Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga (17 page)

“Do you still want to have our talk?”

Garrett laughed. “Indeed. I believe we have even more to discuss than before.”

Kara didn’t try to keep track of time while she and Garrett caught up. For an eternally young creature with forever ahead of him, he could certainly accomplish a lot in little over a month.

Five weeks had passed since Kara was shackled with poisoned chains and dangled as bait to lure Adele. Kara shuddered. Up until then, Aislynn played the perfect queen so well. She was polite, patient, and kind. Kara never saw the betrayal coming, and yet...

She sighed and rubbed her face. She didn’t quite know how she would face the Bloods again. When she did, she would have to bring an army to make them listen. She would have to terrify them into respecting her. She could do it, of course. She just wasn’t sure if that was a smart thing to do.

Despite the cheery sunlight streaming through her windows, Kara couldn’t shake her guilt. Shame pooled in her gut as she told Garrett about what really happened the day Aislynn lured her to be bait for Adele. The truth of the matter was Aislynn hadn’t been the only one to betray her. Gavin, Frine, and Ithone had agreed to duel for the right to control Kara because they knew they would lose her trust after they tried to kill Adele. The losers would to split whatever they found in her village.

If Garrett helped her, he would be helping those who had tried to kill Adele.

Once she told him everything, silence settled into the room. He stared at her, eyes crisp and focused, but he didn’t say anything. Eventually, he turned toward a portrait by the door. Kara sat in her chair, elbows on her desk. A few sunbeams cast spotlights on bits of the hardwood floor. The room darkened now and again as a cloud passed by the sun, but the light still glinted off gold lettering on various books in her library.

Garrett continued to stare at the picture. With his back to her, she couldn’t tell if he was lost in thought or studying the portrait.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m trying to figure out who painted this,” he answered.

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the fact that none of the Bloods are trustworthy?”

“I already knew.”

“But if you help them—”

“I’m not helping them.”

Kara sat back in her chair and waited for him to elaborate. He would continue when he was ready.

He crossed his arms. “I’m helping you. I’m helping the future generations of Ourea. I’m sick of seeing all the blood and death. Ourea is my home. I want it to be great again.”

Kara nodded and let out a shaky sigh of relief. She relaxed into her chair. Neither of them spoke for quite a while, and she didn’t mind. It was nice to merely sit and think, even if those thoughts did take her constantly back to the night she nearly lost one of her only friends.

“Can I see Adele?” she finally asked.

He shook his head. “I never show anyone my home, not even you. It’s the only way to keep it hidden.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Do you know who this is?” he asked, pointing to the portrait.

A tanned man with black hair smiled back at her from the painting, an air of mischief about him. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head, or the curve of his eyebrow. Kara couldn’t tell. She imagined he would be the sort of person who always had a thrilling story, or who could make her laugh whenever she needed to smile.

“No,” she admitted.

Garrett snorted. “Figures.”

She frowned. “No need to be rude. Who is it?”

“Bailey.”

Kara sat straighter. “Why wouldn’t Stone or the first Vagabond tell me?”

Garrett shrugged. “Probably because you never asked.”

She leaned back but didn’t respond. In all fairness, she’d been a bit distracted to ask about pictures.

“Have you ever heard of the Broken Trinity?” Garrett asked.

“No.”

“It’s the only artifact I know of that can subdue a drenowith. It renders us immobile when used properly. Aislynn had one, and she knew exactly how to use it. It’s how she forced a muse as powerful as Adele in—uh, into...”

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

Kara wanted to give him a hug but refrained. “It’s okay. If you could talk about what Aislynn did to her without showing emotion, I would think you were heartless.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “So Aislynn used this artifact called a Broken Trinity? How did she get it?”

Garrett gripped the edge of the nearest bookshelf. A crack shot into the wood. “The only remaining Broken Trinities were with Verum.”

Kara gaped. “With the drenowith leaders? Verum gave her one?”

“I went to the Council to find out exactly that.”

“And?”

Garrett shook his head. “Verum didn’t have any clue as to what happened, but someone else in attendance did. Mirrow.”

A chill raced through Kara at the muse’s name. While most drenowith preferred a human form, Mirrow appeared as a minotaur when she first met him. He hadn’t spoken much, but he looked ready to kill her at any moment. She couldn’t imagine why, but everything about him seemed off. Wrong.

Garrett stared into the crack he’d made in her bookshelf. “Mirrow confessed to giving the Broken Trinity to a messenger. A general of Aislynn’s...one named Krik, I believe. Mirrow somehow discovered Adele and I were still helping you.”

“Murder and betrayal seems like a harsh punishment!”

“It was. But he has always been Verum’s enforcer. He ensures we obey the mandates Verum makes. When we lost Bailey, everyone was devastated. In his grief, Verum warned us helping other Oureans would mean death. We all took it as a warning against meddling...but not Mirrow. To him, it was a decree. So when he saw Adele slip away to help you again and again, he took it upon himself to enforce what he thought was law. He had to think I would kill myself in my grief, thereby finishing his work for him.”

Disgust crept through Kara’s chest. Her stomach churned. “What did Verum say about this?”

“Killing another drenowith is punishable by death, yet Mirrow acted in an effort to preserve our kind’s law and order. Verum saw the wrong in both arguments. So instead of punishing either me or Mirrow, he let us punish each other.”

Garrett stared at his hands, but he didn’t say anything more.

Kara leaned in. “What does that mean?”

“We dueled. I killed him.”

Despite the gravity of such a statement, a pang of envy punched Kara in the stomach. A drenowith battle had to be an amazing thing to witness, and she missed it.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” she finally admitted.

Garrett shrugged. “Revenge has been around since the dawn of time. No one is the better for it.”

“Are you saying you forgive Aislynn? Stone?”

“Never in a million years. I will someday free Bailey’s soul from your shameless isen master. And if I’d had the chance, I would have killed the queen. She was a menace.”

“Wait, ‘was’?” Kara asked.

Garrett caught her eye. “Aislynn is dead. Evelyn is now the Ayavelian Blood. The news didn’t make it here?”

Kara shook her head even as relief washed through her. Aislynn truly lost her mind. Kara wasn’t even sure if there was any good left in the woman at all.

“I’ve been training,” she said. “I figure I’ll get a briefing on quite a bit of news at the meeting the other vagabonds later.”

“I suspect so,” Garrett agreed.

“Will you come? I meant what I said, Garrett. I need your help. To make the Bloods listen to me, I have to bring one hell of a show of force.”

Garrett nodded. “Adele truly adores you, Kara. In her honor, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Kara breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness.

CHAPTER TEN

MISTAKES

Deep in the dark Ayavelian woods, Braeden tightened his fist and smirked. Smoke billowed from the fire pit of his makeshift sparring ring, its gray tendrils curling into the midnight sky. His gray flames cast trembling shadows on the circle of trees lining the clearing, but the darkness swallowed everything beyond the first few rows of trunks. Clouds blocked out the stars, though the moon’s glow illuminated one patch of clouds with a white backlight.

Aurora whimpered. She sat beneath a tree, cradling her arm. Her hand hung limp by her side. Silver blood trickled from a fresh wound on her shoulder. He’d thrown a fireball at her, and she tried to block it with a blast of air. Instead of redirecting his attack, her actions fed the flames until the fireball scorched her down to the bone. He figured it was a mistake she wouldn’t make again. Her wounds served as the best lesson.

For some reason, Braeden expected the princess to be more resilient. She picked up techniques fast enough, but her years of palace living seemed to soften her tolerance for pain. Here she was, sobbing in the middle of a sparring match. He grimaced.

Time to call it quits for the night.

He cocked his arm to prepare a finishing move. He wanted something strong enough to knock the wind out of her without actually killing her. Magic burned through his veins. Black smoke clung to his hand, shifting like a shadow in his palm. He aimed for her face. When it hit, the smoke would blind her for thirty seconds—likely enough to scare her into ending their sparring a little early. Braeden would allow it because he wanted a bath and a bed.

With a deep breath, he shot the flickering smoke at the one-winged princess. The shadow blurred, racing toward her. Aurora’s frown shifted into a smirk. She reached for it with her fingers. The blue veins in her palm glowed white. The quiet forest sprang to life. A gale pummeled through the trees, ripping leaves out of the canopy. Branches bent toward her. Black strands of hair danced about her face. With a flick of her wrist, Aurora redirected the smoky haze. It circled her body and flew back toward Braeden.

Braeden laughed. Clever girl.

He reached toward the smoke. Tension pulled on his arms, but he dug his heels into the ground for support. The attack sailed forward, maybe a dozen feet away now. He snapped his fingers, and the attack dissolved midair.

“I don’t believe you learned your redirection technique from me, Aurora,” he said.

“I sneak away sometimes to watch Gurien’s soldiers spar. I stole some of their tricks and practiced on my own.”

“Smart.”

Braeden conjured three bolts of lightning from the static in the air and shot each at Aurora. The princess gasped, apparently choking on a retort. She twisted away, but two bolts hit her square in the back. She sailed into the treeline. Her head rammed into a trunk. Bark split away from the wood under her forehead. She slumped to the ground, shoulders hunched. After a groan and a couple curses, she pushed herself up with one hand. Her arm shook under her weight. A puddle of silver blood streamed down her neck.

With a groan, Braeden crossed his arms. “Don’t—”

“I know, I know. Focus on the fight. No conversation,” she snapped.

Aurora wheeled around, eyes narrowed. Her shoulders tensed, and she dipped into a fighting stance. Her fists tightened. She frowned, and the hair around her face levitated. Braeden paused. If this was a new technique, he had no idea what it would do or how to counter.

White dots cropped up on her skin, as if ice filled every pore. They grew until frost covered every inch of her body. She stared at him, blind to everything but whatever she was about to do. The breeze stilled. Aurora’s lip twitched into a dark smile.

Boom.
The frost shot away from Aurora in an explosion of ice. Hundreds of ice daggers sailed in every direction. Dozens struck trees, the icicles embedding deep into the bark. Dozens more shot toward Braeden. Out of instinct, fire ignited in his palms and flew over his body. The black flames melted much of the ice as it struck him, but a few of the thicker particles sailed through his shield. One stabbed him in the gut.

He cursed and fell to one knee. The fires covering his body hissed as they faded into nothing. He yanked out the few icicles stuck in his body, but he remained still as his skin stitched itself back together. That hurt.