Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (26 page)

She had to go do—something. She needed to save—someone.

“Rieve!” Zimmermann screamed.

Rieve managed to focus her eyes in time to see Evelyn stalking toward her, only about ten feet off. Zimmermann lay behind her, still in his Kirelm form and fighting to lift himself onto his feet.

The queen drew her sword. The metal strained against its sheath, swishing with the rush of metal on leather.

Pain shot through Rieve’s elbow. She whimpered. Something slithered over her wrist. She flinched and pulled her arm into her chest. A purple vine slithered across the forest floor, writhing like a snake. It crawled toward her abdomen. She shuffled backward, dragging her body along the dirt as she stumbled.

One vine sprung toward her, wrapping itself around her foot. It dragged her closer to the queen, who was mere feet away now. The woman raised her blade to strike.

A rush of wind sailed through the air. Evelyn flinched. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her body arched backward. She dropped her sword and reached for her shoulder. She cursed and stumbled to her knees.

Zimmermann appeared behind her as the queen dropped, Kirelm wings stretched. He held his side but lifted one arm toward the queen, his fingers pinched together. A blade of air shot from his fingertips, aimed toward the queen’s thigh. Another rush of air blew past, ruffling Rieve’s hair. The smack of splitting skin cut through the gale. Evelyn buckled, elbows landing on the grass with a muffled yell.

Her brother dropped his outstretched arm, but his other remained wrapped around his torso. He ran toward Rieve, grimacing with each footfall and favoring his left foot. A vine shot out of the ground and grabbed the tip of his boot. He stumbled and fell, landing on one wing. Something snapped. Rieve flinched and tried to stand, but the vine around her ankle tightened. Zimmermann shifted back into his Ayavelian form, only to reveal a large gash across his side. Red blood spilled down his white uniform. He pushed himself to his feet.

A glistening dome spread over the queen, its edges shining like a soap bubble. She shook her head, the beads of color on her face diluted within the little dome she must have erected for protection.

The vine around Rieve’s ankle loosened. She kicked her way out of it and stood as Zimmermann reached her. He grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet, his eyes on the fallen queen.

“She’ll only be out for another minute. You have to run, Rieve.”

“You mean
we
have to run! Let’s go.”

He shook his head. “They’ll catch us. I can delay them.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

He wrapped one hand around the base of her neck and kissed her forehead.

“You have to, baby girl. The Vagabond needs you. Tell her what Evelyn did. Stop this before it gets worse.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “But what about you?”

“You’re wasting—”

The bubble around Evelyn popped. Zimmermann stood straight, his shoulders tense. He flinched, no doubt from the pain. He reached for the sword still sheathed at his waist.

Evelyn stood, her skin glowing with a white light that reminded Rieve of the moon. It brightened with every second. Strands of lavender light began to peep through the queen’s hair like growing strands. Her eyes brightened to an almost identical shade, soft and glowing. She grew taller, thinner, and her nails curved like claws.

Rieve’s mouth dropped open. This must have been Evelyn’s daru. But to fuel its power, she would need the energy of her subjects. And since neither Rieve nor Zimmermann still had the blood loyalty, that meant—

Men yelled overhead. The soldiers who had once tried to kill Rieve now fell to their deaths as Evelyn sucked the energy from them to fuel her growing daru. They sailed toward the earth, faster and faster.

“You’re going to kill them!” Rieve screamed at the queen.

Evelyn shrugged. “A few lives to save many.”

The queen raised her sword. Her shoulders lifted and fell, evidence of a deep breath. She would attack any second.

Several thuds cracked against the ground. Evelyn’s form shifted slightly, the glow dulling. The soldiers whose energy she stole must have just died.

Rieve fought back tears. “You’re evil.”

Evelyn hesitated. “You’re naive.”

Violet roots sprouted once more from the soil, littering the grass with dozens of squirming lines. They reached for Zimmermann and Rieve. One wrapped around Rieve’s leg up to her knee, but Zimmermann hacked it at its base with a single blow from his sword. The vine still clung to Rieve’s leg, the pressure too tight for it to fall away.

“Run!” he screamed.

Zimmermann raised his sword and swung at the queen. His blade met hers with a clang.

Rieve backed toward the forest, eyes on the battle. She didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t bring her feet to run away. Panic froze her chest once again, as it had on the cliff. She took deep breaths, but no relief came with the gulps of air. Her heart thudded in her ear.

“Shift!” her brother ordered.

Rieve’s body obeyed through her fear. She twisted toward the woods and ran, shifting into the Hillsidian form as her feet pounded the earth. Her body stretched. Muscles swelled. Hysteria and terror fueled her steps until she raced along the dirt, far faster than she could have run in her natural form. She jumped over a log, the Hillsidian form more coordinated than her Ayavelian nature.

She looked at them. Zimmerman ducked a blow from the queen’s blade. The woman swung again, her blade digging into his shoulder. He yelled.

Rieve’s heart broke. Her steps slowed.

You have to,
his voice echoed in her head. Only a memory, but forceful nonetheless.

Her throat stung. Water blurred her vision, but Rieve forced herself to look away and raced onward. She couldn’t fight a Blood. She couldn’t help her brother. She had to find a safe place to write a note to Kara before Evelyn could undermine the entire battle raging not far off.

Tears slipped down Rieve’s face, but she had to focus. Zimmermann would die. Evelyn may not have been as powerful as other Bloods, but she still had the daru and an army at her back. But he’d sacrificed himself to save not only her, but the vagabonds and the war. Rieve had to find a place to hide. She had to find Kara. She had to tell everyone what Evelyn had done.

Her legs pumped. She sobbed as she ran toward the Stelian castle, heartbroken. She betrayed her brother. She let him die. She was a horrible person, worthy of nothing more than a hole to die in.

When this war ended, if Evelyn survived, Rieve would slit her throat whether or not Kara let her. She didn’t care. No one owned her anymore. Rieve would kill the beast that killed her brother.

Dark green bushes cropped up beneath the trees, slowing her way. Spots of red covered the leaves, likely berries. Another bush twice her size popped into view not far off. Rieve changed course, bending toward it and slowing. She dove into it, pushing back branches to get to the middle. Pain shot through her elbow. With a curse and a sob, she pushed her back against the thin trunk to get her bearings.

Run—check. What next?

Warn the others.

She summoned her grimoire from the pendant. It sprang to life, blue dust and all, and settled into her lap. She flung open the cover and flipped to the page with the notes from the war.

The quill sat on the open page. She fumbled with it and the inkwell, managing to spill much of the black liquid on her fingers. It seeped into her nails, staining the skin. Tears bubbled through. She choked, her grief bursting past the last shreds of her resilience. She scribbled onto the page, fighting her blurred vision as she wrote. She hoped this was legible. No—it had to be. She sucked in a breath to calm herself, but she still trembled. Her throat stung. She reread what she’d written and nodded to herself.

Betrayal. Murder. Evelyn was a murderous tyrant not worthy of the bloodline she’d inherited. Rieve had gotten the point across.

She shut the book and hugged it close, wishing Zimmermann were here to hold her and tell her what to do next. He protected her. He kept her safe and sane. And he was likely lying on the forest floor where she’d left him, bleeding out and all alone. He’d suffer for her. She wondered if he’d cry, or if he would remain the resilient soldier until the very end. Her elbow throbbed, and her face twisted in anguish as she lost herself to the tears. She didn’t have to be strong anymore—she could cry. She prayed he didn’t feel too much pain. That somehow, in the last moments, all he could feel was relief. Anything to make this easier. He deserved a quick death, one he would forget as soon as he crossed to the other side.

She convulsed, weeping onto her book. She gripped the edges, digging her nails into the binding.

For the first time in her life, Rieve wanted to kill someone. A voice in her mind scolded her, warning her to focus on who Evelyn would betray next. But she didn’t care. She only wanted her brother back.

Chapter 19

Siege

Twin slouched in her chair and studied the Hillsidian throne room, waiting for something to happen. Sunlight poured through windows along the chamber’s high arches, thin beams illuminating motes of dust hovering in the air. Dozens of green banners hung from floor to ceiling, their gold insignias glistening in the sun. Nothing happened. No one spoke. Only Twin’s tapping foot offered any reprieve from the quiet.

A Hillsidian captain named Fenner sat on the opposite side of the table from her, eyes closed and arms crossed. His chin leaned into his chest as he, too, slouched in his chair. Twin wondered if this was some sort of meditation to keep calm, or if he was actually sleeping in the middle of a war.

She held her tongue.

Her grimoire sat open on the table before her, turned to the page with the war’s updates.

At first she’d marveled at being home after so long. It seemed like years since she’d roamed the halls of the Hillside castle, slipping through hidden hallways to travel faster from chore to chore. She’d memorized the castle in all her time here, but after all she’d endured, this wasn’t home anymore. The village was. As time wore on in Hillside, she cared less and less for it. She simply wanted to wander the forest around the village. She wanted to cook in its kitchens and pace the war room, studying the weapons hung along the wall. Once she returned, she doubted she would leave again.

Hillside was part of her old life, her weak life where she succumbed to the habit of using water magic to simulate her dead sister. Hillside represented her old self, the part of her that had lied to Kara, telling her she’d quit without much difficulty. Perhaps someday she would tell Kara the truth—that Twin had grieved for her sister with more intensity the longer she went without going to the waterfall, how she’d hidden away from the world and sunk into what she feared was the depths of loss she could never heal from. But the shame of being caught again at the waterfall kept her away, and in time, she healed.

Twin shook herself back into the present. She couldn’t slip back into that humiliation. That was her old life. Her old ways. She was a new woman—a strong one. A vagabond with her own grimoire. She had purpose and power.

She ran a finger along the open page. She’d read each update as it came in, the messages always shorter than she’d hoped. Orders to continue, notes that armies were about to go in, but no detail. No casualty counts. No description. She rubbed her face, trying again to picture what must be going on halfway across Ourea. Try as she might to imagine battle plans and troop movement, her mind kept trailing to what might happen to Kara. A sword through the heart—Twin flinched. Throat slit—she cursed under her breath. She had to stay positive. Worrying and fear wouldn’t do anything to help her friend.

The book hummed with another update. Twin snapped forward, hunching over her grimoire as words appeared. Kara, Richard, Elana, and Roj had all submitted an update. This should be Rieve with the final note from the Ayavelian armies.

It wasn’t. Roj was writing a second note. His words scratched into the paper, smudged and blotchy. Twin read his clipped entry and gasped.

“What is it?” Fenner asked.

Twin’s cheeks flushed with nausea. Her stomach churned. “The Lossians were betrayed. The Stelians knew they were there.”

Fenner leaned his elbows on the table. “How?”

“No idea.”

Twin leaned back in her chair and groaned, her eyes slipping out of focus as she debated what to do. No ideas came to her. She was too far away to be useful. She didn’t have Flick this time. Everyone who could do something was occupied.

“What do we do?” she asked Fenner.

“We wait.”

She frowned. “That’s the best idea you have?”

He nodded. “What else is there? Our duty is to guard Hillside.”

“Yours is. My duty is to protect my vagabonds.”

“Enjoy that, then.”

She gritted her teeth. Useless soldier. “How can you be so calm?”

He shrugged. “This is what I do for a living. If I wasn’t calm, I would have gone insane by now with anxiety.”

Twin’s shoulders relaxed. He actually had a good point.

He continued. “The Lossian army is impressive according to the stories I’ve heard. They’re resourceful and talented. Blood Frine is a wicked fighter, cold and calm regardless of what comes at him. Your vagabonds and this war are in good hands.”