Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (35 page)

Hopefully Stone could fix it or make her a new one. Until then, this one wouldn’t serve any use. She was already exhausted and about to snap, and she’d only been without the wrist guard for about an hour. She didn’t want to imagine life without it.

“Kara, we need to go,” Braeden said. Flick chirped from his place on Braeden’s shoulder as if to agree.

“I’m coming.” Kara closed her eyes for a moment to stabilize herself. This war wasn’t over yet.

Chapter 26

New Enemies

Braeden took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Kara. She leaned in, arms at her side, not returning the hug. He didn’t care. Flick purred and butted his tiny head against Kara’s.

Finally, after a few seconds, she set her hands on Braeden’s waist.

He kissed her forehead. “I know we’re supposed to meet in the throne room, but please take me to Hillside first and bring the Bloods later.”

She hesitated, eyes downcast. “You promised we’d never leave each other. Something bad always happens.”

“I know.” He hugged her tighter.

“So no, I won’t.”

“Kara, listen. We can’t wait around for the Bloods to find the throne room. If they lost sight of their vagabonds in battle, or if their vagabonds haven’t checked their grimoires lately, the Bloods will think they’ve won. They probably don’t realize Evelyn’s on her way to Hillside. I need to get there as soon as possible to help the defense guards prepare.”

“Why won’t this war end?” she asked.

“It will soon.”

She grumbled.

“Kara—”

“Fine. I’ll take you to Hillside and explain what happened to the Bloods.”

“Will you be okay?”

“I’ll try.”

Braeden ran a hand along the back of her neck. He paused, debating his options. He should go to Hillside. A message in the grimoire wouldn’t be enough. He had to help them prepare. But he also needed to protect the love of his life. She could barely function without her wrist guard. She needed him.

Her eyes flicked to his. “Go, Braeden. I understand.”

He rubbed her shoulders and smiled in gratitude. “I love you, beautiful.”

She grinned. Her eyes danced, and her skin glowed a paler green with what he could only assume was joy.

“I love you, troublemaker.”

He kissed her forehead again. “Shall we?”

She nodded and scratched Flick’s forehead.

A
crack
echoed through the Stelian ballroom. The arched ceiling and Deidre’s corpse disappeared.

After two lichgates, the crack of Flick’s teleporting rang in Braeden’s ear. He shook his head to dilute it.

The Hillsidian lichgate sat before them, its golden gates visible and open. A line of tree homes led the way, the five-tree castle a beacon in the distance. Sunlight poured through the streets. Stelians swarmed the road, running in and out of homes. Sunlight glinted off their silver tunics like light on an ocean. Hillsidians peppered the landscape, mostly corpses. Screams pummeled the city, mixed with the clang of metal on metal. Electricity sizzled through the air as a bolt of blue lightning struck a building nearby. Flames sprung up on the roof, catching and racing toward the tree’s leaves.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Kara asked, eyes wide.

“I’m sure. If the Bloods haven’t seen your message, you need to assemble them.”

She nodded. “Find Twin. I’ll be back soon.”

He set his hands on her face and kissed her. “Be safe.”

“You, too, Charming.”

He stepped back, watching her as she left. She forced a smile. The
crack
of Flick’s teleporting snapped through the air. Braeden flinched, and when his eyes opened, Kara was gone.

He took a deep breath and charged into the city. Green light flashed out of the corner of his eye, and his stomach churned as he crossed the lichgate. He ran, ducking the Stelians on his way to the castle. A Blood’s commands were strongest when given to those nearby, so he needed to get to the town square. It was in the heart of the city, and he could likely reach every Stelian from that vantage point.

With every step, he muttered, “Stop fighting. Stop fighting.”

He directed the mumbled mandate to anyone within range. Stelian after Stelian relaxed, glancing around with frowns and wide eyes. No one swung at him. Eventually, the Stelians blocking him from the castle parted, making way.

He caught sight of his hands—olive. He was still in Hillsidian form. He sighed and pressed on. He would have to change his appearance once he got to the balcony. He was a Stelian. He couldn’t hide that anymore. Hell, he shouldn’t hide that anymore. He was the Stelian Blood and proud of his strength. There was no shame in who and what he was.

The balcony neared. Braeden shifted into his Kirelm form, body shaking as wings sprouted from his back. He shot into the air and stretched his feathers to gain height. He heaved himself over the railing and slid, boots skidding on the polished stone. His body hummed once again as he shifted form.

Charcoal gray skin bubbled through the pale silver of his Kirelm form. His body thrummed and grew as it returned to his natural state—Stelian. His shirt stretched with him, the Ayavelian fabric designed to give as its wearer shifted. The balcony railing receded slightly as he grew a few inches taller.

When his body settled, the Stelians below watched him with wide eyes. Several of his soldiers had Hillsidians trapped in their arms, the natives wriggling as they tried to free themselves. Swords littered the cobblestone ground. In the distance, men yelled. Fires raged in several tree-homes to his left.

He raised his hands and cleared his mind, focusing on one more mandate—
stop fighting.

The clamoring quieted, replaced by the crackle of fires and the murmuring of those Hillsidians trapped by Stelians.

“I am Blood Braeden Drakonin. Carden is dead. His orders mean nothing, and this war with the world is over. We Stelians are not the enemy. I want peace. I want you to know what it means to live free, to trade with the other kingdoms and be respected for the powerful nation we are. If you hate the Stele, we will find another home. But know that with me as your Blood, you are now free to live anywhere you please. A new age is upon us!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, though those with Hillsidians didn’t let go of their charges.

Braeden continued. “Release whatever prisoners you have. This is their home, and we are guests. Another army approaches, ready to tear this kingdom apart, and it is our duty to protect them as repentance for this assault on their home.”

A Stelian solider in the front released his prisoner. The Hillsidian slumped to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. The Stelian lifted the man’s arm and pulled him to his feet, letting the soldier lean on him as he regained his footing. The Hillsidian soldier grimaced, though Braeden couldn’t tell if it was from his wounds or from the Stelian’s touch.

“Which Hillsidian is in charge?” Braeden asked.

“I am, sir,” a man raised his hand in the throng below.

The crowd parted to reveal a stocky man. He limped his way forward, putting too much weight on his left foot as he tried to stand.

Braeden shifted to his Kirelm form one last time, body humming as his muscles shrank. Once his wings sprouted, he floated to the ground. In seconds, he shifted back into his Stelian appearance, doing his best to ignore the impulse to shift to Hillsidian. His years of conditioning and life in the Hillsidian castle pushed back, urging him to match the natives. He shook off the desire and resisted the urge to study his gray hands.

The soldier nodded in welcome. “As I’ve never seen your Stelian form, would you do me the honor of shifting to the face I recognize so I can confirm who you are?”

Braeden frowned, but the man had a fair point. He obliged, shifting to his Hillsidian form. The olive skin bled through the charcoal gray. Braeden cracked his neck and spread his arms open wide. “Satisfied?”

The man nodded. “I’m Captain Fenner, Blood Braeden. I was ordered to guard Hillside in Blood Gavin’s absence.”

Braeden shook his hand, remaining Hillside for the time being to make the guard comfortable. “I can only apologize for not getting here sooner. I had no idea this was in Carden’s plans.”

Fenner shrugged, but winced and held his shoulder.

Braeden set a hand on the man’s injury and channeled his energy, summoning his magic to heal. Tension pulled on his shoulders and chest, but he channeled the magic until he heard the pop of bones snapping into place and a sigh of relief from Fenner.

“Thank you,” Fenner said.

“You’re welcome. But I’m afraid this isn’t over.”

Fenner laughed. “That would be too easy, I suppose. What’s next?”

Braeden rubbed his neck. “The entire Ayavelian army is on its way here. My best guess is it—and Blood Evelyn—should arrive in about ten hours. We need to rally all remaining forces from both Hillside and the Stele outside the city to keep her army from getting in.”

Fenner cursed. Braeden nodded. They needed to prepare, and most importantly, they needed to get those who couldn’t fight into the vaults below the city. He’d often explored them in his free time as a young boy in the castle, as they reminded him of a safe version of the feihl caves—a labyrinth without the monsters. Civilians would be safe there.

“Are all the civilians in the vault?” he asked.

“Most are. We need to rally the last few.”

“Can you convince the Hillsidians that my soldiers aren’t going to hurt them?”

Fenner let out a long, slow sigh. “I will try.”

Braeden resisted the impulse to echo that groan. This wouldn’t be easy.

Two hours after he arrived at Hillside, Braeden sat with a huff on a thick tree branch outside of the city, near where Kara left him earlier. He rubbed his face, but hesitated at the sight of his olive skin. He’d remained in his old form for this long to make the Hillsidians more comfortable, as they’d come to know Braeden, adopted prince of Hillside—not Braeden, Blood of the Stelians they’d been raised to fear.

A Stelian knelt in the underbrush a few yards off, the man’s gray skin dotted with glittering beads of sweat. He fussed with his pack, his sword glinting in the grass at his feet. He looked up, catching Braeden’s eye. Braeden nodded a hello, and the Stelian soldier returned it with narrowed eyes.

Braeden frowned. They were his people, but they didn’t know him. They couldn’t. He’d been running from them his whole life. He took a deep breath and let his body shift to its natural state—the charcoal gray skin that reminded him of his father.

Despite the horrors he’d committed in his attack on the Stele, he wasn’t his father and would never become as evil as that man. Somehow, he would make his own way. He could change the Stelian reputation. He’d resisted a direct mandate from his father at the Gala. He’d survived a Sartori attack. He’d broken into his own kingdom to liberate it. If anyone could solve this puzzle of how to make things right with his people, he could.

The wind rattled the leaves above him, slinking over his skin and drying the sweat on his jawline. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

When this ended, he would sleep for days.

Feet shuffled against the dirt at the base of his tree. He peered down.