Treason: Book Two of the Grimoire Saga (a Young Adult Fantasy series) Page 28

  Evelyn arched her back. “She’d be dead if she hadn’t.”

  But the princess’s eye twitched again. She was lying! Someone must have kept Kara unconscious all this time, probably to keep her quiet. If Kara ever got her energy back, she would punch the princess first thing. In the face.

  Ithone sighed. “Focus, everyone. Aislynn failed, and we lost the willing aid of the Vagabond. I simply wish there had been a way to trap the muses without her.”

  Evelyn nodded. “We must decide what to do with her. The poisons in her blood are still strong enough to subdue her for at least another day. She will need them again soon if we wish to subdue her.”

  Kara looked again to Gavin, though she doubted he would actually help her. He refused to catch her gaze. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his temple as if lost in thought. Dark circles lined the space beneath his eyes.

  “What will happen to Kara when the poison wears off?” he asked.

  Evelyn turned to Ithone, as if the Kirelm had asked the question instead of her ex-lover. “That is what we must decide, and soon. She cannot be controlled by the spikes for much longer without permanently damaging her body and mind. However, Aislynn has asked to be present for that discussion. I believe we should keep the Vagabond subdued with the spikes’ poisons until Aislynn is well enough again to join the debate.”

  Gavin smacked the table. “Let’s not kid ourselves! You’re saying that you want Aislynn around when we decide who should control the Vagabond.”

  “That was implied, yes.”

  Kara pulled every ounce of her energy into her next words. She had to make them count. “I only wanted peace, but none of you deserve it!”

  Everyone turned to her. Her neck ached as she forced herself to look at them one at a time. Her ears started to ring. Most of the leaders turned away or looked out the window when she caught their eye, and only Ithone maintained eye contact.

  “I think that’s enough for one night. I vote to wait for Aislynn,” he said.

  Frine nodded in agreement. “And I. She has proven how far she will go for our cause.”

  “I agree,” Gavin added. Kara couldn’t help but wonder if there was a dual meaning to his words.

  The guards dragged her from the room. As she left, she tried one last time to catch Gavin’s eye. He watched her leave, but a wave of nausea swept over her as he did.

  More gray walls blurred by, until her eyes closed of their own accord. The world stopped moving, eventually, but her head continued to spin. A door latched. Crickets chirped somewhere far away, their orchestra conjuring a memory of her dad once telling her that crickets were nature’s thermometer.

  She shivered. Her cheeks flushed, and she wanted to vomit.

  Kara had failed, just like the first Vagabond. Those she had tried to protect had turned on her. According to Aislynn, they hadn’t ever respected her to begin with. And not only that, but they had turned on those who protected her as well.

  She didn’t know where Braeden had gone. Richard and Twin had no way of knowing what happened. Garrett would likely never speak to her again. Adele might be dead.

  Kara was most definitely on her own. She didn’t know what was worse, though: that she was alone, or that she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

  Chapter 19

  The General

  Braeden awoke to the relief of the chains sliding off his arms.

  He opened his eyes. The sunlight blurred the dungeon into smeared streaks of gray. He lay still to let his body heal around the poison.

  His feet pushed the burnt boot soles out of his skin. Each landed on the floor with a thump. Joints popped into place. Broken bones creaked as they fused back together. Burnt patches of skin dissolved into the unmarred charcoal gray that he so hated.

  He stared at the ceiling. He’d be here a while.

  Hair pushed through his head, growing back wherever it had been burnt off. Bits of his ears that had been melted in the torture now grew back. His fingers twitched as feeling returned. He shuddered as tremors shook his body, no doubt healing internal bleeding.

  Braeden did not sit up until his body recovered. He wouldn’t look at himself until he was whole again. He never wanted to know how bad it had truly been.

  When he did finally push himself into a sitting position, his arms shook under the minimal weight he applied to them. The room wobbled. He took a deep breath and sat still until he regained his balance.

  His vision returned, but he barely recognized the man staring back at him in the mirror. It was him, but he didn’t show an ounce of emotion. His eyes were dead, and even though he was terrified at seeing the cold creature he’d become, nothing registered on his face.

  The cold floor stung his bare feet. He looked around. Clothes and a new pair of boots sat on the first stair, so he grabbed them and changed.

  As he threw his now-tattered clothes on the floor, a piece of paper slipped out of a pocket and slid across the tiles. A small square of photo paper followed shortly after.

  Braeden knelt and picked them up—the pictures. A rip or two marred the singed corners; otherwise, the people in the photographs all smiled up at him without a scratch.

  His thumb brushed across Kara’s face. If he ever found her again, if he ever escaped this, they would run away to Scotland just like he’d promised.

  He slipped on his pants and stuffed the images in a pocket. The shirt stretched as he pulled that on, too.

  Footsteps echoed down the stairs. Though Braeden’s heart fluttered with panic at the sound, his expression did not change. He simply turned to see who it was.

  Feet appeared first, and Carden’s head appeared above them not long after. He grinned and crossed his arms. “You are now fully broken-in, boy. You can go wherever you please, so long as you do not leave the Stele. Also, we have a visitor, an isen you’ve met before and seem to dislike. Therefore, you are forbidden from harming Deirdre in any way. Those are my rules. You are free to do whatever else you like. This is your home, after all.”

  The mandates twisted in Braeden’s gut. He couldn’t disobey.

  “Thank you, Father.” Braeden’s mouth moved on its own again. He wanted to cringe at calling Carden his father, but couldn’t force his muscles to respond.

  “I will show you your room. We leave for the ambush in three days, so rest until then. I need you refreshed for the battle.”

  Braeden nodded and followed Carden up the stairway and into the hall. They wound up more staircases and crossed more hallways, but never again spoke. Braeden followed behind, keeping his distance.

  He had failed. Even with his free thought, he’d failed. He had no control over his body, yet consciously understood everything he did. Maybe Carden had wanted this. Maybe he’d done it on purpose and left Braeden’s free thought to make the punishment worse.

  No, that couldn’t be it. Carden wanted obedience, to “burn the defiance” out of him, after all. He’d probably meant to reset Braeden’s morality, or simply destroy all his memories of the world and people he’d grown to love.

  Kara alone had saved him from forgetting who he was. Thanks to her—well, Braeden’s affection for her—he’d defeated Carden, at least partially. But now Braeden was left in a disconnect between his thoughts and his actions. He didn’t own his body anymore. Even with his free thought, he’d never be able to disobey.

  Braeden blinked himself from his thoughts as Carden stopped at a door isolated at the far end of a hallway. Braeden bowed and let Carden walk away before he opened the door to what had to be his bedroom.

  The ceiling towered overhead, at least twenty feet high with a chandelier in its center. Couches circled a giant fireplace off to the left with a coffee table in between. A plate of jerky and a bowl of fruit lay on the table. Braeden’s stomach growled. He picked a few pieces of jerky from the plate and chewed on a slice as he continued through the room.

  Two other doors stood open on either side of the fireplace. One led to a king-sized four-post b
ed, while the other room held a desk and walls filled with bookshelves.

  Windows covered the wall opposite the fireplace, and a giant set of double doors led out onto a balcony. Braeden walked out and leaned against the railing. The Stelian forests covered most of the landscape, while the mountains blocked out most of the sky in the distance.

  Braeden’s room also had a good view of the Stele—most notably, Carden’s study. The doors to his father’s balcony were closed today, the curtains drawn.

  He had this room for a reason. Carden meant to keep a close eye on him.

  An ember of hope burned in his gut. That meant Carden had the slightest worry he would lose control. That meant Braeden might overcome this after all.

  “Indifference is a good look on you,” someone said from inside.

  Braeden stuffed the jerky in his pocket and turned to see Deirdre lounging on a couch. She snapped her fingers, and a fire roared to life in the fireplace. The warm flicker made her skin glow, but the lilac-pine perfume of the isen race made him recoil.

  “Get out,” he said.

  “I see Carden has also improved your manners. This has been a lucrative trip for you.”

  “I won’t repeat myself, isen.”

  “No, I suspect not. You don’t really want me to leave, do you?”

  “I do.”

  “Too bad. We could’ve had a lot of fun.”

  Braeden grimaced. “Not interested.”

  Deirdre shrugged. “You just don’t want me because you’re hung up on that girlfriend of yours. Such a travesty, that one. Wish her story had ended better.”

  The isen was baiting him. Braeden knew that much, but he still couldn’t stop himself from prodding her for information.

  “What do you mean?”

  “While you and your daddy were bonding, little Miss Kara got into a spot of trouble. Let’s just say she doesn’t have the sway over the Bloods that she used to.”

  Deirdre stretched farther back onto the couch and smiled up at him through narrowed eyes. He figured she wanted him to ask more questions, but he was on thin ice already. He didn’t know how much free will Carden had intended to leave intact; he doubted he should still care about anything.

  But Braeden had a compromise.

  He summoned a blade of air and threw it into the couch arm, just missing Deirdre’s head. He’d missed on purpose. He may not be able to hurt her, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Out with it or leave,” he said.

  The isen laughed. “I love it when you’re angry!”

  Braeden waved his hand at the door, pulling at it with his mind. It swung open and hit the wall with a bang. The sound echoed through the room.

  Deirdre rolled her eyes. “Kara was used as bait, Prince. Aislynn somehow got it into her head that she could steal a drenowith’s blood and take its power. She’s such a stupid fool. Power hungry, too. And now, little Kara is in a dungeon somewhere. She’ll be auctioned off soon, controlled by the highest bidder. When Aislynn’s little plan fell through—honestly, I don’t know how that woman is still alive—they locked the Vagabond away. But is there enough of you really left to care?”

  He glanced at the isen, but caught his reflection in the mirror mounted over the fireplace. His features didn’t shift.

  Inwardly, his stomach twisted. Panic raced through him. He wanted to run out the door and grab a horse, but his body suppressed the impulse.

  “Interesting.” Deirdre stood, grinning, and left the room.

  When the door clicked shut behind her, Braeden sank onto the couch. If a Blood ended up controlling Kara, she would definitely be at the ambush. They had witnessed her power at his trial, and they would want it for themselves—Gavin most of all. But if she posed a threat, Carden would kill her. In all likelihood, the king would order Braeden to kill her. He figured Carden’s agreeing to protect Kara was just a ploy to get Braeden to the Stele. Kara wasn’t safe from the Stelian Blood.

  Braeden couldn’t leave the Stele, not after the mandate from Carden. Yet, he couldn’t send someone else to help Kara, either. He couldn’t get in touch with anyone he trusted.

  He had to find her. He had to save her.

  But how?

  He looked out the window. The sun beamed its heat onto the balcony. He couldn’t think in here. He had to get out and walk around.

  Braeden pushed himself to his feet and strode from the room at a much slower pace than intended. He let his thoughts run wild and headed for the forest. A long walk might clear his head.

  It didn’t make sense. Deirdre had no reason to tell him about Kara unless the isen just wanted to brag. Well, that made sense. Somehow, Deirdre had tricked a few of the most powerful leaders in Ourea into ostracizing the one person who wanted to help them create sustainable peace. She no doubt wanted to hurt Braeden, too, to make him feel powerless. As he was locked away in the Stele, it would be impossible for him to help Kara.

  Impossible: the word struck a chord somewhere in the recesses of his mind. When he’d retreated during the torture, Kara said something about that. He racked his brain, trying to remember.

  “Sometimes, impossible just means you have to try harder.”

  That’s it. She’d said that months back, when they had realized the only way to the village was to get a Stelian amulet that would show them where to go. He’d been unwilling to go out of fear of running into Carden.

  At the time, she had questioned his lifetime of slavery to his father. She made it sound trivial, childish even, that he couldn’t fight his blood loyalty. He’d been disgusted by her blatant dismissal of something that had ruled his life. After all, he had always fought it.

  He stopped in his tracks, realizing for the first time that he stood on a dirt path in the forest. Sunlight poured through gaps in the gray leaves and illuminated his trail.

  Braeden had never fought. He’d always run away.

  His mother had smuggled him out of the Stele all those years ago. She had given her life so that he could run away from the Stele and never have to face what he was.

  He’d hidden in Hillside, skittish of any assignment that took him too close to the Stele. He’d even let some isen go when they traveled beyond his range of comfort. He’d lied, telling Richard he’d lost the trail.

  When the drenowith rescued him and Kara from Carden, he’d pushed them to run. As soon as the small army had passed by their little cave, he’d said it was time to go. Time to run.

  When Carden cornered them in the chamber with the Stelian amulet and forced Braeden to strangle Kara, he’d been offered a way out: obey Carden, or watch everything he cared about die. He had considered the latter as the better of his limited options.

  Braeden had always run. Every time he and Carden crossed paths, he’d done everything in his power to get away. His duel with Carden at the Gala was the only time Braeden had ever fought his father, and he’d nearly disobeyed the mandate to change form.

  A pang of hope made Braeden dizzy. He sat down on a log deep in the Stelian forest.

  If he’d resisted a mandate at the Gala, maybe he could resist the one tying him to the Stele. And when he did, he would save Kara. They would escape.

  He shook his head. The hope died in his gut. He couldn’t escape this life. That had always failed him. It was time he embraced what he was—an Heir. He didn’t want the crown. He had only ever wanted freedom, but to be free, he would have to become king.

  He knew so little about his people. He had always just assumed they were as cruel as his father, but the bones in the feihl caves proved Carden could kill his own kind. Some obviously dissented. How many simply did as their Blood commanded in an effort to survive?

  Carden posed the real threat, not the Stelian people. Braeden couldn’t punish the Stelian race for the acts of his father. He couldn’t let them die; he would simply kill their king. With Carden gone, he could show the Stelians what a real life was. A good life.

  A renewed vigor rushed through him. He needed to figur
e out how to disobey Carden’s command, but he didn’t have the slightest idea where to start. In a way, he hoped an idea would just come to him. After all, it seemed like he just messed everything up whenever he tried to be proactive.

  Braeden sat in the woods, staring at the ground until he lost track of the hours he spent waiting for something to make sense. He finally sighed. So far, he’d just managed to waste time. He needed a plan. Sitting on a log wasn’t helping.

  He glanced up, only to freeze when he caught sight of an animal standing a dozen feet off in the trees.

  The creature blotted out a chunk of the woods with its massive frame, its shoulder easily six feet tall. It crouched on its four feet, glaring at Braeden with green eyes that glimmered in the low forest light. Scales covered its jet-black skin.

  Its pupil focused on him, and it snorted. Its tail flicked about behind it, dragging on the ground and kicking up dust.

  He’d stumbled across a vyrn—one of the most vicious and least understood creatures in Ourea. It was stealthy, fast, and smart. It could even run faster than the giant wolves.

  It crouched, watching him, and Braeden kicked himself for letting his guard down. He hadn’t heard anything or even sensed he was being watched, but he knew very little about vyrns. Maybe their stealth was better than the legends claimed.

  He sat up straight on the log and kept eye contact with the creature. He swallowed to suppress the fear. No matter what it did, he would be able to heal.

  It dug its claws into the ground. Smoke rose from its nose as if the thing would breathe fire any minute, which really wouldn’t have surprised Braeden in the least.

  His first instinct told him to subdue the creature enough to ride it. He suppressed the thought. His rash choices had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and the last thing he needed was another enemy.

  He shifted his weight on the log. Something pressed against his leg. He reached for it without looking, and his fingers brushed the outline of the jerky in his pocket. An idea sparked in the back of his mind.

  Instead of attacking, Braeden pulled out the jerky as slowly as he could. He stretched out his hand and set the meat flat on his palm, offering it to the creature.