Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga (18 page)

Adrenaline barreled through him. Every muscle tensed. The ancient desire to kill resurfaced, but he drowned it with pride. She’d never landed such a powerful hit before.

Time to see what else she could do.

He tensed and spun, grabbing the wind in one fluid motion. Blades of air cropped up around him—dozens of them. Pressure gathered on his fingers, and he used the resistance to aim. The first blade of air flew like an arrow. It shot clean through Aurora’s shoulder. She screamed and knelt, one hand over the wound as she cursed.

Braeden released another and another. Blade after blade shot toward her. After the weeks they spent sparring, she could absolutely block them. The question was whether or not she had enough faith in herself to do so.

Aurora raised her hands and gritted her teeth. A rush of air sailed through the trees and flew past her, toward the attacks. The clatter of leaves clapping against each other drowned out Braeden’s thoughts. Wind stung his eyes until he had to squint. If his blades hit anything, the gusts ruined his ability to tell.

The raging fire lighting their arena flickered and faded in the tempest. Imprints of the light flashed in Braeden’s vision as he tried to adjust to the sudden darkness. He blinked, tensing. Aurora’s storm still raged in the forest.

He reached to light another fire in the circle of rocks, but something sailed into his chest. He flew backward and landed hard against a tree. The air shot out of his lungs. Embers burned in the fire pit, their light too weak to illuminate the sparring arena.

A pair of boots snapped the dry grass. Braeden gasped for air. What hit him? Aurora could barely duck the blades in time. He doubted she could have followed up with another attack so quickly, unless this had that been yet another elaborate trick.

“Father, no!” Aurora screamed.

The fire pit blazed to life. Red flame crackled in the night. Ithone stood ten feet away, eyes locked on Braeden. The Blood’s eyes narrowed, and his lip twisted into a sneer of disgust.

“How dare you attack my daughter, Stelian!” Ithone barked.

They’d been discovered. The last of Braeden’s breath escaped him. He didn’t know what he would say even if he could speak. His mind raced. How did Ithone find them? Gurien managed to keep Ithone away from the sparring arena for almost a month.

Braeden shot to his feet. Sure enough, Gurien stood just within the forest, watching with a grimace. He frowned and mouthed,
“I couldn’t stop him.”

Thick frost spread over Ithone’s arms. “I should have killed you back in that throne room when you were in chains. All Stelians are the same. Why would you lure an innocent girl out into the woods and try to kill her? She’s done nothing to you!”

Braeden hesitated. “What?”

“Don’t mock me!”

Ithone conjured a ball of ice in his palm and threw it at Braeden’s head. Braeden ducked. A jolt of fear snaked through his chest as he put the pieces together. Ithone thought he was trying to kill Aurora. The Kirelm Blood didn’t realize Aurora came on her on accord to learn and practice. This was all a misunderstanding.

Braeden showed his palms in an effort to calm the Kirelm. “No, I wasn’t—”

Ithone cut him off with a barrage of ice. Clump after clump sailed through the air. Fire climbed over Braeden’s arms and torso, but not quickly enough. Three balls of ice crashed into his chest. Frost crawled over his skin, searing whatever it touched with a subzero sting. He cursed. Fire erupted over his body. The ice melted away in a rush. He eyed Ithone through the flames, unwilling to let down his guard.

“Stop!” he shouted.

“Not until you’re dead!” Ithone screamed.

Braeden’s fingers tensed. Fingernails dug into his palms. Adrenaline pumped through every vein. gray fire ignited in every pore of his body and pulsed against his skin. Ithone wouldn’t listen. Ithone wouldn’t stop. Braeden would have to beat sense into the Blood or kill him trying, and it would take every ounce of his power to do so. But dying—that wasn’t an option. Aurora might become Blood tonight, but Braeden wouldn’t die here.

He let go of his Hillsidian form and shifted into his natural body: the towering Stelian. His skin darkened to that familiar charcoal gray. His arms and back bulged with muscle. His shirt stretched against his growing frame. The fire on his arms thickened. And as he shifted back into what he really was, the desire to kill the Kirelm Blood grew within him. With every second, this fight became less about survival and more about murder.

Ithone would kill him out of a misunderstanding. And where was Aurora? Braeden grit his teeth. Useless girl. Weak. Fickle. She hadn’t even tried to help beyond a pathetic scream. She yet again proved herself to be utterly worthless. He just wasted a month risking his life for a princess who would abandon him the moment her father intervened.

The hatred within him doubled. The rage living deep within ignited. His charcoal skin faded until it was black as the night. The fires on his arms burned dark gray. He would end the whole Kirelm line tonight. Right here.

With a sneer, he called on the darkest part of his soul: his daru. Smoke hissed from the pores along his neck and arms. With a rumbling laugh, he gave himself over to the depths of his royal Stelian power. Heat welled in his gut. His chest burned. The hair on his arms prickled. Red and black flames coursed over his skin, fighting for dominance.

Usually, his daru needed to feed on the fear of those around him. But tonight, it fed off of him. His hatred. His anger. His disgust for the Bloods who would never accept him. His own fear that he would never be good enough.

His peripheral vision blurred. The edges faded to black, until he could see only Ithone. The Kirelm stood by the fire pit, wings stretched into the air. A glossy sheen spread across the Blood’s skin like a thin sheet of water. His pupils dilated until they filled his eyes with nothing but black. Claws grew from the king’s fingernails. This must have been Ithone’s daru, but Braeden didn’t care. He wouldn’t lose to a giant bird.

He lunged for Ithone. The Blood swung a clawed hand. Braeden ducked and shot a fist into the king’s jaw. It hit. Ithone cursed and staggered backward. Braeden followed up with a fireball to the gut, but Ithone twisted out of the way and returned with a chunk of ice aimed at Braeden’s face.

They ducked and swung at each other in a fluid dance with no end. Braeden’s hatred fueled him. He itched to rip Ithone’s head off. He wanted to throw it at Aurora and laugh at her failure. He would decide what to do with her later.

He grabbed the Blood’s neck with both hands and shot a burst of lightning into the Kirelm’s body. Ithone twitched and reeled backward. The king staggered but stayed on his feet. He eyed Braeden, hesitating.

Braeden grinned. He’d just won.

A flame ignited in his palms and billowed into the sky. He pulled everything he had into a final attack—one large enough to end a Blood. A king who tried to kill him. A king who tried to enslave Kara. A terrible monarch who raised a weak daughter and didn’t deserve to rule the kingdom he’d been given.

Braeden threw the fireball at the Blood. In a flash, a thick wave of ice formed over Ithone’s body. The ice preserved the man’s features, right down to his wide eyes. Fool. He couldn’t hide from death behind a wall of ice.

The fireball hit. Ice shattered. Shards fell like glass to the ground.

Nothing remained of the Blood.

A foot dug into Braeden’s spine. Pain splintered through his back, up into his neck and clean down to his ankles. Every nerve screamed. He sailed headfirst into a tree. Spots littered his vision. Panic cooled the adrenaline in his veins. He slumped on the ground. The flames on his arms receded.

He forced himself to look back, even though the world spun around him. Trees leaned to the right, their branches somehow on the ground with their roots in the air. The sky tipped. Bits of starlight blended with the spots in his vision. Ithone stood just feet from him, leaning a bit to the right but completely solid.

The ice wall had been a trick, just as Aurora had tricked him earlier.

Braeden tried to stand, but his legs gave out. He tried to push himself upright, but his arms wobbled. His body wasn’t healing fast enough—either that, or the attack had crippled him enough to delay healing. He slumped to the grass. Ithone knelt and wrapped a hand around Braeden’s neck.

“I should have done this long ago,” the Blood said.

“Father, I said no!” Aurora screamed.

A blast of air shot Braeden back into the tree. Another wave of pain ricocheted through his body. He cursed and stifled a scream of agony. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He lay there, body writhing as it tried to heal itself.

A shadow fell over his face. He opened his eyes. Aurora stood with her back to him. Ithone lay on the ground by the fire pit, apparently also knocked over by the gale. His eyes widened as he stared at his daughter. The firelight danced on her skin, illuminating the rips and blood stains from her earlier sparring. A gash in her boot exposed the shin beneath. Her hair hung loose around her head, the braid she wore into the arena long gone.

Ithone gaped. “How dare you—”

“Braeden didn’t try to kill me—at least not tonight. You tried to murder my master, and I won’t allow that. He taught me to fight, Father. You have no right to harm him.”

Ithone’s breath left him in a rush. “Your master? Has he brainwashed you?”

“Hardly. He taught me to protect myself. It’s more than you ever did.”

Ithone’s eyebrows twisted upward. His lip twitched. “What are you?”

“An Heir. Finally.”

Ithone shot to his feet. “What is this madness? What happened to the little girl I raised?”

Aurora’s fists tightened. “She died in Carden’s dungeon, Father.”

The two Kirelms examined each other, Aurora tensed for a fight. Meanwhile, Braeden’s body twitched and molded itself together. His vision cleared enough to spot Gurien a few dozen yards off, sword drawn. He bit his lip, eyes on Aurora.

A tremor slithered down Braeden’s back. Something clicked into place along his spine. He sighed with relief, but guilt churned in his stomach just as quickly. He’d finally healed, but this fight wasn’t over.

However silent Ithone was, Braeden and Aurora wouldn’t spar again. Ithone would likely send the princess back to Kirelm, and he would give Braeden hell until the Blood finally died. And no matter how often Braeden told himself he’d done the right thing, he would always wonder if this was really worth it.

Ithone rubbed his face and walked into the forest without a word. Gurien hesitated but followed not long after.

Aurora knelt beside Braeden. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Keep your eye on your opponent.”

“Father left. It’s over. We’re safe.”

Braeden caught her eye. She had no idea how wrong she was.

Braeden slumped over his desk and groaned face-first into the polished surface. He cursed under his breath and hit his forehead once on the wood.

Idiot.

He didn’t regret training Aurora. Judging from her attacks in that final fight, she learned more in these four weeks than she let on. She absorbed every word he said. No, he was proud of her. He regretted getting caught. He’d been careful to stay alert out there, but Ithone’s stealth matched the greatest Hillsidian trackers. He doubted even Gavin would have heard the Blood coming.

Someone rapped against the door—two light knocks.

“Come in,” Braeden said.

The door swung open. Gurien slipped in and quickly shut the door.

Braeden frowned. “You’ll get in trouble for being here.”

“Maybe, but I had to thank you before we leave.”

“We?”

Gurien frowned. “We. Blood Ithone is forcing every Kirelm to leave.”

Braeden shot to his feet. “Over a sparring match? He’s insane!”

“He’s furious. He won’t listen to reason when he gets this emotional. He’s even slipped into his daru a few times in the last half hour from a lack of control.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I agree.” Gurien rubbed his neck.

Braeden sank back in his chair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Worst case was Aurora getting sent back to Kirelm. Worst case was dealing with Ithone’s insults afterward. Worst case wasn’t supposed to mean losing a powerful ally altogether.