Treason: Book Two of the Grimoire Saga (a Young Adult Fantasy series) (57 page)

She huffed. Lightweight.

“Krik, you idiot!”

Deirdre grimaced, remembering the way Aislynn had so freely used the word after the failed coup to steal the muse’s blood. She hated living the general’s life, mostly because Aislynn despised him. No matter. The queen wouldn’t be alive much longer, and Deirdre wouldn’t have to worry about keeping up the stupid general’s appearances after that.

The last of Deirdre’s skin faded into the iridescent glow of Krik’s body. Her spine stretched, and his white hair flowed down around her ears.

“My lady?” she asked in Krik’s voice to buy time. Ayavelians were complex creatures. Changing into one took longer than other forms, but it would only be a few moments more.

“Where are you? Enough of this!” Aislynn snapped. Her voice wavered ever so slightly, the fear almost hidden by the curt tone.

Good. Be afraid.

The last of Deirdre’s façade pinched into place. She came out from behind the tree to find Aislynn eyeing the woods opposite. A billowing gown engulfed the thin queen’s frame. How could she move in such a thing? Her feet, her arms: the rush of fabric hid everything.

What does Niccoli see in such a stupid, gullible creature?

“Ah, there you are, my queen,” Deirdre said, still using Krik’s voice.

Aislynn jumped, but recovered with a glare. “Why would you call me to the middle of the woods? What was so pressing that we couldn’t speak in the palace?”

“We have a traitor, my lady,” Deirdre said, suppressing a grin. Yes, there was a traitor. There were several.

“What on Earth—”

Deirdre rushed into her prepared lie. “How else could the Vagabond have escaped? She was drugged, my queen. She shouldn’t have been able to open her eyes, much less escape. She had help. I have my suspicions, but with the other Bloods so close, there was no safe place to speak.”

Aislynn’s eyes narrowed. “Who was it?”

Deirdre knew, but she wouldn’t tell the queen. It wouldn’t matter soon anyway, so she would lie to buy time.

She ambled toward Aislynn, so as not to raise suspicion. She only needed to be a foot or so away. Then, Niccoli’s little queen would be hers.

She was so very
close
.

“I am uncertain, Majesty. I fear, though, that it is another Blood.”

She walked behind the queen as if pacing and waited for Aislynn’s eyes to fade out of focus. Deirdre took one painfully slow step after another, biding her time until the queen’s defenses fell.

Aislynn crossed her arms and stared into the distant trees.

“No. Gavin’s not foolish enough to—”

Deirdre’s heart stuttered in her chest.

Now!

She grabbed the sword from its sheath. It seared her hand, scorching Krik’s palm to the bone in the few seconds it took to unsheathe the sword. But it was all she needed.

Aislynn turned too late. The blade sliced the skin from her right collarbone down and across to her left hip. Deirdre summoned the wind into her palm and threw it into the queen’s collarbone. The force propelled Aislynn backward into a tree. Bones cracked. The queen fell onto a pile of dead leaves.

Deirdre groaned. Pain shot up her arm like fire and frost and lightning, all at once. She forced herself to slide the blade back into its sheath. White bone showed through the blistering skin on Krik’s hand. Blood festered and popped in the untreatable wound. Deidre marveled at Carden’s strength. She had underestimated him. Not only did he grab the Hillsidian Sartori, but he’d carried it back to the Stele.

She tried and failed to flex her hand. No matter. She wouldn’t need Krik’s face again, anyway.

Deirdre let the façade crack and peel away. When the general’s face disappeared, she examined her hands—smooth and flawless as ever.

She glanced back to Aislynn. The Blood’s lips parted in horror.

“‘How?’ ‘Who?’ ‘Why?’” Deirdre cooed in a mocking tone.

“What have you done, Deirdre? I have no quarrel with you!”

“Not directly, no. However, I am impressed you know my name.”

“Every yakona does. You’re a monster.”

“Perhaps.”

The queen’s glittering blood trickled along the pale gown, almost identical in color. Deirdre poked the skin beside the festering cut. The blood sizzled.

Aislynn stifled a scream. “Give me the sword. I will give you whatever you want if you let me make the antidote.”

“And what is so precious about your life?” Deirdre asked.

“What?” Aislynn asked.

“You said I could have anything. If you truly believe I’m a monster, you just gave me the reins to toy with your kingdom. With your people. With you. And for what? What makes your life so worth living?”

“A heartless thing like you wouldn’t understand.”

Deidre frowned and glared down at her prey. She set one hand on the queen’s stomach. With the slightest of grins, she summoned magic to her fingertips.

“That was the wrong thing to say, pretty little queen.”

Thin rays of black lightning danced up Aislynn’s body. She froze. Only the occasional shudder broke through the paralysis. Her back arched. The muscles in her neck tightened until they threatened to pop from her skin.

Deirdre didn’t stop until she saw the thinnest trail of smoke billow from the Blood’s lips. She pulled her hand away, and Aislynn gasped for air.

“Think before you speak, yakona, and you might just live a few minutes longer.”

Aislynn gagged and coughed. “What do you want?!”

If the Ayavelian could barely handle that, this wouldn’t be as much fun as Deirdre had originally hoped.

“I want Niccoli to feel the same pain I have felt every day since he killed Michael.”

Aislynn’s eyes widened. “How—?”

“I once loved a man more fiercely than you and that heartless bastard could ever dream. Niccoli took him from me. I failed once in my revenge, but I will not fail again. It will devastate him to see how much you suffered before death. Though it is nothing close to what I have endured, it will be some small compensation to watch him mourn.”

“You’re insane,” Aislynn whispered.

“We both are. Now, tell me. When you were with Carden, which of his tortures was your favorite? I’ve learned many things from that sadistic Blood.”

Deirdre sat with one leg curled beneath her and leaned her elbow on her other knee as she thought. She waved her hand through the air, summoning various techniques as she thought of them: icy blades flashed between her fingers; a current of yellow sparks snapped across her palm; hazy smoke coated her hand.

Aislynn sucked in a breath and stifled a quiet whimper.

Deirdre laughed. “Is that it, then? You enjoyed the slivers. Am I right?”

The queen closed her eyes and held her breath.

“I am! Good. I just learned this one, and I need the practice.”

Deirdre summoned the shadows of the woods. They raced from their trees and twigs and pooled in her own shadow, deepening and darkening it until ribbons of black smoke rose from the mass.

She pointed toward Aislynn, and the tendrils slid over her fingers until they dripped off of her. They wound closer to the queen, slithering over Aislynn’s dress like thin snakes. They coiled and slunk, inching closer to her face with each of the queen’s quick breaths. The occasional burst of white sparks running through the slivers illuminated Aislynn’s face as she trembled.

Deirdre brushed the hair back from Aislynn’s ear. “Once you die, little queen, you should stick around for the show that follows. I am about to unleash a vengeance unlike any other, and my work has only just begun.”

A sliver wound its way into Aislynn’s mouth. She screamed. She shrieked until the slithering smoke filled her lungs, and then she writhed in pain. She cried. She moaned. She begged for mercy.

And Deirdre did not stop until the queen’s corpse began to fade away into dust.

Two hours later, Deirdre hung the Hillsidian Sartori, safe in its makeshift sheath, back on the wall in Carden’s study. It hung alone on the wall, waiting to be joined by its long lost brothers.

Carden might be insane, but at least he dreamed big.

“How was your trip, isen?”

Deirdre glanced over her shoulder to find Carden sitting in the arm chair by the fireplace. The room had been empty when she entered, but she was used to him simply popping up.

“All went well. Aislynn is dead.”

“It worries me that you won’t tell me why you were so willing.”

She turned back to the sword on the wall and smiled. “You will be rewarded for your patience.”

A footstep warned her of his movement, but he moved too quickly. He pinned her against the wall. She allowed it, for the time being. His frighteningly beautiful face hovered inches from hers.

Few men intrigued her like he did. He held a certain gift Deirdre had never placed. He could hypnotize and terrify those around him with a single look. Well, everyone but her.

Deirdre would never trust him, but he seemed to trust her enough. She tolerated his missions because, soon, he would give her everything she needed.

“What are you up to, isen?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. He simply didn’t need to know.

After a few seconds of silence, he ran his fingers along her shoulders. She tensed. Her fist tightened, but she resisted the impulse to punch him in the gut. She still needed his help.

His hands wove in and out of her hair as if they owned everything they touched. She closed her eyes, pretending the hands belonged to Michael. It worked. Her skin warmed. She faded back into a memory of an orchard filled with peach trees. Michael reached for one and said she could have it if she kissed him.

But Carden’s voice in her ear ruined it.

“You betray your fellow isen, and I want to know why.”

She stiffened, the unwanted memory of Michael’s corpse lifting the careful folds of her mind. She stifled the thought and glared at Carden instead. He didn’t move, but it was a look that would have sent lesser men running.

“They disgust me,” she finally said.

She pushed hard against his chest, sending him backward several steps. He laughed at her strength, but she sneered.

“Good night, Carden.”

“Good night,” he said, offering an exaggerated bow.

Deirdre pushed past him and threw open the study door. Once through, she slammed it behind her. She was nearly done with Carden—the thought rushed through her with a pang of joy. He would serve his purpose soon, as had Aislynn.

Deirdre grinned. Niccoli would find the dead queen, half-rotten, in the weeds of their meeting spot tonight. If he truly loved her as much as he claimed, the agony of seeing her decomposing body would destroy him. He would see the scars. He would see the burns. In a few days, he would hear the fabricated rumors of how Garrett had come for revenge for what the queen did to Adele.

Niccoli’s grief would be but a taste of what Deirdre had endured. He did not yet know true pain. Deirdre would show him. And she was so very
close.

I hope you enjoyed
Treason.
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Thanks again, and stay awesome.

—S. M. Boyce

S.M. Boyce is a fantasy and paranormal fiction novelist who also dabbles in contemporary fiction and comedy. Boyce updates her blog a few times each week so you have something to wake you up in the morning. Oh—and her B.A. in Creative Writing qualifies her to serve you french fries. To learn more about Boyce, visit her website and her blog.