by S. M. Boyce
Okay, time for plan B.
The wood’s energy pulsed through her veins, beating as a pulse separate from her own. Time slowed once more as she focused. Dirt shifted beneath her boots. Just as Braeden’s second wall of flame roared to life, creeping toward her at half-speed, she raised her hands and pulled with her the top layer of dirt.
The ground rumbled. Dirt blotted out the sky. The fire dissolved mid-air, and Braeden disappeared in the dust and crumbling soil. Kara coughed and covered her mouth to keep the dust from her lungs.
As the sun began to flit through the falling dirt, illuminating the layers of mud on her clothes, Kara stepped back into the forest; that way, she could catch sight of him first when the dirt settled.
She slipped behind a tree and crouched. Flick stretched in the satchel, making the strap slip a little over her shoulder. She corrected it as the dirt cloud dissolved.
The clearing was empty.
“Nice try.” A hot breath rolled along her neck, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
Kara turned a second before Braeden backed her into the tree she had only seconds before used as cover. He raised the sword to her neck, but kept his distance. It was a signal for her to forfeit, not a threat, so the sword never touched her throat.
No way would she give in that easily.
She reached into her satchel, brushing Flick’s forehead. They’d only had marginal success with teleportation, and they hadn’t yet worked out how to control it. Flick had only been able to teleport them once—when Carden had nearly ordered Braeden to kill her. Panic and necessity had fueled the teleportation then; maybe it could work again now. This was as good a time as any to try.
Braeden grinned, and she visualized standing behind him. Flick chirped—a short quip of a sound that made her smirk. This match wasn’t over yet.
A crack broke the air. In the blink of an eye, she stood behind the prince who previously had her cornered. He turned. His grin dissolved.
Kara pushed him back into the tree with one hand and summoned her pearl blue sword once more. She raised the blade to his throat, just as he had done to her moments before. She focused on the wind as it tore through the trees and borrowed a bit of it, drawing it into her palm to create a second blade of air sharp enough to slice skin. She held this just over his heart.
“Cheater,” he said, grinning.
“I prefer the term ‘resourceful twit.’”
“I’ll use that from now on, then.”
“So do I win?”
He just laughed. She would take that as a yes.
Kara stepped back and released the second blade of air in her palm, which hissed as it dissolved. Braeden stood and brushed the pearl blue sword aside with an ease that could only mean he’d let her push him back into the tree.
She huffed. “One minute, you’re giving me a haircut for not paying attention, and the next, you let me win? You’re the worst tutor ever.”
“I was genuinely caught off guard. That was a good move, using Flick. I hadn’t known you’d been working on it.”
“I haven’t.”
He groaned. “Dang it, Kara! You don’t listen to anything I say, do you?”
“I listened to the bit about tucking my head in when I roll. Doesn’t that count?”
He rubbed his temples. “Well, using Flick was still quick thinking, and that’s what I really wanted to work on today. I think we’re done with sparring.”
Kara resisted the impulse to dance for joy. “I mean, if you’re sure…”
Braeden shook his head. “You’re so transparent. So what was that red sparking technique you tried back there?”
She shrugged. “Something I found in the Grimoire. It’s supposed to be a versatile technique, one that can either heal or disarm, but not even the first Vagabond mastered it.”
Braeden took a deep breath and shook his head. “So you decide to try it when I’m about to shoot fire at your face?”
Kara laughed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Well, stop doing that. Work more on teleporting with Flick before we leave and don’t try that red sparking technique in a fight until you have a better grip on that, too.”
She chuckled and bowed with a flourish. “As you wish, oh great master.”
He smiled and stepped closer as she stood upright. Her heart did that fluttering thing again. Her breath caught in her throat, which made him grin even wider.
“We only have a day left in the village, Kara. We have to go back to the real world tomorrow and—”
“‘Real world’ is a relative term,” she interrupted, the butterflies in her stomach making her lips move on their own.
Braeden just laughed. “You know what I mean. Before we go, I’d like to discuss our—um—moment from when we first got here. You’ve been skillfully avoiding that.”
“By moment, you mean kiss.” It wasn’t a question.
He nodded and closed the final few inches of space between them. She should have stepped back, really, but he smelled like oak and spices. His cologne melted her feet into the ground. All she wanted to do was lean into him and close her eyes, but she took a deep breath instead.
“We’ve been over this, Braeden. This—us—it won’t work. I’m going to get you killed. That’s what happens if vagabonds care about someone. They die.”
“Kara, I’ve lived a lie for the past twelve years. I’ll lie to everyone until they figure me out, and then I’ll probably be killed for disloyalty anyway. I accepted a while ago that death is coming sooner for me than most. It doesn’t mean much to me.”
“It should.”
“There’s something more you’re not telling me, Kara.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m a fine liar.”
“You really aren’t.”
She grumbled. “Leave this alone, Braeden.”
“Why won’t you give me a real answer?”
“Braeden, stop—”
“No! Not until I get a real—”
“The people I love die!” she snapped.
He stepped back, his eyes narrowing.
But Kara couldn’t stop. “When I care about someone, they die! I killed Mom when I tried to get her to a hospital. I killed Dad when I was trying to keep him safe. I don’t even have a picture of either of them, Braeden! I have nothing to remember them by. That’s just what happens to the people I care about! They die and disappear without a trace. I can’t lose you, too!”
His eyes softened. Regret panged in Kara’s stomach. Her cheeks flushed. She wanted to hit her head against a tree trunk and vomit at the same time.
Did I really say all that out loud?
Braeden grinned. “So you do want me!”
“You’re so frustrating!”
Kara turned on her heel and plodded into the forest, leaving Braeden at the edges of the clearing. He didn’t stop her.
How stupid. Love was too strong a word at this point, but yes—she wanted him. She wasn’t supposed to let him know that she’d enjoyed every second of the kiss or that she’d thought about it daily and wanted more.
But the Vagabond had ruined the kiss entirely. While she had closed her eyes and savored the tingling trace Braeden’s lips left behind, the first Vagabond had manipulated her mind. He’d forced her to relive the bloody image of his own lover’s corpse. He’d elicited the memory of Helen’s death to remind Kara of what happened to those the vagabonds love: they die.
The first Vagabond later told Kara to push Braeden away if she cared. She was a vagabond now, and that meant being lonely.
“Are you all right, Kara?”
The deep voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see the Vagabond’s ghost standing on the dead leaves nearby, his face shrouded in the darkness beneath his hood.
She gasped and gritted her teeth, closing her eyes until her heart settled.
“Don’t surprise me like that, Vagabond.”
/> “I apologize,” he said.
She looked him over once more. The trailing edges of his cloak drifted on the breeze, transparent enough to show the dirt and dead leaves littering the ground behind him. Though she couldn’t see his face, she knew what he looked like: tanned and blond, with gray eyes and a long scar on his cheek. That scar was a constant reminder of the lover he’d lost to his cause.
“You did not handle that well,” he said.
“I don’t know how it could have been handled well, Vagabond.”
“To begin, stop implying ‘yes,’ when you tell him ‘no.’ It is quite confusing for a man.”
She sighed and sat down beneath a tree. Dried leaves crunched beneath her pants.
“Do you love him?” the Vagabond asked.
“Don’t start.”
“It’s a simple question. Just a yes or no will suffice.”
“We’re not discussing this.”
“Suit yourself. Shall we discuss the Gala instead?”
The Gala. The reason she and Braeden had to leave tomorrow. All summer, she had travelled to the various kingdoms in Ourea, asking the kings and queens—the Bloods, as they were called here—to see reason and unite against Carden, the tyrannical Blood that was also Braeden’s father.
Dang it. She was thinking of Braeden again.
“The world didn’t stop spinning because you stepped off for a while, Kara. The Gala is supposed to be a meeting of peace and unity, yet one of the Bloods tried to manipulate you and control you just one week ago. It’s not safe to go.”
She sighed. “Yes, what Gavin did with the tiara was stupid. But I was the one who brought them together, at least for the most part. What would happen if I didn’t show?”
“They would likely quarrel as to whose fault it is that you didn’t come. Then, they would likely go their separate ways or make secret alliances that would undermine the treaty they’ll be signing.”
“Guess I’m going, then.”
“If you were to choose strong fighters that will be in attendance and make them vagabonds, they can mingle in the crowds and protect you should something go wrong.”
“This again?”
He still wanted her to make a vagabond army. He had a hundred Grimoires identical to hers sitting on a shelf in his old mansion—well, it was her mansion now. And this was her decision.
“You must make more vagabonds, Kara. You’re weak if you don’t. You can’t trust anyone with a blood loyalty, and that includes Braeden.”
“I’m trying to show you that I learned from your mistakes, Vagabond. I’m not budging on this. You became a threat to the Bloods of your time because you made more vagabonds. You took their people and their power. The peace in this world is fragile enough without me throwing more wood on the fire.”
“My vagabonds weren’t killed because I made them. They were killed because I couldn’t choose them over Helen.”
“No, that’s not why you were all rounded up and chained like criminals. You were prisoners because the Bloods felt threatened. Their power is in their people. If you take away their people, you take away their power. You took away their power, Vagabond, instead of simply sharing your knowledge like you claimed to.”
He sighed and crossed his arms. “We vagabonds must sacrifice ourselves for the many. I failed because I could not sacrifice my lover for the lives of hundreds.”
“I won’t make that mistake, Vagabond.”
“I am not so convinced.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish you could see the way you look at Braeden. You cannot get close to anyone—especially not him—because those you love will become leverage to be used against you.”
“Love isn’t a weakness. It’s not leverage.”
“So you love him, then?”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?”
“Kara, that isen Deirdre already has leverage over you because she stole your father’s soul. I know you still want revenge, so don’t give that power to anyone else. If you truly care about Braeden, you have two choices: reject him, or never let anyone know. Neither is fair to him, but one option is safest for you both.”
The first Vagabond had already beaten the rejection option into her head, so she dwelt on the thought of hiding a relationship from the world. Everywhere she went, she would be watched; she could never hold his hand or touch him in public. She could never hold his gaze too long, or smile wider when he came into the room. She didn’t know if she could control that for more than a second or two, much less stop it altogether.
The Vagabond leaned against a tree, the lines of its bark visible through his ghostly torso. “I can see that it’s futile to discuss this further. At least you are better prepared for what lies ahead. The boy is a good tutor. I will grant him that.”
He was right, too. She’d learned a dozen new techniques thanks to Braeden’s teaching, including how to control vines, add thorns to any solid surface, and even how to create smoke from the air to confuse and disorient her opponents. And now, thanks to the epiphany from the sparring match, she and Flick had finally begun to understand teleportation.
In her time at the village, the Vagabond had taught her much, too. He had focused mostly on willpower, and in doing so taught her to control her ability to read another’s most influential memory—a control that meant she no longer had to wear gloves. Beyond that, though, he hadn’t taught her much that was useful. Most of the time, he just lectured her like he was doing now.
She sighed. “The Gala will be tense, but nothing dire will happen. I’ve learned to be careful around all of them. I won’t let my guard down.”
The Vagabond shook his head. “At a minimum, you should pick a sword to take with you. Though you can create that blue sword from the light around you, it’s better not to exert your energy on a weapon. Energy is better saved for techniques.”
“I’ll do that.”
Silence settled between them, so Kara glanced through her fingers to examine her mentor. His shoulders hunched, and he stared at the ground. It was as if he’d given up.
“We can do this,” she said.
“I know, but this treaty is not enough. Even if they unite and kill Carden, the feud will continue. We must come up with some way to maintain the peace when the war is over.”
“We’ll come up with something.”
“That is far easier said than done.”
She sighed and poked the satchel, which rose and fell to the tune of Flick’s tiny breaths. Flick squeaked and shimmied out of the bag. Kara stood and brushed away the beads of dirt clinging to her palms, but when she looked up, the Vagabond was gone.
She rolled her eyes. “Bye.”
Flick crawled up her arm and sat on her shoulder. He nuzzled her neck, brushing his soft fur along her throat. She suppressed a giggle.
It would be interesting to see how far he could teleport. She might as well practice. Besides, she wasn’t ready to face Braeden yet.
Kara thought about all the places she’d wanted to visit: New Zealand, Germany, maybe a Mayan temple. She thought of her home in Tallahassee, or the rental where Deidre had stolen her dad’s soul.
Her throat tightened at the thought of her dad’s soul still trapped in Deirdre’s body. She tightened her fists. The Vagabond was right—Kara did still want revenge, but she couldn’t think about that right now.
As for practicing teleportation, she and Flick needed to start out small. It was probably best to just teleport to the road outside the Amber Temple.
She brushed Flick’s head and thought of the leaf-covered cobblestones leading to the temple. In her memory, the dark trees hunched overhead like a tent. The wind howled by, whistling through the trembling branches.
Crack!
Kara opened her eyes. Though she wasn’t in the forest any longer, she also wasn’t on the cobblestone road.
She and Flick stood in front of the only lichgate she and Braeden had disco
vered in their time at the village: a stone arch built into the back of the Vagabond’s tomb. Its rose stone met the base of the tomb’s windows, which were just above the sarcophagus she couldn’t see from the ground. The entire tomb conformed to the lichgate, as if it had been built around the only known entrance to the dead man’s village.
The lichgate never failed to amaze Kara, even for all the times she’d seen it or come to simply stare. Whereas most lichgates revealed a diluted view of the world on the other side, this lichgate showed only the night sky. Stars glittered like the gold flecks in the lapis map that had led Kara to the village. A comet streaked across the dark blue night, leaving an imprint on her vision.
Beautiful as the lichgate was, she shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t the cobblestone road. She walked a little closer to the lichgate out of curiosity. She’d done something wrong, but what?
Flick growled from his perch on her shoulder. His tail twitched, batting her in the ear. He climbed onto her head and stared into the lichgate.
“Let’s try again,” she said.
She envisioned the cobblestone pavement once more, focusing on the chill of the wind that should be rolling over her right now.
Crack!
Again, she opened her eyes to stare at the lichgate. This time, though, she stood in the same spot she’d appeared in the first time.
Weird.
Flick had teleported on command during the sparring match she’d had with Braeden, but couldn’t leave the village. That must mean he couldn’t teleport past a lichgate.
To test her theory, she envisioned her study in the Vagabond’s mansion. She wanted to appear at his window, staring down at his desk—
Crack!
Kara opened her eyes to see the Vagabond’s old desk waiting for her in her study. Flick jumped onto the empty surface and barked, apparently pleased with himself.
So that was it—Flick couldn’t teleport through a lichgate. Kara sighed. Well, that would complicate things. She patted him on the head and headed out the door. She would let him rest, but she had to see to getting herself a sword.
