Lichgates: Book One of the Grimoire Saga (an Epic Fantasy Adventure) (16 page)

Gavin shifted his weight and glared at the floor from behind his hand, barely suppressing a grumble at her words. Braeden resisted the urge to grin.

The Queen glared at them both, acknowledging their exchange with an annoyed sigh before she answered Kara.

“Even if you did wait, Vagabond, he could never join you in the other kingdoms and would be forced to wait while you went on. You are alone in this. Braeden, retire to your guest. All but Richard and the Vagabond must also leave.”

The dismissed council members stood. Braeden nodded to the Queen and left, frustrated, but the hair on his neck stood on end when he passed through the door. He turned in time to see Kara watch him leave, her eyebrows pinched with concern as the door slowly shut in his face.

Gavin leaned against a wall in the hallway, smirking and examining Braeden as the door closed. They waited in silence for the generals and advisors to disappear into the labyrinth of doors and hallways.

“You failed to mention the Vagabond’s a girl,” Gavin said when they were alone.

“I tried during our match, but you talk too much.”

“It changes everything.”

“It changes nothing!”

Gavin cocked an eyebrow and his grin widened. “You seem fond of this one, brother. Did I cross some line?”

“I just want to protect the Vagabond.”

“Of course.” Gavin laughed, turning down the corridor that would take him to the armory. He shook his head and chuckled quietly to himself.

Braeden wanted to hit his head against the wall at his own stupidity. Gavin thought this was a game, now. That was all anyone in the world was to him: a pawn or a puzzle piece. The women of Hillside had a habit of swooning when they saw the Hillsidian prince, and Gavin would no doubt expect the same from Kara. Braeden turned down a different passage, heading toward the throne room and whoever waited for him.

That’s how he plans to control the Grimoire, then. He expects Kara to giggle and fan herself when he walks by. She might not be the warrior everyone expected, but she’s no idiot.

Braeden forced himself to take a few slow breaths as he maneuvered the labyrinth, snickering to himself as he envisioned all the ways Kara would reject the prince’s advances. If this was a game, it would be fun to see Gavin lose.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BLOOD

Braeden rapped on the labyrinth door to the throne room. It opened long enough for him walk onto the moon-shaped platform before it slid closed behind him, invisible in the wall once more. The emerald draperies hanging from between the pillars billowed as he entered.

A tall woman with pale blond hair stood at the foot of the stairs and, when the drapes moved, she turned her head to face him. When recognition set in, he laughed and hurried down the steps.

“Aislynn!”

“It’s good to see you, Braeden.”

She smiled and pulled him into a hug, her opaque skin reflecting blue and green specks of light as sunlight hit her through the windows. She pulled away with a smile and patted his back, catching his gaze.

Ayavelians were unique: each of Aislynn’s eyes had three pupils, and when she twisted her eyebrows just right, each of them betrayed a different emotion.

She looked at him with curiosity and glee, but her innermost eye tried to hide her fear, as it had since the day they met. His smile wavered. She would always be afraid of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Aislynn could never forgive him for what she’d endured when he was a boy—at least, not completely—and he never once blamed her for it. He cleared his throat in the silence.

“How long will you be here this time, Aislynn?”

“I leave in the morning, but Evelyn will keep Hillside company for a few weeks yet whilst I go about my travels.”

He grimaced and looked around to see if Evie, the younger, spitting image of her Aunt Aislynn, was nearby. Sure enough, she watched him from behind one of the draperies with a disdainful glare that made him grateful she didn’t know his true nature.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Evie said in a dry tone, turning to examine her nails as she spoke. She nodded to him without a smile, her obligatory welcome apparently fulfilled, and pushed through the doorway into the hall.

“For her attitude, you’d think she was actually an Heir,” he muttered.

Aislynn jabbed his side and clicked her tongue at him, but smiled nonetheless at his joke. “I promised my sister when she died that I would care for Evelyn, and since I am childless, she is all I have. My advisers may have actually found a way to give her the bloodline, though they are still evaluating the risks. I have faith that she will rule one day, so you must be kind to her.”

“Sorry.” He scratched the gauze on his cheek. The itchy cotton irritated his skin and he longed to take it off.

Aislynn’s eyes shifted to the gauze. She pinched his jaw and rubbed the green stain before slipping her arm through his and leading him from the throne room.

“I thought you were legendary for never allowing yourself to be wounded in a match,” she chided.

“I made a mistake.”

“You recovered nicely.”

“I was careless. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Shall we speak in the orchard? I have much to tell you.”

They meandered through the halls while he made a conscious effort to match Aislynn’s slow pace. Portraits of long-dead Hillsidian Bloods and their families lined the halls. She looked at each one, absorbed yet again in the same paintings which had hung in the hall the last hundred times they’d taken this route to the orchard.

They eventually walked through the set of massive doors leading to the apple trees that surrounded Hillside Lake. The air baked his face as they stepped from the overhanging shadows of the castle, and crimson specks of light danced off of Aislynn’s skin as they walked into the sun. Two Hillsidian girls carrying towels stopped as the light glided across Aislynn’s arms, and their lips parted in fascination.

Braeden snapped his fingers at them to shatter their gaping awe. They bowed, blushing, and ran inside as he and Aislynn continued their silent parade. He was quiet until they passed the first row of trees lined with early summer apple blossoms, where it was least likely that someone would be listening.

“Aislynn, why don’t you ever change form to avoid the stares?”

“You will not like my answer, my friend.”

“I want to know.”

She shot him a fleeting glance. “I have two reasons, then. First of all, I like to keep that gift a secret to protect those I care about. Secondly, I will not hide. I am a Blood of my people and I visit the other kingdoms to promote tolerance, so I present myself with that in mind.”

The unspoken truth in her words stung. She had never been forced to hide who and what she was, while lying was all Braeden had ever known. For half his life, he hadn’t even slept in his natural form. He could never let his guard down.

Aislynn changed the subject as they walked deeper into the rows of trees. “I wish to meet the Vagabond, but I doubt I’ll have a moment to speak with her alone. I therefore wish for you to give her something for me, if you don’t mind.”

Aislynn reached into a crease in her flowing gown and pulled out a small, blue square. Two ends of the stone were jagged and uneven, as if it was a corner that had been snapped off of something greater. It was only an inch or so thick, with flecks of gold shimmering in the dark blue stone. Lines, mostly meaningless, had been engraved along its face, but in one corner was the Grimoire’s clover symbol. She set it in his palm.

“What is this?”

“I don’t know. It was discovered centuries ago in our gardens, hidden in one of the walls. I think it was meant to be found by the next Vagabond. Thus, I wish for young Miss Catherine to have it.”

“I’ll give it to her,” he said, shaking the urge to correct Kara’s name.

Aislynn smiled as she picked an apple from one of the trees and set the red fruit in his free hand. He shoved the small blue stone into his pocket as she looked around. She eyed the trees, no doubt making sure they were alone. Braeden listened for footsteps, but heard only the wind as it blew through the orchard.

She lowered her voice. “Now that we’ve taken care of that, I must speak to you about another matter. Blood Carden’s men are patrolling a wider border. I question his intentions. There are rumors that he has been trying to conceive another child, but that none are born with the bloodline. I fear he knows that you are still alive.”

Braeden just laughed.

Her eyes flared with annoyance and surprise, but the unwavering fear remained. His laughter faded as he sat on the grass beneath a tree, but he waited to speak until she tucked her dress beneath her knees and sat beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But I found Kara because we were both captured and taken to the Stele. Carden spiked me and made me kneel at his feet. He knows full well that I’m alive.”

“How did you escape? Did he control you?”

“Of course he did. That’s what he does. If I’m near him, I have no control. Two muses saved us.”

“Drenowith helped you?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I have met a few in my lifetime. Braeden, they aren’t kind creatures.”

“What makes you say that? They saved us. They couldn’t have orchestrated our separate captures to fake a rescue.”

“Braeden, drenowith orchestrate whatever they wish. We are fragile toys in their immortal lives. Never forget that.” She breathed deeply and tapped her cheek.

He squeezed the apple in his palm and replayed the rescue in his mind. He’d never questioned his luck, but their timing had indeed been too perfect. The apple cracked beneath the pressure from his hand.

“They aren’t immortal,” he corrected, remembering Adele’s comment in the meadow.

“What?”

“One of the muses said that. They can die, they just don’t age.”

Aislynn narrowed her eyes, each of her six pupils flickering with deep and heavy thought. Whatever she was thinking about had dissolved even her fear of him.

“They can die?” she asked.

“They said it was possible.” His heart skipped a beat at her sudden focus. He wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Should you meet these muses again, I urge you to not trust them,” she said, still very much lost in her thought. “These creatures don’t care for our wars or our ways. Their only care is for the earth.”

“If that was true, then they wouldn’t have saved us,” he reasoned.

“They must have some greater use for you. Drenowith are dangerous things that never act without the authority of their Council. If they interfere, they do so slowly and very often falsely. I must meet with the Queen now, but Braeden, you must not trust them if you see them again. Promise me.”

“I will be careful.”

She smiled and cupped his chin in farewell, her skin cold to the touch. His mind flashed to the memory Kara had dragged from him, remembering the way his mother’s hand had left frost on his nose when she touched him. He lost himself to the wispy contours of the memory and didn’t notice Aislynn walk toward the castle.

When he finally blinked himself out of his thoughts, he was alone in the orchard. He pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his pant legs before walking toward the lake. Once he found it, he sat on the shore and gazed out to where the water met the sheer wall of the mountain side. There were said to be caves beneath the surface, but no one dared explore them because of the countless rumored merfolk sightings. Those creatures enjoyed filleting trespassers.

It was for that superstitious reason alone that he decided against hurling rocks into the pool, as much as he wanted to throw something to vent his frustration. Instead, he plucked a few stray blades of grass from the shore and sat on a half-submerged boulder, shredding them bit by bit and letting the shards pile on the rock beneath him.

“That brother of yours sure talks a lot.”

Instinct sent his hand flying for his sword, but when he saw Kara on the grass beside him, he sighed and slid the blade back into his scabbard. She cocked an eyebrow. She wore pants and a loose tunic, now, and she’d pulled her hair into a bun. A few stray curls framed her face.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me,” he scolded.

“Apparently not. Sorry.”

“You changed clothes?”

She modeled the tunic, looking over the loose sleeves tied at her wrists. He frowned. The cotton dress had flattered her curves, but the loose pants and tunic dwarfed her.

“It’s still not jeans and a T-shirt, but it works,” she said.

He turned back to the water and continued to rip apart the grass. A breeze whispered across the apple trees and shed blossoms onto the wind so that they landed in heaps on the lake’s surface. The mountain’s reflection rippled and broke across the water.

“How was your meeting with the Queen?” he finally asked, trying to fill the silence.

There was no answer, so he looked over his shoulder to see if she was still there. She was, but she examined her gloved hands with unfocused eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I have to say that only an idiot would ever make that woman angry.”