Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga (12 page)

Guilt tugged at the back of Braeden’s mind. Right. He already stole an ancient journal from the library, even though no books were allowed to leave the room. He should probably copy and return it before Evelyn realized it had gone missing, though he doubted she would. He never once happened across her down here.

He entered the library and scanned the shelves without a subject in mind. The Legendary Creatures section caught his eye, so he turned down the aisle. He eyed the book titles from an author named Clehm Gaehr:
Flittered Fancy; Forgotten Drowng Legacies; Griffons of Kirelm; The Lost Creatures
. Braeden continued, discovering titles about everything from ice demons to flaers, large dog-like creatures that could walk through walls.

He turned a corner and scoured the shelf for a plaque describing its subject matter. His heart leapt into his chest when he found it.

The Drenowith.

He ran his eyes along the sparse titles. Though the entire shelf was dedicated to the drenowith, empty space filled most of the twelve-tier bookcase. Spider webs dotted the corners. A few lines sat in the dust on the shelves, evidence that at least a few interested souls had thumbed through a book or two from this section.

The remaining titles reminded Braeden of Aislynn’s hatred for the drenowith race:
Drenowith Magic Gone Wrong; Immortal Truths of an Evil Race; Liars, Thieves
, and
Immortals
. Braeden couldn’t help but wonder if Aislynn had cleared the shelves of all but the most negative titles. He stepped back to glance over the upper levels far above him, but found only empty space. He sighed. Waste of time.

A shadow in the topmost shelf caught his eye. He examined it, squinting into the top right corner. The tip of a book spine peeked over the high ledge. Its black cover nearly blended in with the dark wood, save for the one line of faded silver lettering.

Curious, Braeden borrowed a bit of the stale library air and threw it toward the volume, commanding the breeze in circles until the book shifted forward. Magic burned through his veins, warming his palms as he focused. Inch by inch, it crept toward the ledge as Braeden’s magic swirled about. After a moment or two, it finally tumbled off the shelf in a flurry of dust. Braeden caught it by the spine.

He examined the front cover for a title. The faded cracks of silver lettering read,
Conversations with a Drenowith
.

Braeden grinned. This book must have somehow survived a purge of drenowith knowledge from the Ayavelian library. It helped that the book resembled the shadows in which it was hidden.

He tucked the tome under his arm and headed to his study. This was probably one book that would never make it back to the Ayavelian library.

Braeden didn’t sleep much that night. Instead, he tore through the old book long after the rest of the castle had retired, examining every handwritten page with as much focus as he could muster in the early hours of the morning. Every word consumed him.

This journal was a recorded conversation between a drenowith and an ancient yakona named Yori. Judging by the brittle pages and strange spelling of common words, the book had to be thousands of years old. How an Ayavelian managed to convince a drenowith to speak with him baffled Braeden, but their conversation kept him turning the pages.

Yori and the nameless drenowith—referred to only as “my friend”—discussed everything from the creation of drenowith to the magic behind lichgates. According to the drenowith, lichgates could not be created or destroyed. They could, however, be altered, but the drenowith refused to tell Yori how to do such a thing. He said yakona would discover the magic when they were ready. He did offer a clue: every lichgate had its own brand of magic, which had to be understood before any changes could be made. Braeden whistled under his breath, marveling at the drenowith’s knowledge. Yes, yakona had eventually figured out how to lock lichgates and create specialized keys for those locks, but nothing further. How much more did they not know?

About halfway through, the book’s conversation trailed to the origin of life in Ourea. Isen, yakona, and humans apparently all descended from a single ancestor who roamed the part of Earth now dominated by humans. Over time, some of those ancestors migrated to Ourea, where they evolved into yakona and isen. While the yakona remained in Ourea, isen chose to live in both worlds. Since then, most of the three species shared lineage was forgotten despite the fact they were more alike than any could believe.

Braeden hesitated, rereading this section of the conversation without registering the words. His thoughts raced ahead. If yakona and isen weren’t that different, why could isen steal yakona and human souls but not fellow isen? Certain differences between species were inevitable, of course, but the magic of yakona and of isen were virtually identical. They even looked similar. Humans and isen could obviously have children, though he’d never heard of an isen falling in love with a yakona before him and Kara. Could an isen and a yakona bond the way yakona lovers did? Why not? Despite their differences, they apparently had as much in common.

He frowned. Every yakona was born with a lifeline wrapped around the right arm in a pattern resembling a tattoo. It allowed each to bond with another of the race. When bound to a soul mate, both lifelines would merge to create a new pattern on the right arm of each lover. Isen, however, didn’t have the lifeline. Kara had never acquired any sort of tattoo on her arm after being awoken. It was entirely possible that lifelines evolved in only the yakona, but it might not matter. He and Kara could still be together. Considering their similarities, they might even be able to have a family.

Braeden sucked in a breath at the thought of children and sat back in his chair, not quite sure what to make of all this new information. He hesitated, not yet convinced yakona could bond with other creatures. For a moment, however, he let himself hope. Bonding was an ancient tradition held in the highest regard, especially for Bloods and their Heirs. An Heir born of a bonded couple always held more sway over his people. Since Braeden finally accepted his future as a Stelian Blood, he wanted Kara to share a bit of his culture with him.

Before Kara, his idea of success was keeping his head down and living his lie as Gavin’s adopted brother. As long as no one discovered his Stelian bloodline, he was fine. But with her, he experienced the kind of laughter that made him happy to be alive. She affected him in a way he never thought he would know. Her love gave him the strength to escape mindless slavery to his father. Through her compassion, he finally realized the Stelian people weren’t evil but simply reflected the moral fiber of the Blood who commanded them. After a lifetime of hating himself, he grew to accept his right to the Stelian throne. He finally believed he could rule the Stele.

He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Kara, and he was prepared to spend forever with her if she wanted him as well.

Braeden stood and pulled aside the curtain covering his window. With no moon to illuminate the horizon, the dark sky stretched out forever. Pools of stars dotted the sky, the pinpricks of light offering him his only scenery through the window.

He wanted to know what Kara would think of bonding with him. Was it too soon? He certainly didn’t want anyone else. They survived a horde of shadow demons together. Kara saved him from his father when Aurora betrayed him during their escape. Though his new life was filled with the disdain and hatred of his fellow yakona, Kara gave him the strength to keep going. To fight. To survive.

What he would give to go visit her. He needed a dose of the sanity and peace only she could give him. But he couldn’t. He had to wait. When she’d mastered herself, she would find him. If he rushed her, he would be a distraction. It would unravel anything she had accomplished in her time with Stone.

He pressed his head against the cool windowpane and let out a long breath. The next time he had her alone, he would ask her what she thought of being with him forever. Hopefully the prospect of a lifetime with him wouldn’t scare her away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A NEW MASTER

Braeden awoke with his cheek on a desk. Sweat glued his shirt to his torso. His body slumped over the polished surface, back and legs contorted in an effort to make his chair comfortable.

He groaned.

Conversations with a Drenowith
lay open on the table a few inches from his nose. He stretched and craned his neck until it cracked. Relief swam down his spine. He jumped to his feet and shook his limbs, trying to regain feeling in his fingers.

He’d read through the book once and started again, though he couldn’t remember where he stopped. He must have dozed off mid-sentence. Though he’d spoken with drenowith often enough since meeting Kara, he never had the opportunity to ask them this much about the history of the world and the ways of magic. With the book, he had an edge on the other Bloods—including Carden. He smirked. The journal was like his own little Grimoire, albeit lacking the instant-answers and small zoo of creatures.

As much as he wanted to race to the village and steal Kara away to talk about what he’d learned, he couldn’t. She needed to train, and he had a heaping pile of his own problems. Namely, the Kirelm princess with one wing and a vendetta.

Aurora. Braeden needed to decide whether or not he would teach her. And why should he? He didn’t owe her anything. He had enough to do, what with planning the attack on the Stele and scouting its borders. It wasn’t like he had spare time.

He grumbled. He could make time if he wanted. It wasn’t healthy to live and breathe war. If anything, Aurora’s training would be a good distraction from the constant planning and scouting missions. It might do him good. It wasn’t like he had many friends, and the one Kirelm general he trusted was adamant for him to help her.

Braeden rubbed his face. He might as well instruct the Kirelm princess. He might gain an ally that could work in his favor down the road, and it would please Gurien. The three of them just had to be careful. If anyone else caught wind of this, Braeden would be a dead man.

He sighed and headed to his room. He needed a bath and some fresh air.

An hour later, Braeden ran into Gurien as the general left the main dining room. They walked together down another hall, both silent until the chatter of idle conversations dissolved into the distance.

It took a few minutes of walking until they found an empty hallway. They ambled along without direction. Braeden wondered if they could speak here, or if Evelyn had eyes everywhere. In Hillside, the castle seemed to speak to its royalty. Having a conversation in the castle was as good as sharing it with the Hillsidian Blood. Was it the same here in Ayavel?

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as if a dozen eyes watched the two of them walk through the corridor. He cleared his throat and suppressed a shudder.

“Have you decided?” Gurien eventually asked.

Braeden just nodded.

“And?”

“I’ll do it.”

Gurien smiled wide. “Thank you, my friend. I will get everything ready.”

Braeden nodded, too nervous to return the smile. “When should we begin?”

“Tomorrow. I need time to prepare,” Gurien replied, his tone neutral.

From his lack of detail, the general must have sensed the same discomfort scorching Braeden’s nerves. Braeden glanced around, looking for the source of his anxiety, but could find only paintings and the occasional closed door. Light spilled in from the many windows, illuminating the hallway. Dust floated in the beams of sunlight, peaceful and still until the two men passed.