Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga (5 page)

The rattling stopped. With a click, the lock slid back. The handle turned, sliding open at whatever silent command came from the person in the hallway. Kara bit her lip in annoyance—that was a charmed lock, one that shouldn’t open for anyone except the person who locked it. But she figured one isen would know how to unlock it anyway: Stone.

She wanted to tell him to go away, that she wouldn’t stack another stupid brick, but she kept silent. She still hadn’t recovered from lighting her own desk on fire. She didn’t trust herself to talk yet. Or move. Or be near people.

Kara closed her eyes. The door creaked open. Footsteps thudded along the wood floor panels. The door shut. The footsteps stopped by the entrance, as if inspecting something. The hair on the back of Kara’s neck stood on end.

A frame scraped the wall. Stone must have adjusted a picture hanging there. All she could think of was the portrait of the man she still didn’t recognize.

“What do you want, Stone?” she asked.

He chuckled. “You’re just like your grandfather.”

She cringed and snapped her head around to glare at him. “Don’t compare me to that murderer.”

Her grandfather—Agneon—murdered too many Oureans to count. Isen, yakona, drenowith—he killed them all. Murder was the only thing he could do well. He even killed her grandmother. Kara didn’t want to be compared to such a vile man.

Stone shook his head. “When he killed, your grandfather was merely obeying orders. You know an isen must do as his master commands, and Niccoli wanted those people dead. In most cases, Agneon had no choice. It’s the same as saying if I wanted you to kill someone, you would have to do it. So he did as any slave does. When he couldn’t cope with the murders, he found an escape to avoid the guilt. At first, it was women in general. Over his centuries...well, I’m sure you don’t want the details. But when he met your grandmother, he found love for the first time in his life. He—”

“He killed her,” Kara interrupted.

“He
loved
her. More than anything or anyone. They were passionate, hot, and testy, but it was love. And in his passion, he lost himself. He lost control. Yes, he killed her. But it was an accident.”

Kara grimaced. “How do you accidentally kill the person you love? I could never do that.”

“You didn’t intend to knock over those bricks for four solid hours, either.”

“That’s different.”

“Hardly. You couldn’t control yourself enough to do something so simple as hit a target. Agneon couldn’t control his power, either, and your grandmother was unfortunate enough to be in the way. How are the two of you any different?”

Kara’s jaw tensed. She didn’t answer.

Stone cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to shame you. I just want you to you understand. Why have you taken to moping? It’s not like you.”

She stared at the bookshelf across from her. “I don’t want to hurt people, Stone.”

“Then focus. If you’re paying attention, you won’t.”

“Of course I’m focused. You think I want to hurt people?”

“That’s not what I said.”

She pointed at the charred remnants of her desk. “I set that on fire trying to light a candle! I was calm. I was clear-headed enough. But this new power isn’t manageable, Stone. I’ll kill people!”

She walked to a window and leaned her forehead against the glass pane. The hot glass burned her skin, but she sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to endure the heat. Forty feet off, trees swayed in a summer breeze while Kara waited for something in her life to make sense again.

Stone sighed. “Life is not simple, Kara, but you are strong enough to overcome this. It’s a setback. Your grandfather went through it, too.”

She gritted her teeth at being compared yet again to the murderer, but she didn’t say anything.

Stone stepped a little closer, and she looked over her shoulder. The old isen stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, eyeing her. His salt-and-pepper hair and mustache made her think yet again of Shakespeare, but she could never see Stone creating art of any kind. He was a scientist. He dissected anything and everything he could until he understood it.

He crossed to her window and examined the forest. “Your grandfather went through just as much self-doubt and fear, Kara. This is your family’s curse, and it’s yours now. When you became an isen, your body fine-tuned itself. You’re stronger and designed to manipulate magic. Thanks to the bloodline you inherited from your grandfather, you function in a unique way. There isn’t another isen like you. Energy is constantly flowing into you, and it builds up when you’re not using it. So when you do use a technique, it explodes. You lose control.”

“Then what’s the point of this wrist guard?”

“It limits the intake of energy, but nothing can stop your magic completely. The guard teaches you to control the power over time.”

Kara nodded to the burnt desk. “This thing’s not teaching me anything.”

Stone crossed his arms and stared at the singed remains of her desk. Kara leaned against the wall. Angst and energy burned in her gut, but she couldn’t go there. She needed to stay calm, even when trapped and hoping for an answer she wasn’t sure would come.

Stone caught her eye. “May I show you something?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“His home.”

Kara balked. “Agneon’s? Didn’t he live with Niccoli’s guild?”

She didn’t want anything to do with Niccoli, and she would never go near him again if she could avoid it. He controlled a powerful group of isen—his guild—and rumor had it he ran the largest and most powerful guild in Ourea. That vile isen told her what she was, and he only wanted her for her power. He wanted to make her a true slave, one who killed as often as her grandfather. If Stone hadn’t awakened her as an isen and became her master, Niccoli would have managed to do it eventually.

Stone shook his head. “Sometimes, Agneon and your grandmother would run off to a second home. It’s where he kept most of his things. It’s also where he killed her.”

Kara narrowed her eyes. “Why the hell would I want to see that place, then?”

“He left something for his daughter. For his heirs. I want you to see the pain he endured every day. Once you do, I think you’ll realize you two aren’t so different after all.”

Kara hesitated. When she did finally speak, her voice was almost too low to hear. “I don’t think I want to know that.”

Stone inched closer. “He wasn’t evil, Kara. Neither are you. I just can’t help you anymore. I can’t understand why you react the way you do. But maybe if you see what he endured, you will be better equipped to handle this new energy. Will you go?”

Without answering, Kara set her forehead on the window once more. Heat crawled over her skin like a fog, soothing her racing thoughts. For a moment, she relaxed.

She did want answers. She did want help. She couldn’t control herself. If Agneon lost control and killed the woman he loved after centuries of learning to master himself, what was stopping Kara from doing the same to Braeden? Her shoulders sagged. She would do anything for Braeden, even if it meant learning she was more like her grandfather than she wanted to believe.

“When should we go?” she asked.

Stone nodded, as if she had finally seen reason. Perhaps she had.

“We should leave now. It’s quite a trek from here, and you’ll need all the time you can spare to sort through the house. Let’s fly. Pick your mount.”

“Shouldn’t we use Flick? He can teleport.”

“He can’t teleport through lichgates, which would leave us walking through three portals in dangerous areas. We should fly.”

“All right, then. Let’s take the black dragon from the Grimoire. I think he can fit us both.”

Stone shuddered. “I don’t ride mounts if I can help it. I’ll be fine.”

Kara laughed. “It’s not like you can fly, Stone.”

“There are several perks to having stolen a drenowith’s soul.” He grinned.

Kara’s smile fell. She gaped at the old isen, comprehension spreading over her mind like a frost.

“You can change form?” she asked.

Stone nodded. “Summon your mount, but Flick cannot come. You need to experience this house alone. We should leave now.”

Kara straightened her back and snapped her mouth shut. One of the few people she trusted had kept yet another secret from her. Her mentors didn’t seem to trust her with the truth.

She crossed her arms. “Why wouldn’t you tell me you can change form? That would have saved the long trip here after you turned me.”

He shrugged. “I never wanted you to return here. You weren’t ready, but you wouldn’t shut up about it. I figured a longer journey would give you more time to learn to control yourself, but my ploy obviously didn’t work. And there is much you don’t know about me, child. I doubt you will ever learn it all.”

“Then why—”

“Kara, there is no time for this. Your vagabonds need you to master your power. I’m offering you a chance to learn how to accomplish the task. Are you coming or not?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MEMORIAL

Braeden sucked in a sharp breath to calm his nerves. After four hours of scouting the Stele and an overnight trek back to the golden city of Ayavel, he stood at the front doors of the palace. At least he was allowed passage through the main lichgate without question anymore. The guards knew him and always let him and Iyra through. But after they entered the city this time, Iyra ran off into the forest to relax after their trip. Braeden would wait a few days before looking for her again. He owed her as much for her help.

Before him, two golden doors framed a set of glittering stairs. Eight guards lined each side of the palace gates, two on each step—four more than last time he’d come in this way. What a welcome.

He began up the staircase. With each step, white light glimmered in the stone under his boot, and the air hummed as if he’d stepped on a piano key. He shook his head. Only in Ayavel would this sort of thing exist.

The palace’s front doors groaned and opened at a snail’s pace, their hinges grating as the palace begrudgingly welcomed him. No one wanted him here. He was Heir to the Stele, after all. He represented the darkness of his father’s empire, even if he wanted nothing more than to end the old man. If Braeden were anyone else, the gates would have been open and waiting for him long before he stood on the front step.

It took another minute for the doors to open enough to slip through. A respected guest would have waited. A prince would have been received. But as his only company was the guards who wouldn’t look at him, Braeden didn’t bother with propriety or courtesy. Since the doors weren’t open when he arrived, he wouldn’t wait for the slow formalities for fear he would be an old man before he stepped foot inside.

Once through the croaking doors, his boots tapped against the golden floor tiles. Clumps of mud fell off his boots, leaving a trail of dirt and leaf fragments in his wake. He didn’t care. All he wanted was a meal and a warm bath.

The white hallway went on forever. Gold trim lined the floor and ceiling, breaking whenever an identical hallway turned off in another direction. Each corridor led to a distant wing of the massive castle, but Braeden never tried to learn the entire layout. He never had time. Even now, he barely recognized where he was. He eyed the hallway to his right. A flash of recognition snapped through him, but he couldn’t place exactly why this particular passage seemed familiar.

A sob shot past him, breaking his train of thought. Another followed. Someone whimpered—a soprano note that could only belong to a woman. He hesitated, looking around, and followed the weeping down a hallway to his left. The crying stopped as he found a pair of double doors, one of them set slightly ajar. He peeked inside, only to find four golden thrones set on a platform at the far end.

He cursed. Someone was crying in Ayavel’s throne room, of all places. He hesitated, waiting for confirmation. Sure enough, the mystery sobs began once more and drifted through the open doors.

Braeden’s fists tightened. He hated to set foot in the room. Not long ago, Gavin and the other Bloods chained him, threw him to his knees, and sentenced him to death in there merely because he was Stelian. He’d managed to earn some of their trust back since then by demonstrating his mutual hatred for his father, but he had never regained their respect. He doubted he ever would.

He sighed. However much he hated that room, he couldn’t just walk by when someone obviously needed help. He hadn’t yet met an Ayavelian who willingly showed public emotion in such a way. Something had to be very wrong.

Braeden peered in and shifted to get a better view. A woman’s slippers appeared to the left, most of her obscured by the door. A blue gown spilled around her ankles, its threads shimmering in the sunlight pouring through the windows above.

He rapped his knuckles on the door. His knocks echoed in the vast chamber. The sobs stopped. A woman sniffled. The shoes slipped out of view, so Braeden pushed the door open. His breath caught in his chest.

Evelyn lay on the stones, her knees tucked underneath her with that blue dress spilling out across the floor. Her classic Ayavelian skin reflected blue and green specks of light as sunlight hit her through the windows. Straight hair framed her face, its white glow accentuating her almond eyes as she stared at him. Ayavelians had three pupils in both eyes, each of which could convey a different emotion. But now, Evelyn stared at him with only a deep-rooted sorrow. His throat tightened.