by S. M. Boyce
He ran to the edge of the cave, past the still-assembling guards, and flew off into the night before they could tell him to stop.
The Vagabond was on her own. She had caused this by trusting the wrong people, and she would have to find a solution. The drenowith would no longer solve her problems for her.
He raced as fast as he could for the cave he and Adele had long called home. It had dozens of entrances and even more exits, but he needed only one at this moment.
He fell into a dive when he found it—the cave they had used only once before. He flew through the twists and turns and stumbled to his feet once he found the cavern hidden deep within the mountain.
A crystal coffin lay in its midst, illuminated by the pale blue glow of crystals embedded in the cavern’s walls. They jutted from the rock, sharp lanterns that glowed with all the brilliance of the moon.
The coffin lid rested on the floor, clear as glass. A pillow lay at one end of the coffin to make the hard walls a little more comfortable for its guest.
He lay Adele inside and shut the lid before he could question himself. This had not saved Bailey. The coffin used ancient magic that was unreliable at best, but it was the only option Garrett had left. He had to hope.
He retreated until his back touched a wall. He slid against the mountainside and crouched on the floor. Unable to look away from the coffin, he covered his mouth and cried. He could not lose Adele. He could not lose the one muse who had survived the world’s beginning with him. She was meant to stay with him until the world’s end.
His fists tightened. That Vagabond did this. He would kill her. He’d—
No.
He couldn’t think like that. For some reason, Adele loved that girl like the daughter she could never have.
Adele would not die. She couldn’t. He couldn’t bear it.
He pushed himself into the wall and watched Adele’s frozen body. She hovered in the coffin, suspended and hopefully healing. A pang of regret tore into him that he’d left Kara, but Adele would always be more important. Love was more important.
Something glinted on Adele’s neck. The silver light caught his eye. He walked closer. A thin line, coiled at one end, stuck from Adele’s skin. He opened the coffin just long enough to wrestle the silver free. She didn’t move.
Is this the Broken Trinity?
He glanced at her wrists, hoping he was wrong—but he wasn’t. There, clear as day, were the other two pieces.
That yakona had found the Broken Trinity. Not only that, she’d known how to use it.
He pulled the last two pieces from Adele’s wrists and once more closed the coffin’s lid. He set the symbols back together. They fused, resuming their original shape.
He threw the symbol against the wall. It bounded off the rock and bounced along the floor with a tink, tink each time it hit the mountainside. He had no idea where it landed.
The Broken Trinity—none knew of it. It was the drenowith’s best kept secret. Seven Broken Trinities existed in the world, all of them kept in a vault with the drenowith Council.
All but one.
This had to be a message from Verum that the Council knew Garrett and Adele had defied a direct order by helping Kara. They would probably kill him, too, should he continue to disobey.
Oh, he would disobey.
If Kara survived, he would help her. He would kill Aislynn himself and rid the world of her ignorance, but he would otherwise do as Kara needed of him. She had few allies. At least now he understood what it meant to trust the wrong people.
And once the war was over—once he had proven the Council wrong—he would kill them all as well.
Aislynn opened her eyes to the golden and white tile of her bedroom ceiling. That is, until her vision blurred again.
Her head ached. The sores on her wrists continued to drip blood. Her body wouldn’t heal. Her senses spiked, washing her with the same scents from the cave: sweat, bark, honey, blood, perfume, musk.
“Krik!” she screamed.
“Yes, your highness?” he asked in her ear.
“You are an idiot!”
He didn’t respond. Aislynn wished she could see more than colors. She wanted to see remorse on his face, but he would have apologized by now if the emotion had even registered within him.
She grated her teeth together. “This was your plan! You brought me the Broken Trinity! You told me this would work!”
“It should have worked, Your Majesty. In theory, it was flawless. It—”
“I read the manuscripts! I know the theory! You—”
A woman spoke from far away. “I think she needs rest, Krik. You may leave.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice tense.
Aislynn wanted to scream after him, to blame, to yell, but a cool hand touched her face.
She lay back and sighed. “Is that you, Evelyn?”
“Yes. You need to stay calm, Aunt Aislynn. You need to rest.”
“Where is the muse? The Vagabond?”
“The muse escaped, but we do have the Vagabond. It seems they abandoned her.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Evelyn didn’t say anything for a while. That could only mean the girl was trying to word a controversial question.
Aislynn groaned. “Just ask, Evelyn.”
“What happened to make you hate the drenowith so much?”
Aislynn tensed and closed her eyes, embracing the darkness instead of the blurry white of her ceiling.
“If I survive this, I will tell you.”
The hand brushed her face again. “I’m sorry I asked. You should be sleeping.”
Aislynn grabbed the hand without opening her eyes. “Evelyn, has anyone seen the Vagabond? Do they know I failed?”
“No. I’m keeping her in the other room for now. She’s unconscious. I have not let anyone know you returned.”
“Good. Keep her there for as long as you can, and keep her sedated. How long until the other Bloods become suspicious?”
“I—I don’t know. A day or two? Three at most?”
“Keep her here as long as you can. Tell them whatever you have to, but delay returning her until you must. I need to get well before they decide what to do with her, and I need time. Take the Grimoire pendant from her before you take her to them. We have lost our leverage against the other Bloods, and we need to get it back.”
“What leverage?” Evelyn asked. Her voice trembled.
“Do not question me. Do you understand?”
The silence scared Aislynn more than a refusal.
“Evelyn!”
“I understand what you want me to do, but not why.”
“You will soon.”
“Then tell me now! Why must you—”
“Leave, Evelyn. I am too tired for this. Just—please, child. Please do as you are told. It will make sense to you soon.”
There was a sigh and the sound of chair legs scraping against the marble floor. The door closed. Aislynn suppressed a smile as relief washed through her.
But the relief dissolved into fear. The Vagabond’s touch had reminded Aislynn of memories she wished could have remained forgotten. Aislynn had hunted the drenowith, as much as she’d tried to tell herself otherwise. How Kara had known—it wasn’t something Aislynn wanted to think about.
Evelyn couldn’t know too much of the world she was to inherit, not while Aislynn was alive. There was too much shame and loss for Aislynn to ever admit her part in it all.
Chapter 17
A Man’s Price
Braeden kicked a loose piece of asphalt deeper into the gutter outside Kara’s old rental home. No light shone from the windows. A crooked “for rent” sign teetered in the middle of the lawn.
He leaned against the lamp across the street, not wanting to go in yet. He needed to find Carden, but he couldn’t just waltz into the Stele unannounced. If Braeden wasn’t careful, Carden might want to make an example of him in front of the subjects.
Braeden needed to be subtle. He
needed Carden to find him.
He looked up at the lamppost and did a double take. Kara’s picture covered a sheet of paper, her face printed in black and white beneath the word “Missing.” She grinned at the camera as if caught off guard, but her eyes pinched with happiness. A block of text covered half the page beneath it.
Kara Magari has been missing since May. She was last seen on Salish Mountain at the visitor center. She is a kind girl who wouldn’t swat a fly, so please approach her if you see her. Tell her that her grandparents miss her and love her dearly, no matter what. We just want her to come home. Please, if you know anything at all, call us at the number below.
Braeden stopped reading. It wasn’t like he could call them and explain what their granddaughter had been up to all this time.
People were looking for her. People cared. He paused, wondering if he should even tell her. It would probably just make matters worse to have a tie to the human world. She couldn’t come back, so he wouldn’t torture her by letting her know how much she was missed.
Besides, she had changed. Kara might not swat a fly, but he had seen her kill shadow demons without a flicker of regret. The granddaughter they knew was growing up in an entirely different world. She didn’t belong to them anymore.
Braeden pulled down the flyer and stared at her picture, memorizing how the skin creased around her eyes when she smiled. He didn’t put it back. If he was going to the Stele for what was likely the last few days of his life, he wanted Kara there with him in some small way. He folded the paper and tucked it away in a small pocket in his shirt.
He walked without discretion, since there were no other streetlights on the road to advertise his presence to any nosy neighbors. Not that it really mattered. He wouldn’t be here long.
The door was locked, but unlocked itself at his command. He ducked his head as he entered, remembering how he’d whacked himself pretty hard against the frame on his last attempt. He chuckled, but the smile didn’t last long.
He didn’t want to do this.
The hallway hadn’t changed, except that the photo cabinet was gone and there were no longer holes in the walls.
A small piece of paper sticking from the baseboard caught his eye. He reached down and pulled it out. It was a small, wallet-sized picture of Kara sitting on a riverbank. Her father sat behind her with another woman, who Braeden assumed was Kara’s mother from what he could remember of seeing their family photos. Kara was laughing, as if whoever had taken the picture had said something funny, and her eyes wrinkled with the joy of just being happy. He smiled and slipped the photograph into the same hidden pocket as the missing poster.
“You wouldn’t have come here unless you wanted to see me. Out with it, boy.”
Braeden looked over his shoulder. Carden leaned against the doorway into the dining room, and it was all Braeden could do not to look at his father’s scarred hand again.
A gray version of Flick sat on Carden’s shoulder, its large eyes glossed over as it stared at the wall. It seemed to enjoy Carden’s company as much as Braeden did.
“Ah, isn’t he handy?” Carden asked. “He was especially useful in killing the Hillsidian Queen. I doubt I would have made it back to the Stele in time to make the antidote without him.”
Braeden silently wished that had happened.
Carden frowned. “Well, aren’t you quiet. Why are you here?”
“They won’t accept me, even after everything I’ve done,” Braeden said.
“You’re surprised?”
“I’ve done everything, Carden. Everything. I even saved their Heirs.”
“Yes, that was annoying.”
“But even after all of that, they ostracize me. I’ve had enough. They hold meetings without me, make decisions without me, and think I don’t hear.”
“What have you heard?”
“Enough for revenge.”
“Why should I give you another chance, boy? You’ve only ever defied me.”
“If we can agree on a few terms, I won’t disobey you anymore.”
“What terms?”
“You’re hunting Bloods. I don’t know why, and frankly, I don’t care. Do what you want. Dominate Ourea. I will be your general.”
“And your price?”
“Kara is never to be touched or harmed in any way.”
Carden laughed. The gray creature on his shoulder sighed deeply as he brushed up against the doorframe and knocked it off balance.
His father nodded. “I’ll agree to that. As long as you do as I say, I won’t allow any harm to come to her.”
“Then I think we are finally on the same page, Carden.”
“Ah, none of that. Your new life starts now. You will address me properly, as either your Blood or your father.”
Braeden steadied himself and suppressed a deep breath. Richard would always be his father.
“Yes, my Blood,” he said.
“Much better.”
Carden lifted his scarred hand and reached out to Braeden expectantly. Braeden stifled the urge to shudder and reached to shake it.
Crack!
Weight settled into Braeden’s gut, disorienting him. His head reeled. The world spun around him. It took several moments to even realize what had happened, much less figure out where he was.
The small gray creature had transported them.
A cold stone hallway stretched around a corner in the distance. Jail doors lined the hall every ten feet or so. Whimpers and muffled crying came from a few of the closest cells, while moans drifted from down the hall. Carden’s boots echoed when he began walking, the sound silencing the noises of his prisoners.
Braeden turned in time to see Carden’s gray version of Flick—he could never remember what that thing was called—turn around and stare at him. The creature crouched on the edge of Carden’s shoulder, watching him as if seeing him for the first time.
“I thought those creatures couldn’t teleport through lichgates,” Braeden said absently.
“Kara’s can’t?” the king asked. “Each has different powers, so that’s good to know.”
Braeden cursed under his breath. He shouldn’t have said anything.
“Come on, boy, we haven’t got all day,” Carden said. The king turned so that his head hid the creature on his shoulder. He sneered.
“What?” Braeden demanded.
“Look at that. I didn’t even have to ask.”
Braeden looked down, confused, only to see his gray hands. He’d changed form. Well, he couldn’t change back now.
Carden began off down the hall, and the small gray creature watched Braeden the entire way. Its massive eyes simply stared, as if waiting for a magic trick.
It was unnerving.
“Your return was inevitable, you know,” Carden said. “You belong here. This is your home. Your duty is to your people. You will be forever remembered, Braeden. But first, you must prove yourself.”
They stopped at a door in the center of the Cellar. Braeden knew the door too well. A flight of steps behind it would lead to the torture room where he’d mutilated Aislynn as a boy.
Braeden would have to prove himself by torturing someone.
Carden opened the door and started down a stone staircase with no handlebar. Walls closed in on either side. The gray creature on his shoulder stared at Braeden the whole way down. Its eyes glowed in the growing darkness until the two massive beads bobbed in the shadows as if on their own.
There would be light farther down. Only the stairs were this dark, but they were dark for a reason: to terrify prisoners before the torture even began. Thin light pooled at the bottom of the steps, illuminating a sharp turn in the stairway. There, the wall on the left would open up into a low ceiling. A row of windows would illuminate the lines of stone tables, where thousands of yakona and other creatures had died over the years. One wall would be lined with knives and saws. The other wall hosted a row of mirrors so that the prisoners could watch their torturer’s handiwork.
Brae
den hesitated. He couldn’t.
But he forced himself to take the first, shaky step. He pressed on down the stairs, foot by foot, hoping all the way that his irregular steps wouldn’t give him away. He’d come so far.
There was no going back. There wasn’t room for error. There wasn’t room for hesitation. If he had to kill someone to prove himself to Carden, to lead the terrible man to the ambush waiting for him, then that’s what Braeden would do.
Carden turned into the light below and disappeared into the chamber. Not good. Braeden had just let his greatest enemy walk first into a room filled with weapons designed to inflict pain.
He hurried and rounded the corner. The sudden light blinded him, but he blinked away the glare. He had to be ready to face whoever waited on the tables for him.
Twelve tables lined the room, each six feet apart and all of them empty.
Carden stood by the first table, arms crossed. He watched Braeden with a complicated expression of furrowed brows and a half-sneer. Braeden couldn’t make out whether he was disappointed or trying not to laugh.
This had to be part of the hazing. Carden wanted to drag this out, to see his reaction as the prisoner walks down the stairs. He wanted to make Braeden nervous as he waited.
Well, it wouldn’t work.
He crossed to the table and ran his hand over it. The stone glided under his fingers, smooth from the weight of the countless bodies strapped to it in its years.
The world tossed around him—no, he’d been flipped. His back hit the stone table and knocked the wind out of him. The ceiling—oh Bloods, he faced the ceiling.
Cold metal whipped over his body. Chains, slithering on their own accord, tightened around his legs and torso. He wanted to laugh. Chains couldn’t do any—
Barbs dug into his skin anywhere a chain touched him, springing to life as if they’d been coiled and simply waiting. Poison dripped from their ends and coursed through his blood. He screamed, unable to suppress the agony.
Carden patted him on the head. “I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, son.”
