Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (11 page)

Braeden grumbled from his side of the bed and stretched, his long limbs almost reaching the four corners of the sizable bed. He mumbled something and stood, rubbing his neck on his way to the bathroom.

A pang of guilt rocked her core. She really had killed the moment. But this final battle couldn’t fail, and for the Bloods to coordinate in the heat of battle, they needed assistance from her vagabonds.

She sighed and opened the cover, flipping to a page bookmarked with a thin quill. After rummaging around the desk for a few moments, she found an inkwell and began a short message to Twin. She outlined the basics of why the vagabonds were needed, what the risks would be, and what they would need to do. She then asked for volunteers.

Twin had already come to Ayavel to watch over Flick during the wedding, so at least she would be available to take over this new task. It would be easier if volunteers came from those vagabonds already in Ayavel—they didn’t have much time left for travel, but Kara would use Flick’s teleportation if necessary. She cracked her fingers and wished away her grimoire.

The bathroom door creaked open. She shifted in her seat and smiled as Braeden walked out without his shirt on.

“I need that back,” he said, nodding to the shirt she wore.

She grinned. “Fine, but you have to promise me something.”

He smiled and sauntered closer. “Undying love?”

“There’s that, and—”

“Protect you from harm?”

She laughed. “Fine, that and one more thing.”

He paused in front of her and ran his thumb across her chin. “To bring you bliss and joy for the rest of your life?”

She shook her head. “Now my thing sounds dumb.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh and smiled. “What then, bossy-pants?”

“Tell the Bloods we’ll assign a vagabond to them so they can better communicate with the others during the upcoming battle.”

His smile wavered and slipped into a half-frown, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or sad. He set a hand on her cheek. “Can’t you enjoy one morning without thinking of work?”

She ran her fingers over his. “Not really. Not until we finish this.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her nose. “We will. And once we do, I’ll take you on a vacation. No wars. No rules. Just fun.”

Kara nodded. “I’d like that.”

Ourea without a war—now that was a thought she couldn’t quite process.

It took hours for Kara to leave Ayavel, mainly because she didn’t want to leave Braeden behind. She took her time gathering supplies and packing. She would let her mind wander until she came to, staring out the window with a sock in one hand. Only when Stone barged into her room and all but ordered her out of the kingdom did she summon the Grimoire’s wolf Ryn and leave.

She’d debated taking Flick with her—in the event everything went south, it would be good to have an escape plan. Stone wouldn’t help her if she lost a fight, after all. But Twin needed to find volunteers, and they were running out of time. If no vagabonds within Ayavel volunteered, Twin would have to travel. That could take weeks. So after a few heavy sighs and biting her nails in worry, Kara left Flick once more with her second in command. Besides, her throat stung at the thought of what would happen to her pet if she lost a fight with one of Niccoli’s remaining isen—creatures this far removed from society, trained in theft and murder, would either enslave or kill her pet. She couldn’t allow that.

Five lichgates and several hours later, Kara and Stone strolled through yet another of Ourea’s many forests. The trees arched overhead, blocking out the sun except for thin rays that crept through here and there. Kara took a deep breath, savoring the sweet air. But the silence of the woods tugged at her as she strained her ears to hear something, anything amidst all the quiet.

“How was your errand?” she asked, trying yet again to prompt conversation out of her mentor.

He didn’t look over. “The Sartori cave isn’t finished yet.”

“When will it be done?”

He shrugged.

She huffed. Helpful.

Their path curved, and the forest retreated to reveal a darkening sky. A few of the brightest stars twinkled in the navy blue sky as evening rolled across a small Hillsidian town not far off. Their path curved down a hill overlooking the village, but Kara paused to examine the township below. She leaned her elbows on Ryn’s neck, using the break to stretch her back. Relief swam along her spine as she shook out the day’s travel. Stone’s horse reached for the grass on the hilltop, straining against the reins in an attempt at a snack. Stone tugged, returning the horse to attention. It snorted.

In the town below, smoke billowed from red-brick chimneys sticking out of the tree-homes, the exhaust of cooking fires a gray haze amidst the emerald canopy. Rope bridges tied the trees together, passing by the open windows of massive, carved-out trunks. The homes reminded Kara of those in the city of Hillside, but with less polish. No gold framed these windows. Instead of doors with inlaid gold filigree, the townspeople had only bits of bark that swung open and closed to cover the entrances to their homes. No grand staircases. No elaborate cobblestone paths with rocks that mimicked the shape of whatever touched them.

A pang of loss shot through Kara, weighing down her shoulders. She never thought she would miss Hillside, but it had its charms.

Stone nodded to the town below. “We should stay there tonight. There’s probably an inn.”

“Fine, but I get my own room,” Kara said.

“Gladly. You probably snore.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Whatever gets me my own room.”

“Take this.”

Stone handed her a purple flower with no stem. Its petals pinched together at its base and curled outward, their centers bleaching like faded jeans. The ends bent backward and ended with a rounded tip.

“A gift?” she asked.

He huffed. “It’s hyacinth. It will disguise the isen scent.”

Of course. She should have known better.

He pulled another from his pocket, dragging it across his wrists and neck before rubbing it in his palms until it disintegrated. She mimicked him.

“We wouldn’t need to stay at an inn at all if you’d been ready earlier,” he said.

“Will you give it a rest? I’m sorry.”

Kara dropped the remains of her flower and nudged Ryn forward. He trotted along the path as it curved down the hill, head lowering as the slope steepened. Kara leaned back in her seat to keep balance. Stone’s horse loped behind, rocking its head back and forth as if uninterested in speed. It tried again for a passing patch of grass and instead chomped the air, missing.

“You should have a disguise,” Stone said.

Kara shrugged. “Without a wig or a fake mustache, I don’t have a lot of options.”

“I see plenty of options.”

Kara shifted in her seat and locked eyes with him. “I will never steal a soul. I made a promise to myself and my vagabonds.”

“Who cares? Your safety matters more.”

“Who’s going to jeopardize my safety?”

“Stelians. Bloods. Isen. Bored farmers. You’re a little famous here.”

She shook her head and turned back to the path. She clicked her tongue, urging her wolf to trot faster. His feet bounded over the grass, leaving Stone and his lazy horse behind.

Their dirt path widened, the soil darkening as they crossed into the town. It twisted around a few tree-homes and opened into a circle with a stone well in its middle. A rope hung from a piece of wood above the gray stone, its bucket apparently lowered.

Kara dismounted and headed for the well without waiting for Stone to catch up to her. Ryn followed behind, his nose almost to her face. His ears twitched in all directions, no doubt on the lookout for trouble. Kara smiled and patted his neck.

Good wolf.

Ryn snorted and looked over her shoulder.

“Can I help you, miss?” a man asked.

Kara pivoted to see a middle-aged man with tanned skin and black hair. His brown trousers sported a few black stains around the knees, and the frayed beige shirt had patches of white to imply its original color. A few hems on the shirt came loose, folding over him in a mismatched display of poor care.

“I need two rooms for the night. Do you have an inn?”

He nodded. “Don’t think you can keep a wolf in one of the rooms though.”

Kara paused until she realized he thought she wanted to put Ryn in the second room. A bubble of laughter escaped her, but the man frowned as if confused.

“No, the other room is for my—”

She gestured back toward Stone, prepared to say “father,” but the young man from the Glasgow club now rode on the horse Stone had been riding. His olive skin, the dark hair, the eyes—he looked so much like Braeden. The nose was wrong, the face too squared, but still. He nodded once, eyes darting back over the homes in what she could only assume was an assessment.

Kara had stopped mid-sentence, her mind trailing back to Scotland—waking up in the human world without her grimoire, panic flooding her chest at the sea of pink walls and blankets; hating Braeden, one of the few men she trusted, for disarming and abandoning her; discovering Deidre in the club VIP room; meeting Niccoli; discovering she was an isen; the sting of Stone’s barb as it broke through her spine; the agony of drowning.

“Miss?” the man asked.

She licked her lips, trying to snap out of it. “Um, my brother. The second room is for my brother.”

The man nodded, apparently unfazed by her sudden pause.

“I think you’ll be all right, then. Follow me.”

He walked off across the town center as Stone reached her and dismounted. Kara followed the man, and her mentor kept his pace.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Stone said.

“Something like that.”

“You should always have at least one disguise,” he whispered.

She shook her head. She was a lot of things—isen, murderer, vagabond—but she would never steal a soul, no matter the benefits.

Stone smirked. Her hands curled into fists. She wanted to punch the grin right off his face. He didn’t understand honor or the desire to protect other lives. He only cared about himself, and if anything, Kara was his polar opposite. She would put everyone, including past enemies, ahead of herself to end this war.

Kara didn’t sleep well. She managed to get an hour or two before the nightmares started—before the blackened Kirelm faces cluttered her mind, their screams filling her ears like a boiling teakettle. She woke up several times, shirt drenched with sweat, covers on the floor. In the final hours before morning, she lay on the bed, arms and legs stretched in every direction, and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes stung. A weight settled on the base of her neck, a pressure building in the back of her head. But she refused to close her eyes.

Stone knocked on her door shortly after sunrise. The morning blew by in a haze of exhaustion. Her temple throbbed, and water clung to the edges of her eyes with every second she kept them open. The muscles in her neck ached, and her decision to stare at the ceiling seemed more and more a mistake. She longed to crawl back to the lumpy mattress for another chance at rest. Instead, she limped along from breakfast to the stable to the trail, following the still-disguised Stone and allowing him to lead.