Illusion: Book Four of the Grimoire Saga (4 page)

Kara cracked her elbow on a soldier’s neck. He buckled. A jolt of pain shot through her arm. She cursed and summoned red sparks once more. Soldiers around her cringed—they’d been singed enough by now to know this attack hurt. Tension built in her shoulder blades, weighing down her arms. She released the tightness with a grunt, letting the sparks loose over anyone nearby. Many yelped. Some screamed. She reached for their vests while the pain distracted them, tearing off every white garment she could see. Paper ripped beneath her fingers.

She whipped around in a split second of peace before the next wave of soldiers. She couldn’t fight them all, not even with Braeden’s help—there were too many. But she didn’t know what else to do.

Braeden stood on the podium, inching toward the Stelian impostor. He swung his fist at someone she couldn’t see from this angle. They had to get out of this—regroup and go back in with a better plan.

Flick burped on her shoulder and whimpered. Poor thing. Too many people grabbed on at the last minute, pushing his limit over four—and he hadn’t handled that well. Hell, no one had. A wave of nausea had burned through her, dropping her to her knees. She managed to roll out of harm’s way before anyone could snatch her vest, but she’d forced herself to fight through the sickness. Flick could barely hold onto her, and he wasn’t recovering as well as she.

Kara had to stall long enough for Flick to regain his strength. Then she would grab Braeden and get back into the hallway to formulate a new plan.

But she didn’t have much time. The Ayavelian soldiers swarmed Braeden. She didn’t know how he still had a vest. Only four or five at a time kept to her, which in effect meant they were just trying to keep her busy. Braeden was the royal. He was their target. If they tore off his vest, the game ended—and her team would lose.

She had to get him out of there.

A soldier raised his sword, his eyes locked on her neck. He twisted the blade so that the flat end glistened. He likely wanted to knock her out so the entire army could focus on Braeden.

Fat chance.

Kara summoned a gust of air. The tension pulled in her palm this time, hovering for seconds before she released it. The gust sailed toward him, pushing him off his feet. He toppled, landing hard on his rump with a yelp.

She scratched Flick’s ear. “Ready, buddy?”

He whimpered again. She hoped that meant yes.

She visualized Braeden ten feet off, silently instructing her pet to take her to the man she loved.

Crack!

The room spun. Braeden’s olive face and black hair filled her vision. His eyes widened. She grabbed his shirt and rubbed Flick’s head again, imagining the roof of the fort.

Something tugged on her vest. The rip of tearing paper filled her ears.

Crack!

The yelling dissolved. A breeze ruffled her hair, cooling the sweat on her neck. Her ears rang, twitching as the softer roar of the war below reached her. She sighed and smiled, relief washing through her. The crackle of fires floated through the chaos. Smoke stung her throat. She coughed.

They stood on the roof of the fort’s only tower. Fireballs rained from above. Fires raged below. A ripple of yells echoed from the ground.

“All right, we need a plan B,” she said.

“Kara,” Braeden said, his voice a flat monotone.

“What?”

His face hardened, wrinkles forming on his forehead. His eyes locked on hers, thin slits as he glared at her. His hands balled into fists, as if he held himself back.

A pang of panic thudded in her gut, replaced shortly thereafter by annoyance. “What? You were losing! You’re welcome!”

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Your vest.”

She ran her hand along her chest. The white vest held on by only one sleeve, the other shredded and torn to bits. Half of it was missing. She cursed, and it took a moment for the dread to creep up her spine.

Her vest was gone. She was out of the game.

Braeden’s jaw twitched. “That soldier was lunging for me. I was about to duck and take him out when you appeared. He got you instead.”

Kara reached for his shoulders, to tell him it was all right and just a game, but he took a step back. A flurry of anxiety crept through her core.

Braeden crossed his arms. Flames erupted from his hands, bending around his biceps as they flickered. His skin darkened, flickers of charcoal gray seeping through the Hillsidian skin she knew so well.

He was changing form—or worse.

She froze, eyes wide. Flashbacks rooted her to the floor. He’d done this once before, and she’d been too petrified to move. Memories flooded her from the first time he donned his daru in front of her—the fire, the snarling, the way he’d laughed when she couldn’t speak. He’d wanted to be a vagabond. She’d said no. And whatever darkness ruled him when he donned his daru had left her speechless.

His body trembled, growing. His bones popped, loud enough for Kara to flinch with each snap. He stared at the floor, scowl deepening with every second. Steam blasted from his pores, pushing through his shirt. His face widened. His irises expanded until it covered the whites of his eyes. Red flames crept up his shoulders, covering his arms in fire. Black flickers bled through the flames, casting eerie shadows on his face.

Kara forced herself to swallow. Ripples of fear fluttered in her chest, replacing the usual butterflies she felt when she saw him. She gripped the tower’s edge, eyes wide as she waited for him to speak.

A spark of anger swallowed the fear. He was her fiancé. She was going to spend the rest of her life with him. He wasn’t supposed to frighten her. She set her hands on her hips and frowned.

“Now look—”

“Give me Flick,” he said, his voice a growl.

“Not—”

He raised his gaze to hers without shifting his head. Red eyes bore into her. A chill shot down her back, stealing the words from her mouth. He frowned, the full rage of his daru concentrated into his glare.

Kara swallowed. She held Flick to her chest.

Braeden grimaced. “I would never hurt him, but I can’t talk to you right now.”

Kara took a deep breath. Flick’s ears perked up, but he didn’t whimper. He squirmed, his paws shoving against her thumb as if he wanted free.

She paused but ultimately released her pet. She lifted one hand in the air. Flick jumped on it, his little feet pressing into her palm. He leaned in as far as he could to sniff the air by Braeden.

Braeden held out his charcoal gray hand. The flames up to his neck dissolved with a hiss. Flick jumped onto his palm and raced up to his shoulder. Braeden caught her eye once more.

Crack!

Kara flinched. When she opened her eyes, Braeden and Flick were gone. Firelight illuminated the sky, casting shadows into the night.

She sank to the floor, hand on her heart.

“What did I do?” she asked the empty tower roof.

Braeden appeared in the throne room. A sea of heads turned toward him, bodies tense to attack. He stood by the door where he and Kara had entered minutes earlier. Flick chirped on his shoulder.

Rage scorched his veins and ignited the depths of his fury. His chest rose and fell in short, quick bursts. Black flames crackled in his palms, but he isolated them to his lower arms as best he could to protect Flick. The fire seared the sleeves of his shirt. The stench of melting fabric stung his nose.

Silence washed through the room. No one spoke. Weapons sank to the floor, sword tips and ax blades tapping against the stone like rain. The Ayavelian guards gaped. Hands shook. Eyes widened. He stared at the sea of faces, studying them. His senses sharpened. Heartbeats thumped in the chests around him. Several men caught their breath. He smirked.

Fear me.

A few swords clanged on the stone floor, the clash echoing in the quiet room.

The Carden impostor stood beneath the banner, his eyes as wide as the others. Braeden walked toward the man. Soldiers parted to make way for him. The Ayavelian guard playing Carden whimpered. His skin bleached in places, and he shrank. Iridescent skin glimmered in the low firelight, casting red and blue circles onto the white stone wall. The man’s face narrowed, the eyes shrinking until three small pupils replaced the single black iris of the Stelian race. The guard’s mouth hung open.

Braeden reached for the man’s red vest and pulled. It gave without effort. He dropped it to the floor.

He reached both hands for the banner hanging on the wall and yanked. The edges resisted, bolted as they were into the wall. Braeden tugged again. The fabric ripped.

He took a deep breath and imagined standing on the fort’s roof once more.

Crack!

The interior disappeared, replaced in an instant by the dark night sky alive with the roar of warring men. An almost-new moon hung in the sky, barely illuminating the fight below. Fire rained down in fireballs from the Kirelms overhead. Thousands of heads bobbed below.

Kara sat against the fort wall, her arms wrapped around her torso. She frowned when he examined her. Flick jumped off of Braeden’s shoulder and bounded toward her. The little creature curled in her lap and pressed his head into her abdomen.

Braeden took a deep breath. He still didn’t know what to say.

He waved the banner and let it loose over the battle. For a moment, nothing changed. He frowned. The Kirelms flying overhead would easily notice it, but those in the heat of the ground battle may not, especially with no moon to light the evening sky.

But the yelling dissolved, followed closely by cheering. The war game ended. Within seconds, cheers died down, and the flood of bodies shifted toward Ayavel. Distant blurs of green, brown, and blue began to bob toward the fort’s gates.

“Please change back,” Kara said, her voice soft.

Braeden gripped the edge of the tower’s wall and leaned into it. He sucked in a slow breath and nodded.

He pushed the anger inward, deep down to the hole where he locked it away from the world. He closed his eyes and focused on happy memories—lying in Kara’s lap after he proposed to her, dancing with her at the gala, chasing her through the Vagabond’s village in their week of solace.

Almost all his happy memories involved her. She was his source of joy, the only way he could control the anger. His love for her gave him the strength to defy a mandate from his Blood—something few, if any, had ever accomplished. And if this game had been real, she would be dead.

He listened to the night sky. Wind ripped through the air. A gust stung his cheek. A hint of pine tickled his nose. The trees clapped together, whistling as the evening carried on without a care. An owl hooted not far off.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ground below.

“Kara, do you know what my greatest fear is?” he asked.

She shuffled behind him, shifting her weight, but didn’t answer.

He spun around and leaned against the wall. She sat against the opposite wall, her thin frame pressed against the stone, both palms pressed into the floor. She eyed Braeden with a light frown, eyebrows twisted as she studied him.

He crossed his arms. “I’ve never been scared of death. I used to fear my father, but I’ve discovered there are more frightening things in this world. I’ve fought isen, killed earaks, and even survived the Stelian feihl. But I could never imagine a world without you in it. That’s what I fear, Kara—losing you.”

She tensed and looked away. A knot formed in his throat. Stress tugged on the muscles in his neck. A dull pain throbbed at the base of his head. He took another deep breath, but he couldn’t relax.

“You’re the Blood, Braeden. Without you, we’d have lost the game.”

“But this game reflects reality! The only reason we’re doing this is to practice. You’re not supposed to die in the game!”

“I know, but I would do it again if it meant saving you.”

Braeden cursed. “Your move was far too risky, Kara! You can’t repeat that mistake in the real battle.”

“You’re going to be the Blood of a nation, Braeden! You’re more important. I thought that was obvious. You need to do whatever wins us this war.”

“Don’t prioritize my life over yours. My life would be a miserable mess without you in it.”