Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (14 page)

Oh, well. Keep going.

“The yakona are at war, and it will end with one final battle. While that’s not your problem, you can benefit from it. If you agree to be a part of that battle, to join in the fight with the allied kingdoms and end this war, you will be granted amnesty in the yakona kingdoms. You may visit freely and openly, and you will not be killed on sight. You may not steal souls while in a yakona kingdom, but if you are accused of breaking this agreement, you will be tried fairly.”

She arched her back and examined the expressions in the room. Nothing had changed—still the same sneers and disgust. She cleared her throat.

“This will be your one and only chance for such an opportunity. You will never again be offered free reign of Ourea like this. I recommend you not let the opportunity pass you by. Who’s with me?”

A few isen chuckled, presumably in answer to her question, but most leaned back in their seats or bent to whisper to a neighbor. A hum of voices filled the room, all hushed. Kara tightened her hands into fists, waiting for that first follower who would show the rest they were not alone in wanting to join her.

The hum settled, but no one stood. She swallowed hard.

“This is your only—”

“It is tempting,” a man interrupted. He stood from his chair by the aisle, his broad shoulders almost taking up the empty seat beside him. The isen around him watched his every move. His dark hair curled around his face, the hard lines in his jaw and cheeks casting shadows over his pale skin. Wrinkles lined his eyes, though she couldn’t tell if it was from age or squinting at her. He walked along the aisle, toward the steps that led to the arena floor. She waited for him to continue.

He glanced to Stone and smiled. “I didn’t think I would see you again, old man.”

Stone nodded. “Hello, Andor.”

Andor turned to Kara, his smile dissolving. “While I’m curious about you and your offer, you are not the first to ask for our help in this feud.”

A pang of dread rocked Kara’s core.

“Who beat me?” she asked.

“An isen named Deidre.”

Kara grimaced.

Andor laughed. “I take it you know her.”

“We’ve met.”

Andor stepped into the arena. “She’s formidable. Most of the isen elders went with her.”

Stone huffed. Kara could imagine what he would say if they were alone.
Told you.

“When did she come?” Kara asked.

“A week ago.”

The guilt faded into a thin stream of relief. Even if they’d left when Stone wanted to, they wouldn’t have made it in time. Her delay hadn’t cost them recruits.

Andor gestured to the arena seats. “I can’t speak for the others, but my children and I didn’t join her because we don’t trust her. Why should we trust you?”

“Because I’m both an isen and the Vagabond. I represent both you and the yakona. I want the fighting to end.”

He shook his head. “There will always be those who fight.”

“Let them be the minority, then.”

A smile twitched along the corners of his mouth. “And why are you worth following? How will you defeat both Deidre and that Stelian Blood?”

She hesitated, doing her best to formulate her words without revealing their attack plan. “I united four warring kingdoms. The Heir to the Stele has planned much of this final battle, and—”

“Yes, the famous isen hunter Braeden,” Andor interrupted again. He grimaced.

“He bonded with me. His hatred for isen is over.”

The news earned a few gasps. Kara smiled. Good. At least she could surprise these people.

Andor crossed his arms. “An isen and an isen hunter in love?”

“We even had a reception in a yakona kingdom, welcomed by the Bloods of Ayavel, Hillside, Kirelm, and Losse. These are different times. Don’t be left behind. I’ve led these troops in training, seen what they can do—especially when they’re fighting together instead of fighting each other. We’re going to win this war. The question is whether or not you’ll be there to enjoy victory with us.”

He nodded once in approval. “You’re certainly confident.”

“So you’ll join us?”

He shook his head. “We only follow the strong. You must prove yourself, at least to me.”

Kara glanced over her shoulder to Stone. He kept his gaze on Andor, but ushered her to him with a curl of his finger. She crossed to her mentor and leaned in.

“This one lives,” Stone said, his voice barely a whisper.

“But what if he tries to kill me?” she asked.

“He will.”

She grunted.

“He’s an elder with thousands of children—only a sample are represented here today. He’s loyal when he has someone worth believing in. Get him into a position where he admits defeat—mercy when you could kill him—and he will pledge his family to you.”

She sighed and headed back to the arena floor. The room hushed.

“It’s strange to see Agneon’s wrist guard on a girl,” Andor said.

She nodded and resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. A flurry of exhaustion burned through the back of her mind. She wanted to sleep, not fight.

Let’s get on with this.

A stream of fire shot toward her head, almost too quickly for her to react. She ducked, leaning backward as the flames billowed by. The heat brushed her face, tingling the hairs in her eyebrows.

A fist crashed into her chest, knocking her to the floor. Andor appeared through the haze of the dissolving flames, one fist cocked and aimed for her head.

She rolled. His fist hit the floor. Tiles cracked beneath his knuckles. He cursed and shook out his hand.

Kara jumped to her feet and summoned the red sparks in her palm. They sizzled, tickling her fingers. She released them, aiming for her opponent. They crackled along his arm, racing to his chest. He yelled and knelt.

She summoned a blast of electricity into her fingers and aimed for him. He twisted, trying to run, but the blast hit him in the small of his back. He sailed toward the wall and fell, skidding along the ground.

Kara drew her sword. She raced to him. Andor rolled onto his back, eyes narrowed on hers. A shadow erupted from his fingers—likely some Stelian attack she’d never before seen. It raced toward her like a ghost. She dodged it, but the edges of the shadow brushed her right shoulder. Ice burrowed into her skin, shooting daggers through her veins. Frost crackled over her clothes. She cursed. Her grip loosened. The sword fell from her fingers and clattered on the tile.

Andor summoned fire. It raged along his palms, the flames licking his fingers. He reached for her neck. She summoned the red sparks again and shot at his feet. The attack sizzled and wrapped around his ankles. His back arched as if a bolt of lightning had shot through him.

She shuffled away, putting distance between them. He fell to the floor, chest heaving. Her shoulder burned. She grimaced and sat on the black tiles, slouching as she nursed her wound. She had to end this agony.

Kara summoned the sparks again, but with the intent to heal—she’d never tried this before, but according to the lessons in the Grimoire, the red attack could either disarm or heal based on the summoner’s intent. She took a deep breath and visualized the soothing sensation of the pain receding. She set her palm on the injury. The red sparks shot into her skin. Her body twitched, the electric charges tickling her wound. She grimaced. Pain rippled through her body in one final wave before it receded into her veins and dissolved. She bent her fingers, relishing the rush of blood to her hands. She sighed with relief.

A fist appeared in her peripheral vision. She thrust herself backward, shoulders smacking against the tile. She strained her neck to prevent her head from cracking open.

Andor stood to her left, her sword in his right hand. She swallowed hard. He raised the blade over his head.

Use the floor. Throw him off-balance and go for the kill,
the Vagabond said in her mind.

Kara spread her fingers, feeling into the flooring with her mind. Tension pulled on her palms, the telltale weight of magic heavy on her shoulder blades. She took a deep breath. Andor swung.

She curled her hands into fists. The tension broke. The arena trembled. Cracks splintered across the tile floor in all directions. Andor’s eyes widened. The blade clanged against the tile by Kara’s head. She summoned a blade of air and aimed. The air rushed, hissing. She released the blade. It sailed clean through his shoulder. He flew backward, skidding along the floor. A trail of blood lined his path along the gray tile.

She ran to him. He groaned and set a hand on the tiles as if to sit up. She summoned a dozen blades of air this time, all aimed toward his head.

He stopped, eyes on hers. She frowned and tensed, ready to release the onslaught. Hopefully, hesitating instead of outright killing him would show him she’d won and count as mercy. If not, she would never trust Stone again.

Andor grinned, eyes lit up despite the gaping wound in his chest. “I’m impressed.”

She nodded, still frowning and unsure if this was a trick or not.

Andor waved her away with a hand. “Enough, enough. You’ve made your point. I will follow you.”

She sighed and released her hold on the blades of air. They dissolved into a gust of wind. It blew past, tussling her hair as she tried to catch her breath.

“Wouldn’t mind you using that healing trick on me, though,” Andor said.

She laughed and looked at Stone. He stared at the floor, eyes out of focus, but he nodded once.

He won’t openly guide you in the arena,
the Vagabond said in her mind.

She cleared her throat. Right. She needed to be the leader, not him.

Thanks, Vagabond.

She knelt beside Andor and summoned the red sparks, again focusing on the relief he would likely feel when she healed him. She set her hands on the clean cloth around his wound, careful to avoid the blood. The sparks jumped from her palms to his chest. He grimaced. She tensed, worried she hurt him, but his face relaxed almost as quickly. He sighed and leaned his head on the tile.

The skin stitched itself together, blood pooling and clotting until she could no longer see the pulsating river of red pouring from his wound.

She sighed and leaned back on her heels, setting her hands in her lap.

Andor sat up, rubbing the spot where his wound once was. He nodded. “Very impressed.”

“Who else?” Stone asked the arena seats.

Inwardly, Kara groaned. A rest would have been nice. Exhaustion seeped into the corners of her eyes. She resisted the impulse to rub them—she couldn’t appear weak, not even for a second. Not here.

“Child,” Andor said.

She met his gaze.

“Several elders elected not to come here today—Deidre’s request left a bad taste in their mouths. I will speak to them on your behalf. They will listen to me.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Andor.”

He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Carry on here. I will meet you after you finish. If you survive that long, that is.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He patted her on the back in what she assumed was a friendly gesture, yet the weight of his massive hand almost shot her stumbling forward.

Andor strode to the exit. A dozen or so isen stood as he left and filed out of the arena doors.

Kara pursed her lips.
Thanks for the support.

“No one else?” Stone asked those still sitting in the arena.

Kara had lost track of time. She’d faced two other elder children, both with the same result as Andor—after a short battle, she got them on their backs and offered mercy instead of killing them. But each fight chipped away at her resilience. Her exhaustion worsened the longer she stayed, and the elder children seemed uninterested in giving her a moment of rest. She began slipping up—missing an easy hit here, allowing her power to overcome her there.

She just wanted to sleep.

“I would like to test the great Vagabond,” a man said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Kara looked around in time to see a man stand—the same man who had stared with such open leering earlier.