Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (8 page)

“Let’s get dressed and prep the altar room,” he said.

She twisted in his grip and wrapped her arms behind his neck. “Sounds like a plan, Prince Charming.”

Braeden set the final candle into a recess in the wall. It flickered, casting shadows against the uneven rock, but all of the new candlelight chased away his imaginary figures. His white tunic lacked sleeves, exposing the tattoo-like lifeline covering his bicep and elbow. Kara’s dress swished about her ankles and showcased her bare right arm. If the bond worked, she would soon have a lifeline like his. If it didn’t—well, they could worry about that if it happened. She hummed a tune he didn’t recognize as she set a stick of incense into a wooden stand mounted to the wall behind the altar. He leaned against the stone and watched her. Her blond hair hung around her face in waves, the gold complimenting her warm skin. Her eyes shifted toward him. She smiled, and her cheeks flushed pink.

“What?” she asked.

He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”

Her grin widened, eyes glistening in the room’s amber glow. “Thanks, handsome.”

She stepped back and set her hands on her hips, eyes scanning the wall she’d been working on. He rubbed her shoulders and kissed her head.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“This looks good to me.”

“Me, too. So do we just… start?”

He laughed. “There’s no checklist. We have the room for a full day. We do whatever feels right.”

“Honestly, this altar scares me. I kind of want to get it over with.”

He examined the pedestal. The two spikes on opposite ends cast shadows on the flat, rectangular surface. It was only about a foot long and half as wide—he could reach over and kiss Kara from his side if he wanted to. Lines coursed through the slab, tiny riverbeds that led to a small hole in the opposite corner. He ran his finger along the hole and knelt, looking for where it went, only to find another spike pointing downward.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” he finally said.

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Set one finger on each spike—you on that side, me on this side. The altar does the rest.”

She frowned. “Rings would’ve been less painful.”

He laughed. “And less rewarding.”

Her frown dissolved, but she looked at the floor. “What if it doesn’t work? The bond? I mean, this is meant for yakona, not isen. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. “You can’t. What happens, happens.”

She smiled and leaned into him. He rubbed his thumb against her hand. His eye hesitated on his own olive skin, and a flicker of worry erupted in his gut. His mind raced. This was the body she recognized, but it wouldn’t be the body he could keep when he ruled the Stele. Stelians would only respect a Stelian Blood, not a Stelian posing as a Hillsidian.

Stupid,
he thought.
You should have brought this up sooner.

He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something first?”

“Of course.”

“Do you—um, do you have a preference for—uh…”

She turned around and examined his face. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and forced himself to ask. “What do you like better—my Hillsidian or Stelian form?”

Her expression softened, and her eyebrows twisted upward into what might have been understanding or perhaps resignation. He couldn’t tell.

“I like you. I don’t care which skin you wear.”

He smiled.

“Shall we?” she asked with a nod to the altar.

“I don’t want you to be anxious about this.” With a deep breath—and a shaky sigh from her—he took Kara’s hand and led her to the altar, setting her left pointer finger on the topmost spike. She lifted her other hand, setting her finger against the downward spike. Her eyes remained locked on the altar. Concern weighed on his shoulders. He didn’t want to force her into this.

“Say the word and we’ll stop,” he added.

She shook her head. “I want you, Braeden. This is important to you, so it’s important to me.”

A flurry of gratitude rushed through his chest. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He smiled, and she returned it—though her eyes shifted once or twice to the pricks beneath her fingertips. He set his fingers on the spikes and pressed into the sharp ends.

A twinge of pain tore through his fingers. A drop of black blood snaked down the spike, filling his end of the altar’s riverbed. Red slid down Kara’s spike, the blood inching toward Braeden’s right hand as he waited to receive it.

His skin stitched together around the spike, pushing it outward as his body naturally healed. His hand twitched, breaking open the skin again. A jolt of pain shot up his arm. Another bead of black blood trailed toward the line, pushing what had already spilled closer to Kara. Yet again, his skin healed. And yet again, a ripple of pain tweaked his hand as he ripped the skip open once more.

The two lines of blood—one red, one black—trailed along the shallow riverbeds of the altar. He looked at Kara, who stared at the altar with wide eyes. He reached over and kissed her cheek. A flush spread over her face, and her eyelashes fluttered.

“Thanks,” she said.

He smiled.

The red line reached the hole above his other hand and dripped inward. He pressed his finger against the downward spike, breaking open his skin. Warmth splintered through his wrist and crept up his arm like a crashing wave. It swept through him, blurring pleasure with a dull ache in the muscles of his right arm. He closed his eyes and relished the sensation. Needles shot down his arm, starting at his elbow and ending at his wrist. His right hand went numb. He retreated from the spikes and wiggled his fingers. The numbness danced within his fingertips.

The sensation receded, dissolving like salt in stirred water. He studied his fingers and looked up to find Kara analyzing her own hands. The blood in the altar’s riverbeds evaporated until none remained.

He held Kara’s shoulders and examined her face. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “That was weird.”

“Agreed.”

“Your arm!” She ran her hands from his right elbow forward, a smile spreading across her face.

The life line that once covered only his bicep now reached his wrist, signaling he had bonded. He grinned and lifted her right arm, only to find her flawless, untouched skin. She had no lifeline of her own.

His smile fell with hers.

“It didn’t work,” she said.

“My lifeline extended, so it at least partially worked.”

“Did we stop too soon?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s keep going,” she said, reaching for the spikes once more.

He wrapped his fingers around her hands and pulled her back. “Legend says we’re not supposed to. One go for each couple.”

“But—but this didn’t work. I don’t feel any different. I should be able to sense you, right? Sense your health? Feel where you are?”

He nodded but didn’t answer. Apart from the flurry of pins and needles, he didn’t feel different, either.

She cursed. “I can’t even do this right.”

He pulled her into a hug and stroked her hair. “We knew this might not work, Kara. It has nothing to do with you. Nothing is wrong with you. Something obviously worked, even if it wasn’t a complete success. Yes, it’s disappointing, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be a family. I have you. That’s what matters to me.”

She sighed and leaned into his chest. A drop of water brushed his chest through his shirt.

He kissed her head. “C’mon, don’t cry.”

She wiped her eyes. “Sorry.”

He laughed. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

She shrugged and looked at the floor. “I’m just frustrated. I wanted this to be a happy thing.”

“This is a happy thing.”

She smiled and caught his eye. He grinned. At least he could make her smile.

He slipped a hand under her knees and lifted her in his arms. She giggled and hugged his shoulder.

“Be mine forever?” he asked.

“Forever,” she said, her smile wide.

He kissed her cheek. Exactly what he wanted most—forever with her.

Chapter 5

Reception

Kara sat on the wide ledge beneath the window, one foot on the ground to stabilize herself. With only a sheet from the bed wrapped around her torso, she leaned against the wall. An early morning sun burned the sky, casting an orange glow through the canopy. She monitored the forest from her window, her breathing synced to the sway of the branches in whatever wind happened by.

She leaned her forehead against the glass. A cool chill sank into her skin, soothing the worry of a restless night. She’d been up for hours and tossed and turned for the rest. She kept fading in and out of nightmares involving paper vests and screaming Kirelms. She doubted she slept for more than three hours combined.

Her eyes stung. She rubbed them.

A blur of white in her periphery caught her attention. The dress. She’d set it out last night to prevent wrinkles, but now she wished someone would bring her another. One with both sleeves. She eyed the right side of the gown, its open hole of a right sleeve taunting the failed bond. She couldn’t even connect with the man she loved in a ceremony that obviously meant a lot to him. The look on his face when no lifeline appeared on her arm—she sighed.

Bonding ceremony—failure. Surviving a war game—failure. Mass murder—now, that she could do. For an extra helping of shame, she was even sad on her wedding day.

She didn’t want to admit it, but Braeden was more right than he knew. She’d been reckless in the war game, reckless in accepting Stone’s trip to the isen guild, even reckless in how she spoke to Stone, an isen who could control her at any moment but simply chose not to. For now. She’d essentially told him to shut his mouth when he opposed the wedding.

Unwise.

She groaned. Guilt twisted in her stomach, festering with her revelations at each new failure. Braeden cherished her. He wanted her alive and safe. She closed her eyes, frowning. For his happiness, she would be more careful—even if she had started to question this second life Death had given her.

Kara’s eyes fluttered open. Her forehead tingled, pressed against the warm glass and going numb. Light streamed through the window, blinding her.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes to clear the blurred streaks the sunlight left behind.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Braeden said in her ear.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. A smile tugged on her lips. She took a deep breath and leaned backward into him. Her pulse hummed in her chest, pounding a little faster at his touch.

A trickle of anxiety pushed its way through her core, despite his touch. She shifted her weight and snuggled her head against his chest, trying to push away her doubts before they could assault her again. Still, the shame crept up her spine.

Murderer. Coward.

Her grip tightened on his shirt. The cloth pooled beneath her fingers, warming to her touch.

A hand ran through her hair.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Guess we should head down.”