her sword in his right hand. She swallowed hard. He raised the blade over his head.

  Use the floor. Throw him off-balance and go for the kill, the Vagabond said in her mind.

  Kara spread her fingers, feeling into the flooring with her mind. Tension pulled on her palms, the telltale weight of magic heavy on her shoulder blades. She took a deep breath. Andor swung.

  She curled her hands into fists. The tension broke. The arena trembled. Cracks splintered across the tile floor in all directions. Andor’s eyes widened. The blade clanged against the tile by Kara’s head. She summoned a blade of air and aimed. The air rushed, hissing. She released the blade. It sailed clean through his shoulder. He flew backward, skidding along the floor. A trail of blood lined his path along the gray tile.

  She ran to him. He groaned and set a hand on the tiles as if to sit up. She summoned a dozen blades of air this time, all aimed toward his head.

  He stopped, eyes on hers. She frowned and tensed, ready to release the onslaught. Hopefully, hesitating instead of outright killing him would show him she’d won and count as mercy. If not, she would never trust Stone again.

  Andor grinned, eyes lit up despite the gaping wound in his chest. “I’m impressed.”

  She nodded, still frowning and unsure if this was a trick or not.

  Andor waved her away with a hand. “Enough, enough. You’ve made your point. I will follow you.”

  She sighed and released her hold on the blades of air. They dissolved into a gust of wind. It blew past, tussling her hair as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Wouldn’t mind you using that healing trick on me, though,” Andor said.

  She laughed and looked at Stone. He stared at the floor, eyes out of focus, but he nodded once.

  He won’t openly guide you in the arena, the Vagabond said in her mind.

  She cleared her throat. Right. She needed to be the leader, not him.

  Thanks, Vagabond.

  She knelt beside Andor and summoned the red sparks, again focusing on the relief he would likely feel when she healed him. She set her hands on the clean cloth around his wound, careful to avoid the blood. The sparks jumped from her palms to his chest. He grimaced. She tensed, worried she hurt him, but his face relaxed almost as quickly. He sighed and leaned his head on the tile.

  The skin stitched itself together, blood pooling and clotting until she could no longer see the pulsating river of red pouring from his wound.

  She sighed and leaned back on her heels, setting her hands in her lap.

  Andor sat up, rubbing the spot where his wound once was. He nodded. “Very impressed.”

  “Who else?” Stone asked the arena seats.

  Inwardly, Kara groaned. A rest would have been nice. Exhaustion seeped into the corners of her eyes. She resisted the impulse to rub them—she couldn’t appear weak, not even for a second. Not here.

  “Child,” Andor said.

  She met his gaze.

  “Several elders elected not to come here today—Deidre’s request left a bad taste in their mouths. I will speak to them on your behalf. They will listen to me.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Andor.”

  He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Carry on here. I will meet you after you finish. If you survive that long, that is.”

  She laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He patted her on the back in what she assumed was a friendly gesture, yet the weight of his massive hand almost shot her stumbling forward.

  Andor strode to the exit. A dozen or so isen stood as he left and filed out of the arena doors.

  Kara pursed her lips. Thanks for the support.

  “No one else?” Stone asked those still sitting in the arena.

  Kara had lost track of time. She’d faced two other elder children, both with the same result as Andor—after a short battle, she got them on their backs and offered mercy instead of killing them. But each fight chipped away at her resilience. Her exhaustion worsened the longer she stayed, and the elder children seemed uninterested in giving her a moment of rest. She began slipping up—missing an easy hit here, allowing her power to overcome her there.

  She just wanted to sleep.

  “I would like to test the great Vagabond,” a man said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

  Kara looked around in time to see a man stand—the same man who had stared with such open leering earlier.

  She sucked in a breath. Awesome. But as far as she could tell, she didn’t get the option to refuse a fight. She crossed to Stone, same as she had the last three fights, and leaned in. Her skin crawled at the thought of touching this new contestant. The way he leered at her suggested he had thoughts that would turn her stomach. But if Stone told her he needed to live, she’d figure out how to deal with him later.

  Stone grimaced. “Kill this one. His name is Rupert. He and Agneon had old debts to settle. He’ll take it out on you and has no interest in joining the cause.”

  Rupert hopped the gate and landed on the tile floor at the base of the steps. He sauntered over and grinned, his eyes narrowing. “What is the old man telling you?”

  Kara forced a smile instead of answering. She met him in the center of the arena and squared her shoulders, ready. He wouldn’t disarm her with banter like Andor had.

  Rupert circled her, his footsteps tapping along the black marble as he walked the arena. He sidestepped the cracks and broken tiles from her earlier fights. His head always had a tilt to it, as if to keep a better an eye on her location. Kara tensed but remained in position as he circled, ready to defend when he attacked. Just as Braeden taught her—let the opponent strike first.

  Rupert examined his nails. “You probably don’t even know who I am.”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Agneon couldn’t even settle his debts properly. You’ll have to do.”

  Exhaustion weighed on her mind. She needed a break. She had to figure out a way to get Stone to postpone the rest of the fights.

  “I do wish Agneon were here to witness—”

  “Oh, shut up!” Kara snapped.

  The room hushed. What isen remained in the arena seats watched with gaping mouths.

  Rupert frowned, lines forming along his face. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I
don’t care what debts you had with Agneon. I’m not him. I have self control. If you want to fight, do it. Otherwise, shut up and get out.”

  In her peripheral vision, Stone set his face in his hands.

  Rupert laughed. “You’re certainly as arrogant as he was. You’ll do nicely.”

  A chill raced up Kara’s spine. She turned in time to duck a punch from a second isen. She twisted her body away from the blow, only to lean into another fist on its way toward her body. Knuckles cracked along her spine. She yelled and fell to her knees, rolling away from the melee. Pain splintered through her core.

  Three isen surrounded Rupert—one woman and two men. Rupert sneered. The other isen focused on her, eyes intent. The woman summoned fire into her palms. Electricity crackled over the arms of the other two.

  So Rupert fought dirty.

  “Can’t win by yourself?” Kara asked.

  Rupert shrugged. “Surely an isen with such a powerful lineage is capable of winning a little duel. I’m leveling the playing field.”

  Kara turned to Stone, who crossed his arms and shrugged. She cursed under her breath. Anger bubbled in her chest.

  Fine.

  She summoned the red sparks and shot four blasts in rapid succession. Two hit their marks. Rupert and the woman twisted away in time. The unlucky men sailed backward, arcing through the air as they flew. They hit the tiled floor with two heavy thuds. One rolled a few feet and lay there, his clothes smoking.

  Rupert shot a blade of air at Kara. She ducked. It nicked her arm. A sting raced down to her elbow. She cursed. He shot three more. She avoided two, but the third hit her thigh. She grimaced and doubled over, her fingers by her head. She hurled her anger through her hands, and it appeared in the air as a streak of lightning. A crack of thunder followed. The bolt curved through the air, twisting outward. It struck the woman in the chest. She snapped upright. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She stood, suspended by the blast of the lightning, before crumpling into a heap.

  “Meredith!” Rupert yelled. He gritted his teeth.

  Kara smirked. “You can always quit.”

  He summoned a dozen blades of air. They whirled about his head like a lasso, vibrating as he held them in place. Her smile fell. He loosed the blades. Kara summoned a gust of air in the shape of a body-sized shield and released it. The air flew toward Rupert, swallowing his attack.

  Four hands grabbed Kara’s arms. She twisted. Two more men she didn’t recognize had jumped over the arena fence to join the fight. She stomped on one’s foot. He cursed. Fire erupted in the palms of the second man. The flames seared her skin. Pain shot through her arm. Skin melted. Clothes burned. She screamed. Tears pricked her eyes.

  With her right hand, she summoned a sword from the air, just long enough to stab him, and shoved it toward his face.

  A fifth hand grabbed her wrist and twisted it. The sword dissolved. Agony shot through her wrist. The wrist guard shifted, its buckle loosening from the man’s grip. The spikes in her skin—set there to keep the magic at bay—ripped sideways through her arm. She screamed again. Her knees gave out.

  She looked up to see Rupert, his hand still around her right wrist. One of the men lying on the floor stirred and pushed himself to his feet. The woman she electrocuted groaned and rubbed her face.

  Rupert grabbed Kara’s chin and forced her to look at him. She wriggled, pulling against her captors. She ignited a purple flame in her right palm, but Rupert twisted the wrist guard again. It shifted farther along her arm, tearing fresh lines through her body. She bit her lip to suppress yet another scream. Her eyes blurred—from tears or pain, she couldn’t tell.

  “Wish your grandfather well for me,” Rupert said in a low voice.

  He raised a hand, summoning a sword of air in his palm. Panic raced through her. Kara conjured the red sparks and released them, not caring where they landed or who they hit. Red light blinded her. Men screamed. She twisted and rolled to the left, toward the only opening she’d seen while in the circle of men. Metal ripped her right wrist open. Warm liquid coursed down her arm. She cursed as loud as she could and clutched her arm to her chest.

  She blinked her eyes open. Spots danced along her vision. She curled on the floor, her arm tucked close to her body. She cradled it with her left hand and inspected it.

  The wrist guard was gone—torn off somewhere in the melee. Deep lines curved along her wrist, wet and bloody evidence of where the guard’s spikes had ripped her open. Blood bubbled from the wounds and fell in rivers that pooled on the floor.

  Rupert pushed himself to his feet but stumbled to his knees. One of the men who’d held her lay on his back, smoke rising from his body. The other twitched and rolled onto his stomach. Two more men and a woman jumped from the stands to join Rupert in the arena.

  Kara cursed. Anger rushed through her. This was cheating. She wouldn’t die here in an isen arena at the hands of cowards who couldn’t fight her one on one. She deserved to be back in Ayavel, enjoying Braeden’s company in the final days before the war with Carden. Picking fights with isen elders was a waste of her time and energy.

  Stone. This was his fault. She scanned the room for him and frowned when she found him. He leaned against the wall, one hand on his cheek as if the whole fight bored him. He raised a brow when she caught his eye. A rush of anger warmed her from within. It burned her core. She would never forgive him for throwing her to the wolves.

  Rupert rose again. The wrist guard dangled from his right hand. She would kill him, but first she wanted the guard back. If he destroyed it—well, she couldn’t exactly buy a new one.

  Kara’s eyes narrowed. Her neck tensed. Her shoulders hunched. Her mind focused on the wrist guard. The murmur of voices in the audience faded. The hiss of smoking corpses dissolved, blurring into the background. Pain receded from her wrist. She retreated inward, focused completely on her stolen property. Annoyance burned through her chest, raising the hair on her neck.

  She stood, the rivers of her blood snaking down her fingers.

  A green glow raced through Kara’s peripheral vision. It sizzled over her skin, soothing her with a rush of adrenaline. She stared at the wrist guard. Rupert shifted his weight, his boots creaking with the movement. He let out a slow breath. Several voices rippled through the air, whispering as the audience watched the battle rage below them.

  Well, Kara would give them a show.

  “Had enough?” Rupert asked, his voice crisp.

  Kara curled her hand into a fist. “I’m just getting started.”

  She lunged for him. His eyes widened. He ducked to the left, but Kara followed suit. She reached for his arm, the one with her wrist guard, but he twisted just out of her reach. She frowned. Anger bubbled within her like a festering pot about to boil over.

  Her body released the energy without her consent in whatever way it could. A beam of green light shot away from her, blossoming in her periphery. It sailed through the first row of seats. Isen screamed. One spectator fell over the railing and hit the floor hard enough to crack it.

  Another beam of energy shot off of her, followed by another. The energy tore through the stone floor, shattering the rock to bits. A man—one of Rupert’s men, she guessed—ran toward her from her right, but another beam of energy ripped from her body. It tore through his skin, dissolving him to dust. A woman screamed and ran for him.

  Kara smiled, the depth of her power taking over.

  Kara, get yourself together! a voice yelled in her head.

  Recognition flared within as she collected her thoughts.

  Cedric? she asked.

  I asked you not to call me that. Now focus! You’re tearing apart the arena.

  A flurry of glee spun in her chest. So?

  This isn’t you.

  Of course it is. It’s just the side of me you can’t control.

  He continued, his voice buzzing in her mind, calling to her like an important task she’d forgotten to do. She shook it off, hushing the inner voice with a shiver.<
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  Rupert cursed. Kara turned toward him, once more focused on her wrist guard. He frowned and backed away, his feet taking slow steps toward the arena exit. Kara shook her head and laughed. Glee rippled through her at the fear on his face. Good. He should be afraid. He started this.

  “You can leave when I get my property back,” she said.

  His frown deepened, casting wrinkles through his forehead. He turned and ran for the door. The wrist guard dropped to the floor, the metal spikes plinking against the tile. Kara’s body tensed, and she focused on his retreating feet. Two bursts of green light dove from her. The force knocked her backward. She skidded along the tiles. Rupert screamed. She looked up, the room spinning, but finally managed to focus her eyes on the smoking carcass of what was once a man. It lay on the floor, one charred arm reaching for the handle of the closed exit door.

  Kara pushed herself to her feet and walked toward the corpse, careful not to look away. Her feet tapped along the floor in the silent room. She could feel every eye on her back, prickling her skin, but she kept her focus on the wrist guard.

  Her gut tugged at her, urging her to look around, to search for the next target. She shook her head and stopped, closing her eyes for a second of respite. It was enough to focus.

  She knelt by her wrist guard. The annoyance churned in her stomach, begging for attention and release. It wanted more targets. More death. More murder. Another wave of glee rippled through her—there were plenty of targets here.

  She shook her head and gritted her teeth. She grabbed the wrist guard but missed in her haste. One spike bit into her finger, drawing blood. She cursed and shook her hand until the sting quickly subsided—too quickly.

  She wiped her finger and examined it. Not even a prick remained where she’d cut herself.

  Curiosity burned through her, distracting enough that she forgot her original purpose for kneeling on the floor. She examined her right wrist, expecting the gaping wound she’d seen before but found only her perfect, unmarred skin. Her mouth hung open. Her defenses dropped. She hadn’t intentionally healed herself at any point during the fight. She’d been clear on every attack, certain of everything that happened—but at no point did she heal herself. Not intentionally, at least. Her body must have healed itself. The only time she’d seen healing like that was with the Bloods—and she certainly wasn’t royalty.