Treason: Book Two of the Grimoire Saga (a Young Adult Fantasy series) (3 page)

“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 discovered 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.

Kara headed down the stairs and into the Vagabond’s war room, which Braeden had turned into an armory on their first day. Swords, maces, and other assorted sharp things now adorned the walls, all of them freshly polished and mounted for display. She hadn’t seen him on the way into the room, but he would be back soon. He was probably off realizing what a terrible girlfriend she would make.

Kara scanned the weapons, but one in particular caught her eye.

A thin sword hung at the far end of the room, framing the head of the table with its shining silver. The blade was about the length of her arm. An ornate hand guard curved over the hilt in thin flourishes. As she stepped closer, an etching of the Grimoire clover flashed along the base of the blade.

She lifted the sword from the wall to examine it, but it didn’t weigh down her hands at all. Light as it was, though, the sharp edges still glinted in the midday sun streaming through a window.

“There is a sheath for that, if you need it,” Braeden said from behind her.

She turned and offered a thin smile, but he was already heading for a trunk in the far corner. He rifled through it for a few silent minutes before he pulled a scabbard from the heaps of leather, walked over, and offered it to her. The leather was smooth in her hands when she reached for it.

“Thanks,” she said. The sword whistled as she slid it into the scabbard.

He nodded and opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly without saying anything.

Kara toyed with the belt buckle on the scabbard. “I’m sorry about my outburst earlier. It was inappropriate.”

“Hardly.”

“What?”

“It’s exactly what I needed to hear.” He glanced out the window to avoid her gaze, and she couldn’t quite tell if he meant that in a positive or negative way. She wasn’t sure which was better.

“Oh,” she said.

They just stood there for a while without talking. Kara waited for him to speak, though he no doubt wanted her to break the ice.

“I hope I—”

“Could you—”

They laughed. The icy chill of their silence faded.

“I’ll do my best to respect what you want, Kara. I just want to be nearby. Someone has to catch you when you trip.”

She chuckled. “Thanks, I guess.”

The day’s final hours passed more quickly than Kara could appreciate them. Before she knew it, the moon rose from behind the windowpanes of the Vagabond’s study. She sat on the floor, resting her weight on her palms as she stared into the bookshelf that housed the one hundred Grimoires she was meant to simply give away.

It was ludicrous. It would get her killed, and the dead man in her own Grimoire just couldn’t see it.

The door scraped along the rug. An old floorboard creaked. Kara’s heart skipped a beat at the sound, but when she turned, Braeden froze in his retreat from the room.

“You’re still up?” she asked.

“I wanted to leave these keys on the desk before I forget them again and accidentally take them to the Gala,” he said.

He opened his hand to reveal a blue orb and a slab of stone with a rose carved into it: the keys he’d used to gain entry into Losse and Kirelm. Only citizens of each kingdom were supposed to know what they looked like, and even then, only a select few ever had the privilege of owning one. If the muses hadn’t given him those keys, he wouldn’t have been able to stay with Kara as she toured the various kingdoms.

Kara whistled. “Good idea. You wouldn’t want anyone to ask you where you got those or why you even have them.”

“Exactly.”

“Why didn’t you leave them with the muses when you were training with them?”

“Adele was too busy beating me senseless in our sparring to ask for them. I was too busy healing myself to remember.”