Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (28 page)

She cursed again under her breath as a knot formed in her throat. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing. She should be out there helping the Hillsidian soldiers who were obviously being overrun. If Hillside were winning, the Stelians wouldn’t be in the castle.

But she needed to be Fenner’s voice to the outside world.

She trotted down the stairs and summoned the fire in her palm to light the way. She needed to get to the vault. That, at least, would always be safe. The Hillsidian tunnels were a labyrinth known only to the natives. In fact, Twin found a skeleton once when she was little and explored some of the more remote areas. If any Stelian did find his way into the tunnels, he would get lost without a guide. Even some Hillsidians died down here if they didn’t have guides, though most learned the paths at a young age. Twin knew the tunnels better than most.

She hoped Fenner was still alive, but she would stay in the vault for at least today and wait for him. If she didn’t hear from him soon, she would monitor the war from the hundreds of secret entrances and peepholes throughout the tunnel system. Though she wished for reinforcements to show up, it wouldn’t happen. The armies were at least a day away. It would take Flick to get anyone here sooner, and he could only manage a few people at a time. No one could fight an invading army four soldiers at a time. Three, really, since Kara would need to command her pet’s skill.

Saving Hillside was in Fenner’s hands, and Twin couldn’t be sure he survived this long. She tried to shake the fears from her head and focused her attention to navigating the tunnels. Somehow, someway, they would all survive this. They had to.

Chapter 20

Infiltrated

Kara’s fingers wound around her grimoire, the leather binding tugging on her fingertips. From her damp seat on the forest floor, she took one last deep breath. Cool air stung her throat, chilling her lungs as she inhaled. A flurry of nerves rippled through her gut. The book in her hand closed with a muffled thud, and she wished it away in a flurry of blue sparks.

Time to go.

Richard, Elana, Roj, and Rieve—every vagabond had checked in. Though Roj’s second entry sent a murmur of worry through her group as she read it aloud, no one could back down now. Potential trap or no, every soldier had engaged. All vagabonds wouldn’t keep their grimoires open during the fighting, so she couldn’t send a collective cease-fire. It was too late; this final battle began the moment Garrett shifted into that… thing. And with the whole of the alliance’s forces converging on the Stele at once, Kara’s team needed to slip in while the Stelian army was most distracted.

The sun sank below the mountain peaks ten minutes ago, and the final moments of dusk settled over the dim forest like a blanket. Garrett screamed as he hovered above the Stele, his scales a shade darker than the sky. Kara shuddered and grimaced, his shriek setting her nerves on fire. Wood splintered in the distance, cracking with a rumble that shook the ground. Men hollered from their posts on the wall, though Kara couldn’t see them in the thickening night. Only the occasional fires from beyond and above the wall illuminated the night with their flickering dances. A Kirelm zipped past a gap in the trees, orange flames in one hand as he aimed for something within the stone enclosure. Seconds later, an echo boomed through the forest. Flames spiraled into the air behind the wall. The canopy shivered overhead.

Kara wondered if she should open her grimoire again and check for another note from Roj. There may have been an update. So far, she’d only seen the one note from Rieve, which came shortly after Roj’s rushed entry. If he had another update, Kara might feel better about diving into the fray.

She rubbed her face. Of course he wouldn’t—he was in the middle of a battle. He didn’t have time to write an entry. They’d all known that going in. She and Braeden couldn’t stall or wait any longer.

Beside her, Braeden studied the onslaught, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Their team stood as well, all eyes on the Stele as the four armies converged. A fire billowed beyond the stacked stones, its orange glow casting a momentary flicker across her vagabonds’ faces. Most scowled. One Kirelm’s brow twitched, hinting at the doubt nagging Kara’s stomach. A wave of heat blasted through their patch of woods, singing Kara’s cheeks.

Her eyes drifted back to Braeden, and she sank back against her tree. Carden would kill him the first chance he got, but this was their one and only opportunity to take the Stele. They would make it in, and they would not only survive—they would win.

Braeden’s ear twitched, and his upper body shifted toward her as if he could feel her eyes on him. He examined her for a moment exactly as he’d studied the battle a second ago—eyes narrowed, arms crossed, mouth a thin line. But the wrinkles in his forehead relaxed, and he knelt beside her. With a forced smile, he set his hands on either side of her face.

“I need your head in the game,” he said.

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

“It’s time?”

“Rieve gave the go-ahead.”

“All right, then.”

Kara pushed herself to her feet and returned to the front line with him. Her vagabonds crowded around, all eyes on Braeden as he ducked through the low-hanging branches and trotted toward the wall.

So it began.

Kara hunched and crept toward the wall, feet shuffling along as fast as they would move. The boots of those around her barely made a whisper compared to the ruckus swallowing the night. She pressed herself against the wall, back straight and chest already heaving—though admittedly more from fear than their short run. Slivers of ice swam through the veins in her wrist, threatening whatever threads of sanity kept her calm in such chaos.

Braeden hunched and studied the wall. Kara followed suit. No sentries ran by, at least none she could see from this angle. Braeden gestured to Remy, who grunted and spread his black wings. The feathers disappeared into the night even before the Kirelm soared upward, his feet running up the wall as he scaled it. He slipped over the edge in seconds.

The team waited on the ground for his signal to join him. Kara bit her cheek as she lingered, already imagining her vagabond with a knife to his throat. She shook her head to clear the thought.

Remy stuck his silver head over the edge and waved his arm, signaling them up.

Braeden and the two Ayavelians shifted into Kirelm forms. Their bodies hummed, skin softening to the familiar silver of the Kirelm people. Wings sprouted from their backs like vines, twitching as each new feather grew. And though Kara admired the shifting process, a flush of panic swelled within her. She tapped her foot. They needed to
move.

An arm slipped under her knees and hoisted her off balance while she studied one of the Ayavelians. She bit her tongue to stifle a yelp. Braeden scooped her in his arms, crouched, and jumped into the air, the tip of his black wings brushing the stones as he hurled them into the sky. Her stomach flipped. She grabbed his shoulder. In her periphery, she caught a smile before they reached the top of the wall.

Boots tapped along the stone as the vagabonds landed beside them, though Braeden didn’t let her back on her feet. Demnug, last over the wall and dangling in a Kirelm’s arms, jumped out of the man’s grip before they landed. He tugged on his shirt and rubbed his neck. His Kirelm guide shook his head and wiped his hands on his pants, apparently just as disturbed by the experience. She would have laughed under different circumstances, but they had a job to do.

At this new vantage point, the destruction at the front gate became suddenly clear. The dozen spires of the Stele formed a silhouette against the wall of crackling red in the city beyond. A massive shadow rushed past the flames, bending them in its wake—Garrett. A clamor hovered in the distance, a cacophony of screaming, war cries, and clanging metal. Kara’s mouth fell open. Her nails dug into the hem of Braeden’s shirt.

Focus, Kara,
the Vagabond said in her mind.

Her mouth snapped shut, and she pulled her eyes away to concentrate instead on their predicament. The wall had no inward-facing fence to protect guards—or her—from falling to the ground, so she had a clear view and no cover. One or two guards ran along the far end of the wall, racing toward the raging fires at the front gate, their attention apparently consumed with getting to the battle. Below, only grass and the occasional fire tower filled the large courtyard. No trees. No cover. Seven lit fire towers littered the grass with no pattern, large patches of black separating them from their brothers. Light flickered over dark metal in the blackness, hinting at a few unlit towers. So they had a little cover.

Two hundred feet off, a one-story stone building rose from the ground, its ceiling sloping toward the grass beyond the doors. A tunnel underground. According to Braeden, this would take them to the main castle. Stelians shouted nearby, but Kara couldn’t make out from where. Four Kirelms dove a short ways from her, raining fireballs into the woods, no doubt chasing down escaping guards.

Braeden, still in his Kirelm form, jumped off the wall into the Stelian fortress. Kara’s stomach flipped. His wings rushed past her ears, slowing their fall. The rest of their company followed suit. Whooshes filled the night as they fell. Braeden beat his wings once more and landed without a sound. He set her on her feet, and she monitored her vagabonds as they descended. Demnug crossed his arms and closed his eyes, mouth warped into a frown.

A finger tapped Kara’s shoulder. She flinched. Braeden stood beside her, already in his Hillsidian form. He raised a brow, but she waved him off. She was fine.

He trotted out into the dark field, Kara on his heels. Her vagabonds formed a tight circle around her. She scanned the ground, following Braeden’s lead as he guided them with his intuitive knowledge of the Stele.

As they passed the expired night fire tower, a muffled scream drifted through the air from Kara’s left. She jumped. The cry died with a gurgle. Remy materialized out of the darkness, a bloody dagger in his hand. Black blood—from a Stelian. He must have taken care of whatever guard hid in the darkness. She shivered and pushed the thoughts from her mind. War. Murder. Mayhem. Chaos.

Men shouted ahead and to the right. Braeden slowed and crouched in the shadows between two night fires, so Kara followed suit. The group came to a halt in the middle of the field, all of them crouching just thirty feet from the building’s entrance. Both of its doors flew open. A group of about a dozen soldiers rushed out, the doors swinging shut as they trotted onto the grass. Kara swallowed hard. A bead of sweat dripped down her neck.

Turn left. Turn left. Don’t see us.

They didn’t turn left.

She tensed, fingers cracking as she prepared to summon the red sparks. She could disable at least half of them with one well-placed attack. Her shoulder blades tightened, ready to fire.

Braeden beat her to it.

He lifted a hand toward the gray soldiers and tightened it into a fist. At the command, a bolt of lightning darted from the sky. It landed a few feet ahead of them—a signal for the Kirelms overhead to attack. Smoke sizzled from a dark patch in the grass. The soldiers slid to a stop, boots skidding along the grass. Gray heads darted every which way, their massive black eyes scanning the darkness.

Kara almost cursed under her breath. Could they see in the dark?

A wall of fire showered the soldiers. Two Kirelms hooted and darted back into the sky. The dozen soldiers now screamed, their clothes alight. Several flailed. Others ran, clawing at their faces. These unlucky guards cast a dim glow on the grass as they scattered, a trail of tiny fires following them like breadcrumbs. Two ran into each other, the flames growing as they touched. Four simply fell, flames devouring their silver uniforms as they lay on the ground.

Kara bit her lip. These were Braeden’s people.

Braeden bolted for the door before Kara could read his reaction. She followed. The vagabonds ran behind her, keeping pace. One of the dead Stelians loomed ahead. She swallowed hard and jumped over it. Kara suppressed a shiver. She tried not to look down, but her foot bumped the corpse. A chunk of his arm fell to the ground and split into a dust, the powder curling on itself as it blossomed. The stink of burnt flesh charred her nose. Her stomach churned. Her cheeks flushed with nausea.

She wished she could grab Braeden’s hand for comfort, but they had to stay focused. This was not a drill. This was not a game. This was life or death, and failure was not an option. Too many relied on her small group for them to fail. If they didn’t kill Carden, countless more soldiers would die tonight. Bloods may even die.

Kara shook her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t find a positive thought. Her old friend Death would see too many souls tonight.

Chapter 21

Carden's Secret

Braeden ripped open the double doors and raced into the Stele’s tunnels. A dark hallway stretched ahead, lit only by a single sconce every ten feet or so. Its distant end shrank farther away the more intently he stared at it.

They had quite a trek ahead of them.

He trained his eyes on the shadows before him, forcing himself not to check on Kara. Tonight, he’d end the war. He couldn’t allow for any distractions.

Anxiety clawed through his chest, ripping holes through his confidence. He waited for the telltale pull of his father’s presence—the signal that Braeden wasn’t the only royalty in the Stele—but it never came. Either his father wasn’t here, or—