Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga (39 page)

Almost three hundred years of planning had come down to this night. Even Deidre, of all people, trembled. She couldn’t fail. She didn’t want to think about what she would do if her evening didn’t go as planned.

Carden lay stretched on the ground at her feet, feigning unconsciousness. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths marred by the occasional sharp intake. Under different circumstances, she would have known the Blood was faking. She hoped Niccoli would be too arrogant to notice the occasional irregular breath.

In less than sixty-four seconds, Niccoli would arrive as scheduled. Though sometimes early, he was never late. He would think Deidre had done it, that she had brought him a Blood’s soul on a platter for him to steal. He would rehash some version of the lie she told him: that absorbing Carden’s power would finally give him enough of an edge to get revenge on the muse for killing Aislynn. He would smirk and say yet again she had done well.

As he praised her, she would force a smile. She didn’t want his praise. All she wanted was his heart in her hands, still beating. And tonight, she would have it. Her previous two attempts to kill her master had failed, though he only learned about one of them. But this time, Carden would kill Niccoli for her.

“You continue to amaze me,” someone said from the darkness.

Deidre’s eyes snapped toward the voice, though the rest of her remained rooted in place. She couldn’t move. Too much of a thrill boiled within her.

“I live but to serve you,” she lied. Deidre only served herself.

Niccoli emerged from the forest’s shadows, his pale skin a sharp contrast to his dark hair and thin beard. The isen strolled forward, his black eyes trained on the Blood at Deidre’s feet.

She nodded to Carden. “He’ll be easier to take while unconscious. I can’t guarantee how much longer he’ll be out.”

Niccoli rested his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened. It would give her no greater pleasure than to light him on fire, but she had to bide her time. She had to be patient.

Her master had only walked toward her trap; he still needed to take the bait.

He smiled. “I owe you dearly, my girl.”

She forced a smile.

Niccoli circled Carden, eyeing the Blood from head to toe. He might have been checking for a trap—Deidre couldn’t be sure. As her master examined his prey, she slipped backward into the forest step by tiny step until she was out of range.

Her master knelt. His hand reached for Carden’s neck. Deidre tensed. What was that idiot of a Blood waiting for?

In the blink of an eye, Carden jumped to his feet, drew his Sartori, and swung the blade at the isen master’s neck. Niccoli flinched and ducked. The sword whistled past, missing him by a hair.

Deidre frowned.

Niccoli lunged. Carden swung. The blade missed, but Carden followed through with a fist to Niccoli’s nose.
Crack
. Red blood rolled down the isen’s face, and he spat some of it to the ground. He spun, his heel aimed for Carden’s neck. It made contact with a
thud
.

The king dropped to one knee from the force, black blood gushing from a fresh tear in his jaw. He pushed himself up almost as quickly as he fell. The broken skin on Carden’s face stitched itself together as he healed.

Deidre wished she could steal a Blood’s healing ability. How useful.

The men lashed at each other, grunting and cursing as they fought. Deidre leaned against the tree, watching every movement with a hunger she couldn’t describe. Hundreds of years rode on the outcome of this battle, as did her future and freedom. She paid for this moment with every sacrifice and cashed-in favor she had at her disposal. She could not fail.

She let her mind wander into the unthinkable: defeat. True, she wouldn’t suffer, regardless of the winner—neither Niccoli nor Carden knew the truth. Neither knew her plan. If Niccoli somehow won, she would just have to begin again. And with every year she waited for her revenge, Niccoli’s suffering would double. She would see to it personally.

Carden’s breath came in short bursts. Black blood trickled from wounds on his neck. They weren’t healing for some reason. Deidre’s jaw tensed. How could Niccoli possibly know how to keep a yakona Blood from healing?

Niccoli ducked and spun again, probably to land another kick on Carden’s face. Carden grunted and met the kick with one of his own. Bones cracked in both men’s feet. Niccoli screamed and fell to his knees. Carden’s ankle twisted too far to the right, but he landed on his broken foot anyway. He grimaced and grinned at the same time.

He’d won.

Carden shoved his Sartori into Niccoli’s gut. The isen choked. His hands inched toward the wound, his fingers twitching. He stared down at his stomach, his mouth trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

Deidre laughed and ran to them. She fell to her knees, skidding a few inches along the blood-drenched grass. The fabric of her pants stuck to the ground as she inched toward Niccoli, but she didn’t care.

Her master caught her eye. His eyes widened, twitching even as he focused on her. His vacant stare cleared for a moment. He choked on a breath.

“You’re smiling—?” he asked.

Deidre laughed again. “I am. I’ve waited to see you on your knees for hundreds of years, and now I have finally seen everything.”

She ran her thumb along his bleeding jaw, his coarse stubble grating against her skin. He sputtered. Blood trickled out the side of his mouth. She smiled. She would savor this.

“But you’ve always helped me,” he said.

She frowned. “You idiot. I had no choice but to help you. You’re my master. You control me. I learned as much the first time I tried to kill you—a servant can never kill her master, but she can get someone else to do it. She can break the world around him until he succumbs to the weight of his own weaknesses. She can wait, ever patient, until she finds someone who can kill him.

“I unraveled you, Niccoli. Everything you lost in the last hundred years was my doing. Your precious Agneon? I poisoned his wife’s mind by telling her your plans for their daughter. I told her provoking Agneon would guilt him into letting the child leave, even though I knew he would lose control. I knew her death would destroy him, and his death would destroy you. I didn’t care what happened to the girl. But you thought you could replace him with Kara, so I let her get away from us in Scotland. I didn’t even put up a fight—me, of all your isen! You should have known better, but you have always underestimated me.

“And speaking of your isen, master, they will disband soon. Without you to lead them—to control them—they will squabble and bicker and fight until the isen Guild you spent centuries building crumbles from within. You were too arrogant to choose a successor, and they will fight for power until there’s nothing left to take. Everything you built in life will mean nothing in just a few months.”

Deidre grabbed his hand and brought it to the hilt of the Sartori. She wrapped his fingers around the handle. The blade’s defenses burned his skin. He choked back a scream. Smoke barreled from his palms. With his hand blocking hers from the blade’s poisonous touch, she twisted the sword and shoved it deeper into his stomach. He screamed.

She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. “And as for your lover? I tortured Aislynn until I was sure her death would be as miserable as yours. You certainly saw the aftermath, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to end you, too. I wanted to see you die. So I convinced you a muse killed her. I knew your arrogance would lead you to believe me when I said you could absorb a Blood. You failed, fool. I’ve owned you for years.”

“Why?” he spat.

His neck tensed. She could barely hear him. The Sartori’s poison worked its way through his system faster than she’d anticipated. He wouldn’t survive much longer, so she had to make her next words count.

Deidre caught his eye. “I did all this because I hate you for killing Michael. You deserve this, all of it. I wanted to watch you suffer before I watched you die, and I have. Michael was the only light in my miserable human life, and you took him away so I would have nothing left but to become an isen and obey you. Why did you think I would ever forgive such a thing?”

He sputtered and coughed. Deidre leaned back in time to avoid a spray of blood. Niccoli gurgled, his body convulsing. His head tilted to the side. A stream of red liquid tumbled out like drool.

“It wasn’t me,” he whispered. His lips brushed grass as he repeated himself again and again. After a moment, the words slowed. It didn’t take long for them to stop entirely.

Deidre grimaced. Why would a man let his last words be a lie?

Niccoli’s foot twitched. His breath escaped through his broken nose, whistling as it left, and he didn’t take another. Lie or not, his last words didn’t matter.

She was free. Deidre laughed. She’d done it. After centuries of misery, she’d gotten her revenge. She spun around in a circle and reached for the moon. A giggle raced up her throat, and she laughed into the sky.

“I’m free!” she screamed to the clouds.

A man chuckled. Deidre snapped her head toward the sound, only to find Carden sitting on a log. A trail of blood ran down his arm, and several more rivers trickled from his nose and a tear on his cheek. He watched her through two swollen eyes, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he grinned.

Deidre smirked. Right. The useless royal. He could still serve her if she played her cards right. Though this time, he couldn’t see it coming. She would have to trick him into letting her get close. Considering how often he leered at her, seduction would work best.

Now for part two of Deidre’s plan.

“Why aren’t you healing?” she asked.

Carden held up his right arm to reveal a white handprint across his forearm. “He cursed me with some technique I’ve never seen before. It slowed my healing but didn’t stop it. I’ll be fine in about an hour.”

Deidre smiled and sat on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in, careful to run her fingers along his pulse. His heartbeat sped up at her touch. Good—he did want her after all.

He rested his hands on her hips. She suppressed a sigh. The man was just too easy to control. At this point, the only way to turn him off would be to lean on a wound. She would have to be careful to avoid them.

Deidre brushed her lips against his ear. “However can I repay you for freeing me?”

“I have several ideas,” he muttered. His voice came out as a rumble, as if the tension of said thoughts was too much to bear.

No thanks.

She reached her hand around him, positioning it closer to his neck. The barb in her palm itched as it neared his spine.

Part two of her plan still worried her. If she did this—if she went for Carden’s soul—there would be no room for error in a scheme riddled with unknowns. If she succeeded, she might control the Stelian bloodline, or she might not; she had no idea. Alternatively, Carden might be strong enough to escape. Worse, he might even take over her body. Thus, why he had to be at his absolute weakest.

If he overpowered her now, she would never finish her work. She had a final task to see to before she joined Michael in the next life—one she needed the Stelian Blood’s influence to accomplish.

Her fingers tensed on his neck. “We have some time to kill. Why don’t we explore some of those ideas of yours?”

He laughed. “You’ll have to wait a little while, princess. I can barely move.”

She kissed his ear. “Good.”

The barb in her palm dug into the base of his neck.

He screamed and pushed her away, but it was too late. She wrapped her free arm around his head and her legs around his waist. He fell to his knees.

An image flashed across her vision: a Stelian woman with a slender face and warm eyes. The forest returned just as quickly. Who—?

Wife. Dead.
Carden’s voice echoed in her mind, obeying her request for information. She smiled. The Stelian Blood would belong to her soon enough.

Emotions and flickers of thought raced through her mind. Hatred. Resentment. Arousal. Greed. He intended to drain the Bloods and take their power. He would run Braeden through with the Stelian Sartori next chance he had. He would happily do the same to Kara if he could get Braeden to watch—anything to wound the boy further.

An image of the little gray teleporting creature he kept with him flashed in Deidre’s mind. The creature sighed, nothing more than Carden’s prize from a deal he made with a snow demon years ago—Carden transferred his ability to feel heat to the demon in exchange for the animal and its abilities. The thing had no name, nor did the Stelian Blood plan to give it one; it was his servant and could teleport him through lichgates. Only its function mattered.

His emotions blurred by again. Fear. Panic. Betrayal. Devotion. He had always wanted Deidre. He always wanted her love. Craved her attention. He tested the boundaries of their relationship, waiting for the day he could shove her up against a wall and—

She reeled back from the thought. Disgusting.

Wave after wave of Carden’s thoughts flowed over her. The high of stealing a soul built in her navel and reached through her chest toward the base of her neck. A familiar chill shot through her, followed by the growing warmth she loved. When she could finally leave this retched world, the only thing she would miss was this high.