Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (2 page)

She stood and left without another word. Her boots clacked against the hardwood. The gray creature hummed from its place on her shoulder. She grinned. Rami would certainly join her, but she would use the extra time tonight to chat with those who still needed convincing.

Her mind raced as she walked down the hallway. As much as she hated to admit that Andor had her figured out, the stupid Viking was right. She would betray them. All of them. She would send them on a suicide mission with the promise of backup that would never come. She wouldn’t get to see them destroyed, but knowing the hell they would experience sufficed.

Ourea was a repulsive place, and Deidre despised everything in it. The yakona loathed her isen nature, but the isen made her what she was. Both would burn for their hatred, and she would light the flame.

Deidre lounged in Andor’s bedroom, waiting for the oaf to return from speaking with his children. Wooden planks lined the walls of his room, giving it the feel of a log cabin. She’d always detested his taste in decor—the same wood even comprised the dresser and bed frame. A single dagger hung on the far wall by the door, but nothing else decorated the room.

Each elder isen had his own home within the guild to fit his family, and she’d been paying each of them a visit as the night wore on. Andor was her final conquest.

She’d slipped into his manor as he and his children gathered in a meeting hall at the back of the house. A drunk sentry and a few quiet footsteps later, she’d settled onto his blue comforter to wait for him. She leaned against the headboard, hand poised to grab the dagger strapped to her leg if he got any ideas. She left her sword in her room to give the illusion of a peaceful discussion. Seeing her on his bed would make him uncomfortable, and she loved the way his jaw tensed when she toyed with him.

Dozens of boots stomped up the stairs. Floorboards creaked. A rumble of voices slipped beneath the door. She took a deep breath—time for the fun to begin.

The handle turned, and the door swung inward. Andor paused on the threshold, eyes on her the moment he peered into the room. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, squaring his shoulders in either annoyance or preparation.

She smiled. “About time.”

“Leave. I won’t be taking you up on your offer.”

She pouted. “Pity. I was quite hoping you and I could get to know each other better.”

His Adam’s apple quivered. She smiled wider. Sucker.

He walked in and closed the door. “Deidre, I know you. You very well may be a little demon, even if the rest of us aren’t. I mean what I said before—I don’t trust you.”

“That’s what will make you so fun,” she countered.

He frowned, eyes narrowing. He stared at her with a gaze that almost stole the smile from her face. It bored into her, sending a flurry of nerves through her chest as he waited for her to crack beneath his gaze. She held on, despite his scrutiny. She’d successfully killed Niccoli this time. She absorbed a Blood. She would bring Niccoli’s remaining guild to its knees. Andor—of all creatures—couldn’t shake her.

He inched closer, his boots thumping against the floor. Each slow step chipped away at her smile. He knelt on the mattress and leaned in, setting a hand on either side of her head. His fingers stretched against the wooden headboard in her periphery, cracking with his movements, but she never broke eye contact.

He inched closer until the world blurred around him, and she could see only his eyes. He was turning this on her, calling her bluff. Maybe he knew her seductions were always a tease, that she never followed through. Perhaps he even figured she imagined Michael on the face of any man who invaded her space, who got too close.

Focus, Deidre.

“What are you up to?” His hot breath rolled over her cheeks and tickled her neck.

She grinned, letting the joy of her plan wash through her. “It’s quite elaborate.”

“You’ve always been a fool, woman. This will be no different.”

“Oh, but it will.”

“So you admit this is a scheme?”

“Even if it were, and even if I did tell you all the juicy details, no one would listen to you. The other elder children have made up their minds.”

He frowned, studying her face. This close, she wasn’t sure he could see anything.

“I saved you for last, Andor. I knew you made up your mind in that office, but I wanted to give you one last chance to be wise.”

She ran her finger down his neck, starting at his chin and gliding the nail along the jugular. He tensed but didn’t move. He likely didn’t want to admit defeat, not to her. But he would.

“Woman, you must—”

“When the war ends, I’m going to come back here. Anyone who doesn’t join me now will be considered threats, and I will end them. I own Carden. He obeys me. And he will lead his army to this very house when all is said and done, and not even you with your many children can stop him. You’ll never stop me. Don’t pick the losing side, Viking. We’ll be back for those who chose wrong. So ask yourself, Andor—do you really want to be in this house when I burn it to the ground?”

Still as a stone, he watched her. Not even his chest moved She allowed herself one last teasing smile and leaned in closer. He flinched. She brought her nails back up to the base of his neck, right where the head met the spine. She locked eyes with him one last time.

“See you in the morning,” she said.

With a twist of her legs, she spun his body off of her and onto the floor. He landed on his back with a curse. She took her time standing, even as he rushed to his feet, knowing she’d won. The heat of his stare itched along her neck as she retreated. Once at the door, she winked and slipped into the hall.

He wouldn’t leave with her in the morning, even after their chat. She’d assumed as much. She wouldn’t have the pleasure of knowing how he died, but at least he would be afraid long after the war ended.

Chapter 1

War
Games

Kara raced down a dark hallway, Braeden a foot or two ahead of her. The walls’ white stones whizzed by in her periphery. Their boots thudded along the cobbled floor, their footsteps echoing. Torches flew past, one every dozen feet or so, the fires blurring as she ran and leaving orange streaks on her vision. Open windows filled the spaces between sconces, dark portals to the night outside. Flick clung to her shoulder, tail wrapped around the back of her neck for balance. His fur tickled her throat, but she pressed onward.

Kara let out a slow breath. For a training exercise, this was all too real.

A fireball blew past an open window a few feet behind them, crashing into the stones. A tremor shook the floor. Black pebbles splintered off and flew past her head, their ends orange. She flinched, but pressed forward. The Ayavelian fort through which they ran took the brunt of the assault, its rocky core surviving the fire from the Kirelms above. Through the open windows, glimpses of the chaos outside blipped in and out of view: fire raging along the wooden fences; a dozen more fireballs raining from the sky, their tails red streaks in the black night. A chorus of battle cries and clanging swords rang from the ground. A shrill scream echoed above the uproar.

Kara’s white vest crinkled as she ran, rubbing her skin as her arms pumped back and forth. If someone tore it off, she would be out of the game—effectively “dead.” She eyed Braeden’s vest—red to signify him as a royal. If his was torn off, he would be just as “dead” and would have to sit out—and her team would lose the game. While all red vests needed protection, Braeden carried the burden of killing Carden. The war ended when they killed his father, but if both Stelian royals died in this final battle, it would mean the genocide of the Stelian race. In fact, only the Lossian race had a surviving Heir. If any other Blood participating in the war died, their people would die with them.

No pressure.

A familiar voice yelled over the anarchy below. Gavin. He shouted an order she didn’t catch, but she only needed to hear the tone to decipher its meaning. He roared with all the authority of a king. The clash of a sword followed. He carried on the siege, stealing the defending army’s attention long enough to let Kara and Braeden infiltrate the throne room to grab the vest off a stand-in Carden and capture the enemy flag.

She stifled a laugh. A war game of capture the flag, complete with fireballs and paper vests. Just when she thought she’d experienced everything, Ourea proved her wrong.

The hallway turned ahead, rounding the fort. Shadows danced along the wall, slipping in and out of the windows as several yakona ran toward her and Braeden. Boot steps bounced along the floor, softer than Kara’s. All of their allies were outside—no one but she and Braeden were supposed to enter the fort.

Braeden caught her eye and nodded. He grabbed her wrist and stopped, his feet skidding along the floor. Kara tensed and leaned into him. They twisted and ran the other way. He wrapped his fingers around a sconce along the outer wall and pulled on it, grimacing as he yanked. It didn’t budge. He hesitated and tried again, his feet lifting off the floor as he sank his weight into the sconce.

Nothing happened.

Kara glanced over her shoulder. The shadows stretched farther across the floor. They didn’t have much time.

Braeden squinted at the base of the sconce and cursed. He raced for the next one a short ways away, tugging Kara along after him. He yanked on the new sconce. The metal base lifted away from the wall, the fire shifting in its cage.

The opposite wall popped and swung open, revealing a hidden door. The hiss of trapped air dissolved into the night. Braeden raced through, his hand still intertwined with Kara’s. He pulled her close and shut the barrier behind them. Light flickered from a torch by the door, its dim light fighting the darkness. Another sconce lined the wall a dozen feet off, its flames barely illuminating the gloom.

“How did you know this was here?” she asked.

Braeden lowered his voice. “Stelian Bloods and Heirs have an intuitive knowledge of the Stele. It seemed right to study this fort to have an equal knowledge of its layout.”

“That’s—seriously? I’m surprised I didn’t know that about you.”

He shushed her. “Sound carries in here.”

She frowned. Not much of a secret tunnel, then.

Something crashed outside. The floor shook. Fire crackled, muffled by the rock. Kara set a hand on Braeden’s chest to steady herself. He gripped her arms, his balance keeping her on her feet.

Braeden shook his head, his voice a whisper. “The Ayavelian elite are doing a decent job of impersonating Stelians.”

She nodded. “No kidding. I didn’t realize the Ayavelian defense guards were so good.”

“Probably why Aislynn felt it was safe to leave her city so often.”

A shiver crept up Kara’s spine, tickling the hair on her neck. Even mentioning the crazy queen sent chills through her body. With a twinge of guilt, she had to admit she was glad the woman died.

Braeden cleared his throat and jogged through the tunnel. She followed, Flick’s claws digging into her shoulder as she kept Braeden’s pace.

The Ayavelian elite—city guards specializing in defense—served as the Stelians in their makeshift battle. The elite didn’t know Braeden’s plan, even if it was fairly simple. Kirelms attacked from above while the rest of the armies attacked the front gates. But she had to wonder who the impostor Carden would be and how dedicated he’d grown to the role of evil tyrant.

In the real war, Kara and Braeden would have a team of vagabonds with them, but she wanted their identities kept secret as long as possible. For the practice rounds, only Kara and Braeden entered the fort when Gavin’s forces tore down the wall. But the Ayavelian elite kept her and Braeden occupied longer than planned. They were far better than expected.

Kara grinned. “You sure you don’t want to just don your daru and barge in, guns blazing?”

He laughed. “Cheater. It won’t help against Carden, so we shouldn’t try it here. Besides, a challenge is always more fun.”

“Whatever you say, handsome.”

His smile widened, and he squeezed her hand. Heat flushed through her cheeks, and she forced herself to look ahead—they were in a war game, after all.

Her mind wandered to tomorrow. Braeden had planned their bonding ceremony for the day after the practice battle ended. Unless the it failed dismally, she would be connected with the love of her life in less than twenty-four hours. She grinned despite herself, but the glee dissolved with a pang of guilt. In the middle of a war, she couldn’t justify the break. They had to plan. They had to prepare. They couldn’t pause a war for a wedding.