Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (21 page)

“Think we’ll win this?” Kara asked.

Braeden kissed the side of her head and pulled her closer. “I know we will.”

Chapter 13

Reunited

Around midnight, Braeden sat on the floor in front of his bedroom windows, weight on the palms of his hands as he watched the stars. Wind howled against the windowpanes, and the glass shivered with each gust. A sliver of the moon hung in the sky, barely casting enough light to be seen. He imagined the dark forest below, swaying in a lingering storm, but couldn’t see the trees from his angle.

Kara whimpered and twisted under the sheets behind him, the fabric rustling as she tossed in her sleep. He stared at her, heart tearing as the love of his life lived through more nightmares. Hopefully, she could sleep through the night again someday, but he didn’t know how to help her.

He needed to sleep, too, but he couldn’t. Most of Ayavel was likely awake as well, staring at their ceilings as they prepared to leave for war. Braeden’s mind raced with attack plans and risks. Little blips of fear swam through his gut like shocks, worsened when he thought of the potential traitor he couldn’t name. He ran through the possible identities, but he doubted it was so easy—in all likelihood, he’d never met this mole. Or moles. There could be many.

He pushed himself to his feet. He needed to move, to burn off this energy. He threw on his shirt and shoved his feet into his boots, careful to tiptoe so as not to wake Kara. A floorboard groaned beneath his foot, and he paused. Kara lay still, not making a sound. Flick stretched and rolled onto his back, leg kicking in his sleep. The tiny thing snorted.

Braeden twisted the doorknob. The latch clicked as it released, allowing him into the hall. He inched the handle back into place as he left with the same quiet care.

The hallway arched overhead, the white stone carved with curves and detail he’d never cared to notice before. Orange light flickered from sconces every dozen feet or so, every other holder empty to conserve fuel. Shadows swam along the walls with the wavering flames. Braeden meandered through the quiet hall, his feet taking him over the tiles without direction. He slipped his hands in his pockets and monitored the hallway, watching without seeing. His thoughts wandered farther than his feet, taking him to the Stele. He would either rule it or die fighting to free it.

He scuffed the toe of his boot on the tile, kicking it in an effort to distract himself from his own thoughts. It didn’t work.

His feet stopped. He looked around, blinking as he took in his surroundings. He couldn’t let his guard down, not in Ayavel. He doubted Evelyn would openly attack him, but he didn’t want to give her the opportunity.

He’d stopped in front of his office. The door sat ajar.

He frowned and leaned an ear to the wood. The rustle of fabric on leather—his chair—snuck through the gap. His shoulders tensed. He drew the energy from his back to his hand, allowing the weight of his magic to pool in his fingertips. Dark wisps of shadow erupted in his palm, swirling as they awaited his command.

With a nudge from his boot, the door swung inward. A beam of light from the window swept across the darkness, illuminating the floor and a few books on the bottom shelves of his bookcases. His chair faced the dark window, a lit candle casting a dim glow through the air. Leather creaked again, and the chair tilted backward. Papers still covered the desk, littered in the messy heap he’d created the last time he visited his office.

The chair shifted forward and spun. Gavin nodded in welcome and turned again to face the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” Braeden asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Gavin said, still facing the night sky.

The black mist in Braeden’s palm dissolved with a hiss. He shut the door behind him, shutting out the hallway light with the click of the door handle. The candle on his desk flickered, fizzling as it lurched in a small draft. It cast a thin glow on the desk chair, but the office shadows consumed most of the room.

“Why are you in my office?” he asked.

“It was my office until you asked for one. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Braeden walked around the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms as he stared out of the window next to the man he once called a brother.

“I think Evelyn was upset with me when you got it. She convinced Aislynn to give it to you.”

“Why?”

“Spite. Fear. I don’t know. I haven’t understood that woman for a while.”

Braeden glanced at the chair. Gavin rested his head on one hand as he stared into the darkness outside. The room hushed. Gusts pummeled the window again, though now Braeden could see a black outline of the forest below. They rustled, swaying as the night wore on.

“Don’t die,” Gavin finally said.

“You, too.”

“And…” Gavin cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Thank you for bringing my father back to me.”

A pang of happiness broke through Braeden’s chest. Gavin hadn’t called Richard his father in quite a long time.

“It was more of Kara’s doing, but you’re welcome.”

“He’s in the library if you want to talk to him before… well, it’s better not to take any chances. Last words and all.”

“We’re not going to die.”

Gavin nodded, not looking away from the window.

“Good night, Gavin. And good luck.”

A grin broke across the Blood’s face. “We’re Hillsidians. We don’t need luck.”

Braeden laughed, a second flurry of joy tumbling through him. He was Hillsidian, at least partly. Hillside would always have a place in his heart. He stood, leaving the king in their shared office. He shut the door behind him but reopened it a hair to leave it as it was when he found it.

It took twenty minutes and a wrong turn, but Braeden eventually made his way to the library. He wandered down the main aisle, passing the dark rows of books as he searched for his adoptive father. A flicker of recognition hit him as he passed the forgotten shelf where drenowith lore used to be stored, and he grinned at the memory of his stolen book. It was safely in the Vagabond’s village, where he’d stowed it on his trip with Kara.

Shadows crept along the back walls, denser in some places than in others. A light radiated from the back corner, so Braeden ambled toward it. Richard sat in an armchair by an empty fireplace with an open book in his hands, three candles illuminating him in a halo of light. Several other empty armchairs covered the reading area. He smiled and set his book down as Braeden approached.

“Father,” Braeden said with a nod.

Richard’s smile widened. “Son.”

Braeden sat in an empty armchair. “What are you reading?”

“The history of an Ayavelian Blood named Morissa. It seems there are many female Bloods in Ayavel. It’s rare to have so many.”

Braeden grimaced. “Interesting choice.”

“I know you’ve never been fond of Blood Evelyn, but surely you don’t mind the Ayavelian race itself?”

“Not at all. I’ve enjoyed staying here.”

Richard’s smile fell. “But it still wounds you to think of Blood Aislynn.”

Braeden frowned. He leaned back in his chair and looked away.

“Is what she said in your trial true? I heard she claimed she knew your identity all along.”

Braeden nodded.

“And yet…” Richard closed his book and sighed.

“And yet she betrayed me, sent me off to die in the Stele when she realized Kara had connections to the drenowith. She played me like a pawn in the end.”

“I imagine you looked to her as a mother.”

Braeden shook his head. “She kept her distance, same as Blood Lorraine. My mother was the only one I loved that way.”

“It never felt right to ask, but is that why you became an isen hunter? To find the isen who stole her soul?”

Braeden sighed and shook his head. “The thought fueled me at times, but I became a hunter to please you. It gave me purpose. I only wanted you to be proud of me.”

“I am, hunter or no.” Richard set a hand on Braeden’s shoulder.

Braeden smiled. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“As ready as one can be, I suppose.”

“Is the plan to lock Kara in her room so she can’t get hurt?”

Braeden laughed. “She’d flay me alive if I survived to unlock the door.”

Richard chuckled. “I imagine you wish you could, though.”

“I do, but she’s strong. As scared for her as I am, I can’t control her. She’s the Vagabond. She’s fighting for her people as much as I’m fighting for mine.”

“Are you fighting with Gavin’s army?”

Braeden shook his head. “Kara and I leave with our team tomorrow morning. We’re going in another way.”

Richard nodded and looked away, apparently understanding that Braeden couldn’t discuss his mission further. Braeden smiled, grateful he didn’t have to explain anything.

“May I come visit?” the old man asked.

Braeden laughed. “What?”

“When we win. May I visit the Stele?”

“Any time you like. Bring a sweater.”

“Noted.”

Braeden rubbed his hands together, not sure how to say what he wanted to say. “I won’t see you again until after the battle, so—you know, um—”

“Survive.”

“Yes.”

“You as well. I want little Stelian grandchildren.”

Braeden burst into laughter. “
Bloods,
I’m not ready to think about that.”

“Someday.”

“Someday.”

“Try to get some sleep, Braeden.”

“You, too.”

Richard nodded and opened the book. “One more chapter.”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

Braeden stood and offered his hand to shake, but Richard pulled him into a hug. Braeden leaned over and wrapped his arms around his adoptive father—the only father he truly had.

“Goodnight,” Richard said.

Braeden nodded, a knot in his throat, and turned to leave. He smiled to the darkness as he returned to his room, gratitude rushing clear down to his toes. Between Richard and Kara, Braeden had finally found his family.

Chapter 14

The Final Battle

After fourteen hours of travel, Kara and her team had made it to the Stele. She sat in a patch of underbrush, the twigs tickling her bare arm. Her grimoire sat open for hours as she waited for her vagabonds to find their positions throughout the Stele. She took a slow breath, and her heart calmed. She hated being first. Waiting sucked.

Flick yawned, his body sprawled over the dirt at her feet. He pawed the air, ears darting about as he toyed with the breezes darting by.

A page in Kara’s grimoire flipped on its own. Her heart skipped a beat, and she sat up straighter. The book turned to a note from Richard, just two words covering the page in his loose scrawl.

We’re here.

She took a deep breath. Now, she simply needed to wait for the Hillsidians and isen to find their positions among the Stele’s forests and mountains. The sun hung low in the sky, creeping toward the horizon too slowly for Kara’s taste. She wanted to get this over with.

Braeden crept to her, crouching as he adjusted the Ayavelian uniform on his body. Her eyes lingered, wondering what he’d thought as he’d pulled on the colors of the woman he hated, but she understood why he did it—the uniform could stretch as he changed form, which his Hillsidian clothes could not.

She and Braeden’s elite group of vagabonds camped out just beyond the outer wall to the Stelian capital. The black stones rose high above them, taller than even the fort in which they’d played their war game. Kara swallowed hard, suddenly debating if they’d prepared enough for this.

They hid in the trees with only about a hundred feet between them and the start of what would be the bloodiest battle in the war. The black trunks of the Stelian forest towered around them, the gray leaves of the Stelian canopy shifting in the breeze. Nothing sang. Nothing ran through the dead leaves of the forest carpet. Only silence with a dash of tree chatter.