Excerpt from chapter four

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Kara wove through the crowd on the Gala’s dance floor, trying her best to go unnoticed on her way to meet Braeden in the garden despite her blood-red gown; however, in a throng of mostly green, white, silver, and blue dresses, there wasn’t much sneaking involved. The hair on her neck stood on end, and she turned to see Gavin staring at her. The king’s eyes trailed her path from his place on the dance floor. She picked up her pace.

Going up the main stairs would have been too obvious—even though it was the faster route, everyone would have known she was leaving. Instead, she wove through back halls and up rear stairwells she had explored during her sleepless night in Ethos, pausing now and again as she lost her way.

Great. At this pace, Braeden would think she had abandoned him.

She rounded a corner and stopped again, retracing her steps in her mind to figure out where she’d wound up this time. When it came to her, she grinned—she was only a minute or two from the garden.

“Lost?” someone asked from around the bend in the hallway.

Gavin sauntered around the corner and leaned against the wall as he came into view. He crossed his arms, watching her with a smirk that made her skin crawl.

“No, I was just going for some air.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll come.”

He pushed off the wall and wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her the wrong way down the hall with nothing more than a light pressure on her back.

“No thanks,” she said.

She slipped out of his grip, but tripped and fell against the wall as she did so. He stepped closer, giving her no room to move, and put his hands in his pockets.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you push me away? I made a mistake, Kara, and I apologized. A vagabond forgives mistakes, do they not?”

“I do forgive you. It doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Or like you, she added to herself.

He chuckled. “I’m not as devious as you seem to think.”

“Please, Gavin. I just want some time to myself.”

It was a lie, but she wanted him to leave.

His smile faded in an instant. “Then tell me why you’re toying with my brother.”

“I—what?”

“Braeden has fallen for you, Vagabond, and you should know better than to mess with his mind. If you break his blood loyalty to me—”

She laughed. When his eyes narrowed, she coughed to cover her outburst.

“I would never break his blood loyalty to you,” she said in as even a tone as she could muster.

“Leave him be,” Gavin said.

His words were neither an order nor a request—in fact, the tone made Kara lean deeper into the wall. It was tender and calm, with a sweetness to it that slowed her breathing.

Gavin inched closer. “To survive this war, Kara, you need a king. Braeden might give you happiness, but I would give you the strength to do what must be done.”

Kara had no answer. Her lips parted, useless and without a comeback. Gavin turned back down the hall the way he’d come, his footsteps receding until there was only silence.

Excerpt from chapter one

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In the hidden world of Ourea, there are too many beautiful places to name: rose-covered cliffs tower miles over the valleys and forests below, cities thrive in submerged ecosystems beneath the sea, and the dragons that once ruled volcanoes are now but fossils in a cave. The creatures of human myth flourish in Ourea. Trees are this world’s skyscrapers. Magic is its currency. And while the rest of Earth forgot what it means to dream big, Ourea kept alive its wonder.

At least, that’s how Kara saw it.

She sat on a ledge in a cave, a dozen feet or so above an indoor river littered with rapids. Green sunlight poured through a crack in the ceiling, its rays tainted green from the branches which blocked her view of the sun. The light danced across the river, illuminating the white foam that splattered into the air as the water rushed by below.

Kara dangled her legs over the edge, listening to the chorus of water roaring through the cave. The ledge on which she sat served as a catwalk through the cavern. Several more ledges lined both sides of the cave, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to get to them. She stared up at the ledge ten feet above her, her eyes following the natural walkway until she came across a missing chunk a few yards off. Maybe she could climb that someday, but all she wanted now was to relax.

Her ledge wound around a bend in the cavern wall and toward a waterfall that fed the river. Behind the waterfall was a flight of stone stairs that led to a dirt trail, which curved through a forest for about a mile before it opened out into the Vagabond’s village—her village. And there, somewhere in the myriad of empty houses and vacant rooms, Braeden was probably starting to realize she’d ditched their sparring practice for the day.

Kara eyed her satchel, which lay empty against the cave wall. Flick—the red, teleporting ball of fur that he was—was out and about exploring the cave. The Xlijnughl (Zyl-LEYN-guhl ) could find trouble anywhere, so she hoped he would stay close. She would just have to keep an eye out for him.

Her stomach growled. She glanced through the tree branches above to take a guess at the time, but she couldn’t even see the sun through the leaves. As much as she wanted to believe Braeden wouldn’t find her little haven, she knew better. Braeden could track anything. That prince could track a month-old trail if he wanted. There was no escaping him, not that she would ever really want such a thing. Not after all he’d done for her.

She sighed and leaned her head against the cave wall. Pebbles broke off as she pushed against it, so she grabbed one as it fell and chucked it over the edge.

Braeden had guarded her while she visited the yakona kingdoms. He’d helped her bring them together in a loose sense of the word. He’d saved her life when she fled Hillside. She shuddered—her brush with Gavin had been too close. He’d tried to trick her into wearing a poisoned tiara that would have made her his slave.

She scoffed. None of this even sounded real. This world couldn’t be real. She would wake up from her coma any day now. That had to be it. A secret world hidden beneath the human race’s collective nose couldn’t be real.

Right?

“You scrunch your eyebrows when you’re lost in thought.”

She blinked her eyes back into focus. Braeden sat next to her, even though she hadn’t even heard him on his way across the ledge.

He watched her with that half-cocked grin of his. Black hair framed his face, longer now than when she’d first met him a couple months ago. A few beads of sweat rolled down his temple, tracing his olive skin in a pattern she wanted to mimic with her finger. His dark eyes caught her in their gaze, and she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“No, don’t stop. It’s cute,” he said.

She laughed and punched his shoulder. He teetered and reached for her, grinning as if he was about to pull her over with him, only to scoot a little closer once he righted himself. Though he would never throw her off a cliff, Kara pulled her feet onto the platform all the same once he started laughing, too.

“You shouldn’t push people who are sitting on ledges, you know,” he said with a wink.

Kara smiled. “You’d heal instantly.”

He nudged her shoulder. “Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, I’m sorry then.”

“Ungracious apology accepted.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Even if her mind had created Ourea as some elaborate defense mechanism, she would stay just to be near him.

But Ourea was real. She’d escaped armies, decapitated shadow demons, and had too many scars for it to not be real—and the gravity of her dangerous new life sent bile into the back of her throat. The people vagabonds loved died. Every time. Thus, why she couldn’t have Braeden.

“You all right, Kara?”

She caught his eye and forced a smile. “Yep.”

He narrowed his eyes as if waiting for her to crack under the pressure. She wouldn’t. She wanted what she couldn’t have. It was as simple as that.

Excerpt from chapter one

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Kara pushed herself to her feet. “We should probably make our way back to the mansion, Braeden.”

“Nope,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“You wanted to learn to fight. We haven’t trained today. We need to spar.”

She groaned. They’d been sparring. She’d healed dozens of bruises and even a broken finger, all evidence to the fact she was barely able to react in time to a sword coming at her face, much less a magical technique. She just wasn’t a very good fighter.

“But—”

He laughed. “You’ll never get better if you don’t practice. Come on.”

He drew his sword.

Her stomach twisted. “Right here? Seriously? On a ledge? Those are rapids!”

“Yes. Today, it’s all about controlling your opponent’s movement and fighting in difficult terrain. Since you aren’t strong in this environment, drive me back up the stairs and to the forest, where you have more room to move. Also, you should never be without a sword.”

“But I don’t have one!”

“That was my point.”

“Shouldn’t I practice one lesson at a time?”

In answer, he swung his sword at her arm. She pressed her back against the cave wall, ducking the blow seconds before the blade cut the air. Goose bumps crawled up her neck.

Braeden laughed. “The best way to learn is baptism by fire. Let’s go!”

Kara ducked another swing and looked around, but she had no tactical advantage. Braeden blocked her way to the stairs. She couldn’t run past him or—she glanced over the ledge at the tumbling river below. Nope, she was not jumping into that. Her only escape was a nearby hole in a ledge that ran above her like a catwalk. If she could—

Braeden shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, apparently ready to lunge and end this whole bout before it began.

No time to think. Just go.

Kara sprinted away, toward the gap. Braeden followed, and Kara jumped for the ledge seconds before he lunged. She grabbed the walkway, the splinters of rock digging into her arms as her momentum lifted her legs out of Braeden’s passing reach.

His fingers brushed her ankle, sending a shiver up her leg. She resisted the impulse to smile at the tingling sensation his touch left behind. It made her think of his hand on her back, of their kiss—

“Clever!” he said.

Focus, Kara.

She pulled herself onto the ledge and wished she had a witty response, but she’d learned that lesson the hard way during an earlier match. She had distracted herself by talking, instead of distracting him like she’d hoped. Braeden had tripped her and knocked her clean onto her back. Dialogue was yet another weapon, one that required practice. Let the better fighters banter. Lesser fighters focus.

Kara got to her feet and raced along the upper pathway toward the waterfall, her satchel bouncing against her back while she ran as fast as she could. Braeden would be faster, but she had to try.

The ledge curved around a bend in the cave. Her feet pounded against the rock, sending shards of cave wall sprinkling to the ground below. The walkway likely hadn’t seen action like this in its lifetime. She hoped it wouldn’t crumble.

Braeden’s steps echoed from under her as the edge of the catwalk came into view. It would end about ten feet before the stairs, so she picked up her pace. She couldn’t slow down, or Braeden would catch her.

Five feet away, now.

Two feet—

Jump!

Kara kept her eyes where she wanted to go, just as Braeden had taught her the last time they’d sparred. She’d tried to jump from a tree and wound up in a bramble bush.

Instinct and a dozen failed attempts in prior matches told her to tuck her head, to curl onto her shoulder and let the momentum propel her forward.

Rocks dug into her neck and shoulder before pushing against her back, but nothing stung. She rolled back onto her feet and took off again, not daring to look back for Braeden. She would probably trip if she did.

She grinned, adrenaline numbing her fingertips as she ran. She had no earthly idea how she would do it again, but to hell with it. She’d finally rolled!

Kara followed the path as it curved and disappeared behind the waterfall. The water misted along her neck, blocking all light as she passed behind it. She let her feet find the stairs as she bolted up two at a time. Braeden’s light breaths came from somewhere in the darkness behind her.

Green sunlight illuminated the top of the stairs, the light blocked by a thick canopy of trees. Brown blurs came into view—bark. There would be a root right when she rounded the last stair, so she had to be careful not to—

Kara’s foot hooked on the root anyway.

She shot forward and skidded along the dirt path. Sticks left gouges in her arms. Her cheek stung. She wiped her hand over her face, but that just made the stinging worse. Blood stained her fingers when she pulled away.

A sword glinted in Kara’s peripheral vision. She sprung to her feet. Braeden stood a short way off, without a scratch on him. He grinned.

“Falling was an interesting choice,” he said.

“Cute.” Kara rolled her eyes and brushed dust off her clothes.

If you want to read the first chapter of Lichgates for free (we’ll call it a trial run) you can do so by clicking here. If you want to jump ahead and grab your copy of Lichgates,  head over to Amazon.

Prelude

On one rainy night in April, nineteen-year-old Kara Magari was three minutes away from waiting up for her mother for the last time. She didn’t know that, of course, but she would never truly forgive herself for what happened next.

Kara bit the end of her Sharpie pen and leaned over the kitchen counter as she stared at her notes. The final rays of a Thursday evening poured through the windows across from her and splashed against the mica in the white kitchen tiles. Black appliances lined the countertops, all evidence of the classic décor Kara’s mother, Ellen, loved.

As dusk settled in outside, a car turned onto the road out front of the house. Its headlights spilled into the kitchen. Kara tensed, waiting for the slam of a car door, but the car’s engine puttered by.

She let out a breath and straightened her notes on the counter again. She’d already gone over her pitch a dozen times, practicing in every mirror of the three-bedroom house, but that didn’t make the nausea go away. In a few minutes, she’d ask her mother if she could quit college to open an outdoor recreation company and take thrill seekers hiking and white water rafting for a living.

Maybe she’d open a summer camp—the possibilities were endless. Kara had mapped out the business plan already and found a potential loan. It actually wouldn’t cost much. After pooling her savings, she only needed a few thousand more to get started. A blessing from her parents in the form of a lifetime’s advance on Christmas presents would put her over the edge.

Kara groaned. She should have made a PowerPoint or something.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye. She flinched and looked over, only to see herself in the mirror above the cherry oak dining room table in the next room over. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Her mom should be back from the grocery store any minute now, but she might as well practice again.

She toyed with her words for a few seconds before she gave up and glanced down at her notes for a reminder.

Passion. Right.

“Mom, you always told me to follow my passion. You said I’d find it in college, and I did! Just not in the way you thought. I…uh…”

She lost her place and grumbled under her breath.

Kara skimmed her notes again. Talk about passion. You discovered the rec center at school and now you want to open one. There’s this foreclosure nearby that you can convert. You’ve researched this endlessly, and there’s no better time—

A car door slammed in the driveway. Kara hadn’t even seen the headlights.

She stood up straight and took another deep breath. If her mother agreed, her dad wouldn’t fight it. And since he’d left this morning on business, Kara finally had a chance to talk to her mom alone. She crumpled the corners of her notes before smoothing them out, only to crumple them again as she waited.

The garage hadn’t opened yet, but that car door had definitely slammed right out front. Someone had parked in her parents’ driveway, but they weren’t coming inside.

Kara’s stomach churned as the possibilities raced through her mind: burglar, stalker, wrong house number.

She took a deep breath and laughed. How stupid. Her mom probably slammed the door when she got out to grab the  groceries from the back seat. Kara straightened her paper again and arched her back.

You can do this.

She sped around the corner of the counter and onto the hallways’ hardwood, sliding to the front door in her socks. She opened the door and stepped onto the front steps, and lingering rainwater from the afternoon’s shower soaked her feet.

Kara cursed under her breath, but shut the door behind her and walked outside anyway. Her mom would need help with the groceries.

Her mother’s Civic idled by the front path and blocked most of Kara’s crossover, which sat next to it in the driveway. The sedan’s cabin light illuminated the grocery bags in the back seat as a figure in a pink blouse ruffled through them. The pale bulb also shone on a few lingering puddles in the concrete.

Kara ran down and opened the other door. “Hey mom!”

Her mother flinched and rubbed her face, but didn’t smile like usual. She continued grabbing plastic bags without looking up. Sweat dotted her temples. She took ragged breaths, as if she had to force each one. Kara’s smile faded.

“Mom, are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. It’s—”

She stopped midsentence and vomited into the bag with the carrots.

“Mom! Just—don’t move. I’ll help you into the house.”

Kara shut her door and ran around the car. She lifted her mother’s arm over her neck and grabbed the woman’s waist before turning to lead her towards the front door.

Her mom tapped her on the cheek. “No, I need to sit.”

“I think you should lie down on a couch or in bed. Let me get you inside, okay?”

“No, really. There’s no point.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Her mom pointed to the front steps. “Please, girl.”

Kara set her mother on the front porch step and sat down, too. Water seeped into her pajama pants from the damp concrete as a breeze rolled across the lawn. A few untamed blades of grass peeking through cracks in the sidewalk bent in the wind.

Her mom sighed and leaned forward to set her head in her hands. Kara rubbed her mom’s back, suppressing a dozen questions in an effort to give the woman space.

“Can I get you water, Mom?” she eventually asked.

“No thank you, Kara. I’m sorry, honey. This—”

She retched, but kept it down.

Kara tightened her free hand into a fist and held her breath. She needed to get her mom inside, but the woman wasn’t making sense. She’d just apologized, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Her mom rubbed her temples. “I can’t even see right now.”

“Is this a migraine?”

Her mom laughed. “Not quite.”

“So you know what this is? What’s going on?”

“It’s a bug that—”

Her mother vomited into the yard. The stinging zest of bile and a half-digested pizza burned Kara’s nose. Her heart skipped a beat. Sweat trickled over her palms. Something was very wrong.

Forget the couch. Kara’s mom needed a hospital.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is, Mom. Just tell the doctor when we get to the ER. Hold on, okay?”

Kara wrapped her arm around her mom’s waist and lifted her. She grabbed the car keys from her mom’s pocket and fiddled through them with her free hand until she found the spare key for her crossover.

Her mom’s arms shook in a convulsion that trembled down to her knees. She tripped, but Kara caught her and managed to get her into the crossover with a combination of begging and shoving. She lifted her mom’s foot into the car just and buckled the seatbelt for her before she ran around to the driver’s side.

She slipped the key into the ignition, and the car rumbled to life. Crud—Kara should have brought a sickness bag or something. She shrugged. It didn’t matter if her mom puked on her seats so long as the woman survived whatever the hell was going on.

The car rolled as Kara backed through a puddle and into the empty lane. She drove off, tapping her fingers as she tried to think of what side streets would take them to Miccosukee Road. It was the fastest way to the hospital, even though she hated its sharp curves and hills. She’d just have to take it slowly and they’d be fine.

Finally—after a suburb or two—Kara turned onto Miccosukee. Her mom leaned back in her seat, grabbed her stomach, and covered her mouth with her free hand. Kara tensed, but her mom took a deep breath. The light of a passing street lamp illuminated a pale green tint to her cheeks.

Kara clutched the steering wheel until the skin on her knuckles stung from being stretched so thin. Spanish moss whipped by the windows, hanging from the low branches lining both sides of the two-lane road as she drove. Shadows fluttered through the ditches on either side of the pavement.

The tires squealed around a curve in the still-wet street, but Kara corrected the wheel and braked just enough to keep from jostling her passenger.

“Where are we going?” her mother asked.

“The hospital, remember? You’re getting worse. Did something happen? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We shouldn’t have gone this way.”

Kara groaned. That wasn’t an answer. “It’s the fastest route, Mom.”

“You know I don’t like this road. It’s too dangerous at night.”

“We’ll be fine.”

The road sped past. They sat in silence.

Her mother took another deep breath. “You had that look when you came outside, like you wanted to ask me something.”

Kara swallowed. “It’s not important right now.”

Her mom chuckled once, but squeezed her eyes shut right after. “You’re never nervous around me unless you want something big and don’t know how to ask. Tell me.”

Kara forced a laugh. “I want to quit school and open an outdoor recreation company. It’s stupid.”

“No dream is ever stupid. You shouldn’t give up on it. Just finish school first.”

Kara nodded, tightening her hold on the steering wheel. She’d expected that. She prepared for the disappointment, but it didn’t come. All she cared about was getting to that stupid emergency room.

She sighed. “I guess I just wanted an adventure, Mom. I’m bored with college. I don’t belong there. I mean, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I’m only happy when I can get away from school for a long weekend and go hiking somewhere alone. I miss the Rockies and Montana and summers when you, Dad, and I would just get lost in the woods. This outdoor recreation thing just sounds right for me.”

“You’ll get your adventure, Kara. You’re too stubborn to have it any other way. Just don’t be so quick to dive in head-first.”

Kara glanced over. Her mother smiled, eyes closed. Water splashed onto the window as they drove through another puddle.

“What do you mean?” Kara asked.

The road curved, and her hands turned the wheel out of instinct. Both of them leaned right. Kara’s mother heaved again. Vomit splashed down the seat and hit the floor mat in chunks as the road continued around a bend. The stench of acid burned the air in the car’s cabin. Another ditch passed beneath the headlights.

“Kara, for God’s sake! Slow down—”

“I’m sorry!”

She was trying to go slow, but the vomit stung her nose. Her hands shook from the growing adrenaline and fear of not understanding what was going on. This was unlike any stomach flu or food poisoning she’d ever seen. Something was seriously wrong with her mom, but at least the hospital was close.

The road snapped to the left. The yellow reflector was there, hidden by a low-hanging tree, but wasn’t visible in time. Kara turned the wheel. The car didn’t respond. It hydroplaned on the wet asphalt. Kara screamed as the car slid out from under her.

A ditch loomed into view, but disappeared just as quickly. Tires squealed. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. A scream cut short with a gurgle.

The last thing Kara saw was the steering wheel as her head slammed into it.

–

Kara opened her eyes to a blurry orange light. It blinked on and off, on and off, as if keeping time with her heartbeat. She blinked again and waited for the light to come into focus, but it wouldn’t.

Agony split across her forehead and tore through her shoulders. The ache made her stomach churn. A hot trickle leaked down her neck. A fly buzzed in her ear, tickling the skin it nearly touched. She tried to swat it—only, she couldn’t move her arm. She couldn’t wiggle her fingers or touch her face.

Her pulse raced.

Rough figures snapped into view, blurring in and out of focus: a square here, a circle there. A pale oval near Kara’s shoulder trembled. Someone whimpered.

Kara leaned towards the oval. Her eyes shifted in and out of focus until the shape became her mother. The woman stared out the front windshield, a deep gash in the skin from her temple to her jaw. She twitched again. Blood trickled from the wound and ran down her neck, branching off into thinner streams her blouse eventually absorbed.

“Mom!” Kara meant to scream the word, but her voice broke.

She willed her fingers towards her mother’s neck to check for a pulse, but her body wouldn’t respond.

Blue and red lights appeared in the rear view mirror, casting streams of light over the dashboard. Tall blurs wearing red jackets surrounded the car as Kara’s eyes slipped out of focus again.

Kara did this. All the blood was her fault. She could only hope her mother would survive, but her cheeks flushed with the urge to vomit as she watched her mom’s face twitching. That wasn’t normal.

Her mom couldn’t die, not like this. Not now. Not because of her.

She bit her lip as shouts beyond her window rattled the broken glass. She forced her eyes into focus again, even though her headache doubled from the strain. Headlights poured through the back window. A branch stretched across the back seats, glass pooling in the crevices between the seatbelts. The crossover must have rolled at some point. Blood spots layered the fabric and lined the cracks in the front windshield. All that remained of the backseat windows were the few shards of glass still stuck to the base.

Kara stifled a sob. She’d only been trying to help.

–

Kara’s mom spent four days in the ICU before an infection the doctors couldn’t fight spread through her body. The worst of it shut down her immune system two hours after the nurses released Kara from the hospital for the wounds she’d suffered in the wreck.

A doctor called her father—not her—to break the news. Kara knew the verdict the moment she caught her dad’s eye. The man who hadn’t cried at his own brother’s funeral began to sob.

She’d reached to hug him when he ended the call, but he shook his head and left the house. She didn’t see him for a few days after that. But that wasn’t a surprise anymore—they hadn’t spoken much since the cops interrogated her about what happened. They deemed it an accident and no charges were filed, but sometimes Kara wished they’d put her away. At least then she could in some way forgive some of the shame.

On the day of the funeral, voices carried up the stairs to where Kara sat on her parents’ bed. She hugged her mother’s pillow like a teddy bear. Wet circles and streaks of mascara on the pillowcase marked wherever she’d already cuddled it, but she couldn’t cry anymore. Her throat ached from the sobbing. Her eyes stung.

She still wore her black dress from the morning’s wake. She’d made it as far as the open casket before she broke down into tears and ran out of the funeral home. Everyone who watched her leave and whispered “poor girl,” was downstairs now for the reception, celebrating a woman’s life by eating potato salad and chicken sandwiches. But Kara couldn’t join them, not when she was the one who cut that life short.

Someone knocked on the door. She didn’t answer, but only because her voice would have come out as a croak. Besides, she figured she knew who it was.

“You in there?” her father’s muffled voice asked from the hallway.

She hummed, hoping that would suffice as an answer.

He pushed open the door and leaned on its frame. His tall body blocked the entry—his brown hair, green eyes, and tan skin all signs of the many genes he hadn’t passed onto her. She wouldn’t have believed he was her real father if her mom hadn’t laughed so hard when Kara asked as a child.

“You should be downstairs,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“This isn’t exactly easy on me either, Kara.”

She bit her cheek. His nickname for her was Bear. He only called her Kara when she’d done something wrong.

Well—she deserved that.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I wish—I just—” Her voice broke. She couldn’t continue.

He looked at the floor. “‘Sorry’ won’t bring her back, baby girl.”

Kara buried her face in the pillow, not daring to let her father see the tears. He sighed, but didn’t say anything further. Neither spoke for a while, but the thrum of voices downstairs filled the void.

Relatives filled every empty space in the living room, but none of them were related to Kara’s mom. Her mother’s parents died young, and she’d been raised in Montana by biological grandparents who died over twenty years ago.

Montana—that gave Kara an idea.

She cleared her throat. “Dad, listen. Since we go to the Rockies every summer, I think we should go early this year. You know, get away for a while.”

“You can’t run away from your problems like that, Kara. You haven’t even been outside except to go to the hospital.”

She scoffed. “What am I supposed to do, pretend this never happened?”

“No, girl. That’s not what I meant.”

He sighed again and crossed to the bed. His shoes clomped along the hardwood floor. When he sat beside her, the mattress squeaked and dipped under his weight. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. She reached around him and hugged him back, as tightly as she could.

She sobbed into his shirt. “If I could take it back, I would. I’d give anything.”

“I know, Bear,” he whispered.

He cradled her head and held it against his chest. That just made her cry harder. For days, he’d pushed her away. He wouldn’t talk to or touch her. She’d thought the worst—that he didn’t love her anymore. She’d taken his soul mate from him. Not many men could forgive even their own child for that.

Humming vibrated from his chest, and the sound relaxed the sting in Kara’s throat. It wasn’t a melody she knew, just a string of homeless notes that reminded her he’d always be there no matter what stupid thing she did next.

“Do me a favor?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Your gram found a psychologist who can help you get through this in ways I can’t. Talk to him? Two months. Once or twice a week. Then I’ll take you to Montana.”

Kara froze. “Why do I have to see a shrink?”

He brushed a few strands of hair out of her eye. “There’s nothing shameful in admitting you need help. I’m going, too.”

She curled into him and burrowed her nose into the pillow. Her mother’s perfume wafted from its case, the floral notes reminding Kara of a stack of towels in a rose garden. She would have to find the bottle before they left for Montana.

He poked her shoulder, and she snapped back to the present.

“This a deal?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“You’ll be glad you did.”

She didn’t respond or look up. He kissed her head.

“You going to be okay, Bear?”

“Maybe. Eventually. I don’t know.”

He nodded, his chin brushing her ear. “Me, too.”

They sat on the bed, Kara holding the pillow while her dad cradled her. They were only the broken bits of a family, but they held each other together.

Her mind drifted to the babble of voices downstairs and out the door to where she actually wanted to be: the Rockies. Whatever her dad might have thought, going to Montana wasn’t running. She just needed out of Tallahassee. She needed her mountains, where she could hike and forget the world for a bit. When she recovered, she could come back and face everything again.

What Kara Magari needed more than anything was an escape.

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A half hour ago, Kara had agreed to train in Losse. It was an effort to get Blood Frine to begin peace negotiations with the other kingdoms, but she’d also figured learning how to fight would be exciting. Fun, at best. Helpful, at worst.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

She stood in a mirrored room of the castle. Rows of staffs and bows lined the walls in wooden displays. The mirrors reflected her every movement, distracting her with sudden flits of color in her peripheral vision when she shifted her weight. Her image repeated in an infinite loop, curving on forever in the opposing mirrors.

Today was supposed to be an introduction. She just needed to meet the masters and learn where to go. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too brutal of an introduction. They had to know she wasn’t a fighter.

Right?

One of the Lossian tutors—his name was Malnic, apparently—stood across from her. He looked her up and down once and grunted. His mouth was invisible, lost in the deep blue skin until he spoke.

“Pick a weapon that you are comfortable with, Vagabond.”

“I’m not really comfortable with any weapon.”

He grunted again but didn’t move or blink. It looked like he’d wait until she became comfortable with one.

She glanced around the rows of weapons, looking for something she at least recognized. A sword rested in the tray farthest from the door, so she picked it up and weighed it in her hands. Its blade curved like a sabre, and the hilt curved over her hand.

“How’s this?” she asked, lifting it for his approval.

“A sword is a tool meant for barbarians and desperation,” he said with a snarl.

“Well, it’s the closest thing to—”

She blinked, and something shoved her against a mirror. Glass cracked beneath her head. Pressure tickled her throat. The sharp tip of Malnic’s walking staff pinched her throat. He had moved too quickly for her to see, and now the blade pressed on her jugular. She tried not to gag.

“Speak less. Observe more.”

She nodded, eyes wide. He pulled the staff away.

“And put that thing down,” he added.

“But you said—”

His arms blurred again and he lunged closer. The blade tip was once more at her throat. She suppressed the impulse to swallow and slipped the sword back into the colorful tray with the other weapons.

“You must listen, Vagabond. I am your master while you are in this room. Do not question. Always obey. That is your first lesson.”

Malnic pulled the staff away yet again and grumbled under his breath. He slipped it into another row of weapons and headed for the door.

“What, is that it?” she asked.

“For today. There is not much daylight left and you must still meet the other masters. Come.”

Kara followed him, but let the towering blue Lossian keep a few feet ahead. They walked in silence. A humming noise filled her ears, since there was no other sound in the palace to occupy her thoughts. Only their footsteps echoed down the empty halls.

Malnic walked out of the palace and down to the gardens, only stopping once he found the koi pond that had once housed the last blue lapis map piece. Daowa lounged on the edge of the pond, examining the dark oceans beyond Losse. Malnic bowed and waited until she waved a hand over her shoulder to dismiss him.

“Sit, Vagabond.” Daowa whispered.

Kara obeyed. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

Daowa held her finger to her lips and continued to stare out into the empty waters which the golden dome kept at bay. Kara slouched and twiddled her thumbs, too tired to think or daydream or question anything.

The queen peeked out of the corner of her eye. “You must meet Malnic every morning, Vagabond, and come directly here when he releases you. We will have a breakfast laid for us so that we may meditate and discuss the theories of magic.”

“How long is the training going to go on?”

“Until you are ready. Then, Blood Frine will negotiate with Blood Gavin on the treaty. Only then.”

“How will he know when I’m ready?”

“Bloods know many things we do not. Unfortunately, your lessons with me will take time we don’t have today. That will have to wait for tomorrow. For now, go to Ortheno, the magic master. He is waiting for you at the lake across the way.”

She pointed over a small grassy hill, where Kara could see a tall Lossian standing at another, larger pond. Kara pushed herself to her feet, but it took a moment for her to regain her balance. Vertigo pushed her to her knees. White spots lined her vision.

She needed sleep.

“Enjoy your evening, Daowa,” she said with a sigh as she headed towards the next tutor.

“Learn quickly, Vagabond,” the Queen of Losse said over her shoulder. “We push you because we will need you too soon.”

Ortheno, when Kara finally reached him, was skinnier than any other Lossian she had met. He had no definition to his body, and the wrinkles along his arms and neck and face made him look like a blue raisin. She figured she should keep that little detail to herself.

He smiled. “Welcome, Vagabond. I will teach you a new technique each day. When we meet, you must demonstrate for me everything that you have learned in our previous lessons. We have a few minutes until you must go to your next masters, so you will learn the whirlpool today.”

He turned to the small lake and spread his hands out towards the water. His back arched. He flexed his fingers, and a small funnel appeared in the center of the lake.

As his hands tensed, the whirlpool widened. It spun and grew until it reached the bank, slushing over the reeds. Sand and fish swirled in the current. He dropped his hands with a satisfied smirk, and the whirlpool dissolved as quickly as it had come. The surface was once again as smooth as a mirror.

Kara walked to the edge of the lake and lifted her arms to mimic Ortheno. He poked the small of her back with a finger. It arched in reflex. A weight pulled on her hands, like a tug on a fishing line. Instinct made her arch her fingers. The tension pulled tighter. She spread her hands slowly apart from each other, pulling the strain in opposite directions. A small funnel appeared in the center of the lake. It circled, spewing ripples out to the bank.

She chuckled with excitement, but the pressure in her hands wavered at the sound. The whirlpool sputtered. The tension hanging from her fingers snapped. The whirlpool dissolved until the only evidence it had existed were loose ripples on the surface.

“It is not a terrible start, but you must do better.” Ortheno muttered. “Practice tonight. You must improve by tomorrow.”

“But I still have to meet four more tutors. When will I have time to practice?”

He shrugged. “That is not my problem. Usually, you will share lunch with your friend Asealo after our sessions, but because today is a short introduction to your training, you must go directly to the sparring arena. It is over that hill.”

Ortheno led her to a walking path that ambled over a grassy knoll. A raised platform towered not far off. Figures paced along it. The magic master bowed farewell and turned towards the castle before she had a chance to return the gesture.

The sparring ring was a broad, simple platform carved from brown stone. It sat on whittled blocks that lifted it six feet from the ground, but no ropes or walls had been built along the edge to keep the combatants from falling off. Empty stadium seating bordered the ring on three sides. On the fourth, a trail of uneven stairs led into the arena.

Kara walked into the ring to find three of the Lossian tutors waiting for her, including the two women. They stood waiting for her, unarmed, but a row of bow staffs and blades rested along the edge of the platform.

“This will be your group defense training,” one of the women said. “We will teach you to protect yourself when you are outnumbered. You will call each of us Master. We have no interest in learning your name. We are not your friends.”

Well, all right then.

“You must learn to use magic, weapons, and your body as the need arises,” the other female master said. “We will not be lenient.”

“Okay, so—”

A draft of wind flew by her face, ruffling her hair. She stopped talking and ducked out of instinct. She stepped back. The male master stood a few feet off, a club in his hand. He paused, as if intentionally letting the realization sink in before he attacked again.

He raised the club. “There are no pleasantries in war. Always be ready.”

One of the female masters lunged. Kara jumped aside and fell into a roll without waiting to see what weapon the master grabbed. She didn’t move fast enough. A sharp pain ripped across her arm. A deep red gash pooled on her bicep. Blood trickled in a thin river down to her elbow.

“Again!” one of the masters yelled.

They moved too fast for her to distinguish them from each other. They spun and twisted around her, throwing daggers and arrows until she could no longer move fast enough to roll out of the way. Any time she reached for a weapon, they nearly took her hand off.

A flying spear lodged in Kara’s arm after twenty minutes of avoiding the weapons. She cussed and screamed. The Lossian—she didn’t look up to see which—pulled out the blade. She fell to her knees and choked on a sob. Agony shattered her arm. Hot blood poured over her skin.

She couldn’t force herself back to her feet. Kara dug her teeth into her lip to stem the rising tide of sobbing bubbling from the pain.

“That is enough for today,” one of the masters said. The voice was distant. She couldn’t focus on it. Her mind blocked out all feeling but the anguish, all sound but her heartbeat. Bile rose in her cheeks. She could taste stomach acid in her mouth.

A warm hand pressed against her back. The hand reached for the wound on her arm and squeezed. She stifled a scream at the fresh wave of misery. A man’s voice whispered in her ear. Warmth pooled at the strangers touch, and her pulse slowed. The searing pain became numbness. Breath came easier. She turned to see who this mystery person was.

The last of the six tutors sat beside her. He offered a small smile and let go of her arm. Only a thin, pink scar remained where the wide gash had been moments ago.

“Thank you,” she said with a gasp. Her throat still stung.

“You are welcome, Vagabond.”

“Who are you?”

“Aerin. We will meet here at the end of each day, and I will teach you how to heal. Are you better?”

“Yes.”

Kara peered around the arena. The three battle masters and their weapons were gone, but the Heir of Losse sat in stadium seats nearby. He watched her with his black, unblinking eyes. He and held her gaze for a moment before he stood and disappeared into a hidden corridor by the edge of the seats.

Aerin’s voice rumbled on the edge of her consciousness, but her last reserve of energy flickered out and died. Her eyes shifted out of focus as she stared at the empty seat where the prince of Losse had watched his masters beat her to a pulp.

Kara wasn’t a soldier. She was a college sophomore who liked to hike and stumbled across Ourea on accident. But that wasn’t an excuse any more. She was the Vagabond now. And if the Vagabond was supposed to be a warrior, then she would become one.

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Braeden took a deep breath and paused on the stairs outside of Kara’s room. Adele had just ushered him out, likely so she could talk about him. About how untrustworthy a Stelian could be. He gritted his teeth, but quelled the impulse to rush back in. He wanted the Vagabond on his side, but his last plan to gain her trust backfired. He was walking on thin ice.

He trotted down the stairs and headed towards the armory. He needed to find Gavin to warn him about the Vagabond. The prince seemed to enjoy breaking hearts, and Braeden didn’t want any surprises when Gavin met Kara for the first time.

Since the Heir was always training, he had to be somewhere near the sparring rings. The man always fought. He was a warrior.

Kara wasn’t.

Braeden couldn’t figure out why the Vagabond chose her. She’d never stand a chance against any soldier Bareden had ever met. Lifting her wouldn’t even take effort. Yet, she had endured a brutal beating, and survived it. She’ been so quiet when she woke up. She’d listened as he apologized for taking her home. It had been a stupid idea. It had been his stupid idea. But she seemed calm.

I can’t blame you for my choices, she’d said.

He smirked. He wanted his father’s soul to be stolen by an isen; it was a worse fate than death. He couldn’t share her grief in that way, but he couldn’t imagine losing Richard. The king had done his best to be a father without ever realizing who he was replacing. He’d taught Braeden most of what he knew of swordplay, magic, patience, strategy, and war.

Braeden would never forgive Kara if the roles were reversed. If she had made a mistake that took Richard from him, he would have hunted her. He would have punished her. And he would never have questioned the revenge.

He paused on the stairwell, lost for a moment in his revelation. Perhaps Kara was worthy of this new role after all.

Someone shouted to a servant from the bottom of the stairs as they ran by. He snapped back to the real world and, since he hadn’t made out what they said, ignored them.

The door leading to the sparring rings outside slipped into view. He pushed it open without another thought and trotted down the stairs. The armory’s stone building stood adjacent to the castle, its dozens of wooden doors propped open to beckon in the warm summer air. Each door led to a different room with a sparring ring, which were no doubt full at this time of the day.

Steel clanged from the rings as Braeden came closer. Grunts from several dozen breathless duels broke through the open doors of the training rooms on the ground floor. Inside, pairs of Hillsidians crowded the dueling rings, swinging at each other with thick blades in their practice.

Braeden continued along the open doors until he heard his brother’s laughter from the last ring in the row. Gavin and another Hillsidian fought in a practice arena wider than any of the others. Dark tiles lined the floor, intentionally slippery footing which taught its victims to be light on their feet. Swords, spears, and maces lined the high walls, each slightly different from its neighbor.

Gavin’s opponent towered over him, but size had never seemed to matter to the prince. Gavin swung the flat of his sword and hit the soldier square in the chest. The man spun and skidded across the ring. Bruises decorated his thick arms and jaw.

Braeden looked up in time to see Gavin sheath his sword. The Heir smiled at him and reached to help his opponent to his feet. The defeated Hillsidian stood and bowed to Gavin before limping out one of the doors.

“Welcome back, brother,” Gavin said. He pulled Braeden into a rough hug once the other Hillsidian was out of sight.

“Well, look what we have here!” Richard shouted from the far end of the training room. He started towards them.

Braeden nodded. “It’s good to see you, Richard.”

“And you. Welcome back, my boy. You have great timing, as usual. It seems Gavin needs an opponent who actually stands a chance. How do you feel about a little sparring?”

“A match sounds good as long as Gavin doesn’t mind losing.”

Richard clapped him on the back and ushered him into the arena. Gavin grinned and drew his sword once more. A thick green mist appeared in the Heir’s free hand, weaving through his fingers like smoke. It reminded Braeden of the smoking curse that had killed most of Deirdre’s  guards back when she captured him in Ethos.

Braeden shook himself. He needed to focus.

Gavin stepped onto the slippery footing with practiced ease, and Braeden followed. He’d trained in this ring almost as often as his adoptive brother.

He drew his sword and conjured a thick layer of mist as Gavin circled him. The green mist clung to his body like armor, and it would deflect any blow in a similar way. The armor was his greatest weapon in sparring matches like these. It didn’t take him long to learn the way Hillsidians fought, but every match was a risk. If anyone ever cut him, his black blood would expose the truth.

Braeden, therefore, had to be better than everyone else.

He focused his energy into his palm, pooling his magic in the veins there. His blood heated and raced through him. At an unspoken command, ice flaked across his hot palm and chilled his skin. The frost sharpened into a hundred knives, ready for the instant Gavin let his guard down.

And the prince always did. In the moment Gavin thought he was winning, he would let his shoulders relax. He would lose focus. And every time, Braeden would cut him for the winning point in the match. Gavin’s temper would flare, but Braeden was then safe until the next time he sparred.

Braeden took a deep breath and circled the Heir slowly. He tensed his core and walked on the balls of his feet. His calves flexed. His elbow twitched as he lifted his sword. He cleared his throat, ready to use a secret weapon to distract his opponent: conversation.

“I took a detour on the way home. I have news,” he muttered, eyeing Gavin.

Richard leaned against the wall nearby. “I’ve heard rumors. Is that why Lorraine called a council?”

Lorraine. It was strange to hear Richard talk about the Queen as if she was normal, as if she wasn’t capable of killing an army by herself.

Focus.

“How am I the last to know these things?” Gavin eyed Braeden’s feet and spun his sword in a lazy arc. He was off balance, putting his full weight on his heels as he walked. He wasn’t taking this seriously.

Braeden laughed. “It’s not that you’re the last to hear. You just don’t listen when people tell you things.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, then. You found that isen’s Guild? What’s his name…Niccoli? You’ve been talking about that since Richard found you.”

Braeden’s heart skipped a beat. Rumor was an isen in Niccoli’s guild had stolen his mother’s soul all those years ago. Mother. His step faltered. The tip of his sword lowered as his mind abandoned the battle and retreated into his last memory of his  mother. He had been searching for that guild for a decade.

Gavin charged. Braeden cursed and parried the attack with seconds to spare, sending the Heir’s sword sliding across the arena. He lunged for Gavin’s face with the sharp ice in his free hand, but the Hillsidian’s armor deflected the blow. Gavin rolled towards his blade, grabbed it, and jumped to his feet two yards away.

So he was taking this seriously after all.

Braeden lunged. He had ignored his own advice and let the conversation distract him, but news of the Vagabond might tilt this match back in his favor.

He swung and ducked as Gavin mirrored his movement. He let the icy daggers melt in his hand and conjured a thick gray fog from the cracks in the tile instead. It shrouded their feet and quickly filled the ring. It would block Gavin’s view, but he’d learned to see through it. He watched as the Heir stalked through the cloud, tensed.

Braeden inched closer and swung. Gavin ducked a second too late. The blade rattled against the prince’s armor.

“I found something better than an isen guild,” Braeden said, trying to continue the conversation now that he had the upper hand.

Gavin rolled into the fog, apparently ignoring Braeden. He crouched and lifted his hand. A green current charged the air. Sparks shot through the gray mist. The hair on Braeden’s arms stood on end.

The current hit him. It covered him, stinging his lungs and eyes. Every pore throbbed. The pain lasted only a minute, but it was long enough to shatter his armor.

Gavin lunged. Braeden reignited his armor seconds before he parried Gavin’s sword, which slid uselessly along his side as it passed. The armor had saved him with only seconds to spare. Too close. The smoke dissolved, and the last of the green sparks faded.

Richard laughed. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, boy!”

“That’s new, Gavin,” Braeden said, ignoring Richard.

He rolled out of Gavin’s reach. His breath quickened as he kicked the prince’s knees. Gavin fell to the ground with a thud.

Braeden nicked Gavin on the cheek with his blade to mark his point. Green blood pooled at the cut and dripped onto his sword. Just as quickly, the prince’s skin stitched back together and the wound healed.

Richard laughed and clapped at the win. Braeden offered his hand to his brother to help him to his feet, but Gavin shoved it away.

“Out with it, already!” the Heir shouted. “What did you find?”

Gavin was so predictable. Braeden grinned.

“I found the Vagabond.”

Gavin stepped back. “He returned?”

Braeden examined his sword. “In a way—”

“And he’s here? In Hillside? That’s fantastic! We’re invincible with his book on our side. We can force the other kingdoms to stop trying to find us.”

“Gavin!” Richard shouted. The king folded his arms and frowned.

The prince shrugged. “Why not?”

“The Grimoire and its Vagabond are not owned. He would never agree to work for only one kingdom. It defeats everything he stands for. And for all that is good in the world—you did not just call it a book! It is the Grimoire and you will insult the Vagabond’s legacy if you call it by any other name. Did you listen to a single one of my lessons when you were a boy?”

Gavin shook his head. “They were legends. I never thought he’d return, much less in my lifetime.”

Braeden had to correct them. “Actually—”

“Have you told Mother yet?” Gavin asked.

“Of course I did. As soon as we arrived this morning.”

Gavin cursed and stabbed his sword into the marble at his feet. The stone shrieked and cracked. The sword rattled, a good two inches in the tile.

“I was hoping you hadn’t. Now that she knows, there’s no way to hide this from the other kingdoms. She’ll say it would start a war or something.”

Richard rubbed his face. “It would start a war.”

Gavin clapped his hands together. “We still have the Vagabond here, in Hillside. We have the upper hand. If we can convince the Vagabond to call this home, it will still swing the tides in our favor. I trust you’ve been courteous the entire trip? He’s taken to you?”

Braeden mimicked a bow and waved his sword. “I’m all manners.”

“Hopefully he’ll take to us as well.”

“Gavin, the Vagabond is a g—”

“Where is he now?”

Braeden ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Gavin would find out eventually.

“In one of Twin’s rooms—”

“Oh that girl. I hope she doesn’t talk him to death.”

Braeden frowned, letting the irony settle on the summer morning. Richard chuckled, but Gavin missed it entirely.

“I should make myself presentable,” the prince said.

Gavin slapped Braeden roughly on the shoulder. Braeden nodded what he thought was farewell, but Gavin sliced his jaw with a thin dagger hidden in his hand before he could react.

It was a small, unfair point. Braeden grabbed his cheek, hiding the gash with his palm and turning away. The blood pooled, hot in his hand. The skin around the wound burned. It was already healing.

“Always be prepared, right brother?” Gavin grinned and slapped his back before jogging towards the castle. Richard clicked his tongue from somewhere behind him.

Braeden’s heart raced. He pulled his hand away. Black blood lined his fingers. He quickly wiped it on his slacks. A green glint caught his eye—Gavin’s blood on his sword tip from the fair point that won the match.

He looked around. Richard shook his head as he watched Gavin disappear into the castle. Braeden took the moment to wipe his finger along the tip of his blade, stealing the green blood from the steel. He smeared it on his jaw. Richard turned towards him as he wiped the last of it onto his skin.

“That son of mine,” the king grumbled.

“He just doesn’t like losing,” Braeden said. He forced himself to keep calm.

Richard pulled Braeden’s hand away and examined the stolen blood covering his jaw. “You’ll be fine, of course. I know it’s really your pride that’s wounded, though he should be ashamed. That’s no way to even a score.”

“Maybe not, but a soldier should always be ready. He was just taking advantage of the moment.”

Richard released his chin and looked back to the castle. He apparently hadn’t noticed the missing gash beneath the green blood. Braeden took a shaky breath.

“It’s shameful, nonetheless. I sometimes wonder if that boy will ever truly be a king. I just hope I’m around to teach his Heir. Don’t tell him I said that, though.” Richard winked.

Braeden forced a smile, but he wasn’t paying much attention. He needed to find gauze and cover the false wound. Only a Blood or Heir could heal that fast, and that would raise suspicion as quickly as if someone had seen his blood.

Richard cleared his throat. “So the Vagabond is a woman, then?”

Braeden grinned. “Yes, and human.”

Richard whistled and chuckled, eyeing Braeden out of the corner of his eye. “Is she attractive?”

He laughed but didn’t answer.

“That’s quite a surprise,” Richard admitted.

“I think she can do it.”

“How did you find her?”

“I’ll let her tell you. I’m sure you’d rather hear it from the Vagabond anyway.”

Richard patted his shoulder. “That’s true. Be courteous to the Vagabond. She was chosen for a reason. There is something within her that simply needs to be brought to light. I need you to help her discover that hidden part of herself. She will need training and I pity her if Gavin is left to orchestrate that. He’ll spend half the lesson trying to get her to kiss him.”

Braeden forced himself to chuckle, but anger flamed in his gut at the thought.

Richard continued after a short pause. “Even though the first Vagabond was Hillsidian, this shouldn’t be her home. She needs to go to the other kingdoms as well. or she will seem coveted. Help her understand that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Braeden couldn’t keep talking. He had to find an excuse to get to his room. He needed gauze before anyone else got a close enough look at his jaw.

“And boy”—Richard tugged on what was left of Braeden’s sleeve—“I know it might be tempting to treat her with, well, especial kindness. But she is a vagabond above all else. We need her to always and forever like us. Don’t let desire interfere with such a crucial alliance.”

“Of course, Richard. I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Young men are always thinking about that.” The king turned with a broad grin and walked towards the castle.

Braeden wasn’t lying. Yes, he’d held Kara’s waist to keep her on Rowthe as they rode towards her car. The rush of adrenaline had been overwhelming when he saw Deirdre throw her into that photo cabinet. He had never moved that quickly in his life; his cheeks still quelled rising bile when he thought that, if her father hadn’t stepped in, her soul would have been stolen. He would have failed.

Richard was only slightly wrong. Braeden wanted Kara’s attention, but for more selfish reasons than most young men.

Richard and Gavin appeared kind now, when the moment was good, but there wasn’t a doubt in Braeden’s mind about what would happen if they ever discovered his heritage. Despite all that he’d done to prove he deserved otherwise, he would be killed instantly.

He sighed and jogged toward the stairs that would take him to his room.

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Chapter 1

The Human

Excerpt from Lichgates (Grimoire Saga #1)

Kara Magari pushed her way down an unkempt trail in the Rocky Mountains, its trees hunching and swaying overhead as she crunched her way along the rotting foliage that served as a carpet. The canopy grew steadily thicker and swallowed the setting sunlight, casting a murky green glow over her pale, freckled skin as she hiked. Her hiker’s build made her look a year or two younger than she really was—a curse at twenty—but she knew she’d be grateful for it someday.

She ran a hand through her blond hair as she examined the path. This was a new trail, one she found on the way back to her car after an early dinner at the visitor center. She bit her lip and scanned the empty forest. Even though there hadn’t been any empty beer cans or syringes littering the way, solo hiking on an unfamiliar trail was never safe. It would be dark in just a few hours.

She patted the side pocket of her backpack, feeling for the edges of her stun gun, and smirked. She would be fine.

Since her dad had first strapped her to his back twenty years ago and trudged down the East Inlet to Adams Falls, she’d spent every summer of her life vacationing in the Rockies. Her family had hiked almost every trail, but this one was not on her worn and slightly-ripped map. She pushed aside another dangling branch and continued along.

Two minutes later, the trail ended at a simple gazebo built from unpainted wood. Low-hanging branches hid half of its paneled roof, and a tree trunk on either side blocked the way around. Waist-high wooden railings surrounded most of the structure, but left a break in the fencing just wide enough to walk through. A path stretched from this opening across the gazebo to the other side, where yet another gap in the rails would let her through to the blinding daylight. Benches lined the miniature lane through the shelter.

The landscape on the other side was blurred and bright: a stark contrast to the heavy green glow of the forest, where only freckled rays of sunlight could break through the leaves. She narrowed her eyes as she got closer to the gazebo, but it was impossible to distinguish anything through the sun’s sharp glare.

A plank of wood framed with odd carvings had been nailed to the space above the entrance, and she squinted in an effort to read the dull cuts and make out the word:

Lichgate.

She shrugged and stepped up onto the wooden aisle. As soon as she set foot inside, her stomach lurched. Her cheeks flushed, and she covered her mouth to suppress bile.

A blue light flared out of the corner of her eye. It had come from the edge of the lichgate, but as she examined the space by her head, she couldn’t find anything reflective or even blue. She took a deep breath before tossing her pack on one bench and lounging on the other until her stomach settled. Maybe it was the chicken salad she’d eaten at the visitor center.

Kara closed her eyes and listened to the wind rustling through the leaves, relishing the cool air as it coursed along her neck. She breathed deeply again, and her gut relaxed.

Now that she was sitting in the gazebo, she could see the view previously blocked by the low-hanging branches. The structure hugged the edge of a cliff and overlooked a valley surrounded on all sides by a mountain range. A river flowed into a broad lake about a half mile into the distance. This wasn’t Lone Pine Lake, since there wasn’t a waterfall nearby. She craned her neck and stood, leaning against the frame for a better view. It didn’t look like Bluebird Lake, or Mills Lake, either. The wind picked up and carried the stale musk of dried leaves and grass.

Where am I?

She pulled her compass from her bag and checked it before glancing up at a pack of clouds that partially hid the sun.  The trail hadn’t turned south, and she knew her fair share of the Montana trails by heart. This had to be a new valley, one she’d somehow never explored. Her mom would’ve loved this!

Kara sighed. Her hand reached to the locket around her neck, but she stopped. No. Hikes were for letting go, not remembering.

She walked out of the gazebo. Again, there was a kick in her gut and a flash of blue light. Her stomach tightened, and she leaned against a tree for support. Bark caught in her fingernails.

No more chicken salad!

A strong breeze scaled the cliff and ruffled her hair. It was more of a rocky hill than a cliff, really, and the mossy slope wasn’t all that steep. It leveled out about forty feet down after a curvy trail.

She pulled out her phone to check the time. Another minute ticked forward, but she had about an hour before her dad sent out any rescue parties. She grinned and looked back at her pack, but left it. This wouldn’t take long, and she didn’t want the extra weight.

Kara used the tree as leverage to hop onto the sturdy path below. Step by step, she inched down the trail. Occasionally, she needed to wedge her tennis shoe into a cranny to slide down to the next section, but other than that, she could take it slow and steady.

After only a few minutes, she reached the valley and squinted back up to where the gazebo’s roof peeked through the trees. Not bad. With her finger in the air, she traced the way she’d taken, starting at the lichgate and going over each step in her head. Her finger hovered and came to a stop, though, when she examined the base of the hill.

Built into the rock was a marble door, shrouded with overhanging roots and dangling moss that clung to its frame like bangs. The gray stone was the exact color of the cliff rock, so she would have missed it completely if she hadn’t been looking closely.

She brushed her hand along the door’s smooth stone. It was simple, like the lichgate, and had a round stone knob. A small emblem carved into the rock at eye level looked like a four-leaf clover made of crescent moons.

Her fingers itched on the handle.

C’mon, Kara. Think. There’s a random door in the mountain and you’re going to open it? Really?

The ground trembled with a sudden force that knocked her against the cliff. The wind stopped, dissolving with a hiss into the hot summer sky. She scanned the valley. Several somethings cracked in the ground under her feet.

A sinkhole broke into the turf about fifteen feet away, swallowing the grass and dirt. A man’s voice roared through the fissure and echoed across the lake. When his cry died on the still air, there was silence.

Kara remembered to breathe, and sudden relief washed through her chest as she did. She shifted her weight to leave and even made it a few feet up the path, but she paused as a chorus of men shouted through the hole in a language she couldn’t understand. Smoke pitched from the small crater.

Thunder rumbled overhead. A dark cloud churned in the sky, and her heart fell into her stomach; there hadn’t even been a single fluffy cloud up there ten minutes ago. She glanced to the door and then back up the trail, hesitating, but her decision was soon made for her.

A blinding bolt of moss-colored lightning flashed, striking something in the sinkhole. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Heat coursed through her calves, and she caught her breath. Her ears rang.

Wait. That lightning was definitely green.

The cliff trembled as a deafening boom shattered the air. Heavy drops of rain pelted her skin from nowhere and clung to her hair. Another rumble coursed along the far edge of the valley. Kara needed shelter, and the last place she would go in a lightning storm was up a hill.

She turned back and twisted the door’s handle, sighing with relief as it opened—unlocked— and swung inward. Still, as wet as it was outside and as much as she wanted a safe place to wait out the rain, she lingered on the threshold to examine the room.

Mud covered everything from the floor to the ceiling, and since there weren’t any supports to hold the roof, she couldn’t figure out how the ten-by-ten dirt shelter hadn’t caved in yet. The air within was heavy, moist with the rot of dead leaves, and her only guiding light streamed in from behind her. Roots dangled from the ceiling like stalactites reaching for the floor. The wind picked up, howling as it pelted rain against her back.

She tested the ground with her sneaker. The dirt floor supported her weight, so she tip-toed into the room and left the door open. Rain fell in lingering drops on the threshold before disappearing into the growing pools of mud. She stuck her hands in her pockets and watched the raging storm outside.

A flash of dark brown blurred past her.

She jumped. A tan flicker snaked along the roof, and clumps of soil fell in sheets. She glared at the ceiling, holding her breath as the settling dust rained onto her shoes.

It had almost looked like a root moving, but—no, that was crazy.

Another streak of motion raced down the opposite wall. It passed through a shaft of light, and Kara saw its pointed, wooden tip. Tiny veins sprouted from it like hairs, digging into the dirt so that it could travel.

It was a root moving.

A second spiny vine shot up from the floor and wrapped around her leg. It pulled. She tripped, falling into the first root as it snaked along the far wall. Dirt poured over her head, blinding her. She coughed on the scent of decaying bark. The root tugged again and yanked her onto her hands and knees. It dragged her toward the center of the room. She reached for the knife strapped to her free ankle, the one her mom had—

No. She couldn’t think of Mom. Not now.

A third root wrapped around her waist. Another grabbed her hand as she reached for the blade. The roots flipped her onto her back. With a bang, the door snapped shut. Her stomach churned. The floor disappeared. She fell, and the roots let go.



Kara tumbled through the darkness. Whenever she tried to scream, dirt filled her mouth and nose. She eventually just held her breath, closed her eyes, and waited to be crushed in the landing.

Two roots broke her fall and bent with her, slowing her momentum but bruising her ribs in the process. Her hands slid off the grubs and mud as she grappled for something to stop her fall. Her cheeks flushed, and her stomach floated into her throat, heaving and twisting with her body.

She took a deep breath and thudded against something solid. She covered her head with her arms. Light poured around her as she held her position, waiting to fall deeper into whatever she’d gotten herself into this time. Her shoulder throbbed from the landing. Ringing hummed in her ear, but this was a new, silent place. She peeked through two fingers.

Dirt clung to her now-ripped jeans, and thick, red smudges covered the exposed skin on her arms. Her shoes were caked in mud. Blood seeped through a rip in her sleeve, and a purple bruise had already begun to spread over her kneecap. She rubbed her arms and shins to feel for breaks, but nothing stung. That was good, but her phone was gone and her pack was still in the gazebo.

She leaned against the something solid that had broken her fall, which turned out to be a stone desk. Blood from her arm had smudged the side where she landed, its red streak a vivid contrast to the desk’s white polish. A matching stone chair was set slightly aside, as if whoever had last sat in it had only just left.

Her hair was a mess of tangles and soil, and the streaks of mud on her cheeks smelled like a combination of carrots and crusty leaves. She brushed away as much of it as she could, rubbing the last of the dirt out of her eyes and wiping her face with the least-filthy bit of her shirt. The edges of her vision were blurry, but the room slowly came into focus.

Stone shelves canvassed every wall from the floor to the twelve-foot ceiling. Every inch of every shelf was covered in books, each bound in colorful leather and labeled with gold symbols she couldn’t read. There were no doors in the walls of bookshelves, and the only light came from a pane of glass in the roof that leaked crimson sunlight into what could only be a submerged library.

She eyed the skylight before pulling herself onto the desk and reaching for the window, but it was at least six feet away. Without any rope, she would never be able to escape through it.

I’m trapped.

Kara sat on the desk and wiped the sweat from her palms onto her jeans. Her breaths became more and more shallow as adrenaline spiked in unison with her pulse. The ringing became a scream in her ear.

“Chill. Out,” she said rhythmically.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to distract herself from the panic. Her chest rose and fell until the rush of her heartbeat faded from her head. When she could control her breathing again, she stared at the floor and debated her very limited options.

Something glittered from a gap in a desk drawer, so she hopped to the floor with a soft thud and knelt to get a good look. There was no handle on the drawer, but she was able to slip her fingers through the opening and drag it out of the desk. The rock groaned from the effort, and as it finally slid open, a sunbeam skirted around her and cast her shadow onto the book hidden inside. It was wrapped in thin silver chains, but there was no padlock that she could see.

The air in the small room stalled as it had before the storm: stagnant and suddenly heavy. The muscles between her shoulders tightened, and her neck tensed.

Hidden deeper within the drawer was a thick sheet of parchment paper which she set aside, covered as it was in an illegible, spidery script. The book’s faded red leather was porous and soft, its title written in gold lettering that had long ago begun to chip so that now, only spotted lines comprised the runic letters.

The chains wrapped around the cover like metal vines, and instead of a padlock, they had all been fused together in the book’s center. In this mess of iron was a small silver pendant, hung from a short chain and set into the fused metal like a key in a lock. It was the same symbol that had appeared on the door: a crude four-leaf clover comprised of thin crescent moons. A brilliant diamond glittered from its center.

Her hands inched along the pages trapped beneath the odd lock and brushed the silver vines in the process. The metal burned her fingertips at the touch. She dropped the book, which thumped on the desk. Pain shot through her arm.

Someone whispered in her ear.

She whipped her head around and held her breath, but the library was empty and quiet once more. Her shoulders tensed and her body told her to run, run! But there was nowhere to run to. The library had no door and one inaccessible window.

Maybe she wasn’t supposed to open the book. The thought alone made her want to open it even more.

She tore off a bit of her sleeve, wrapped it around her hand, and dug her thumbnail beneath the pendant. It shifted. The cold vines stung her thumb through the fabric, but she gritted her teeth and jiggled the pendant again. The necklace moved above her finger and finally popped. Something else clicked.

The sound of metal slithering over fabric made her freeze. The iron vines unwound themselves and fell from the book, and for the second time that day, she suppressed a scream as inanimate things moved. The metal twisted away, clattering to the floor.

The air thickened again, weighing on her neck. A shiver raced down her back. Her hips were pressed into the chair, as if someone was pushing hard on her shoulders, but she continued to stare at the red leather cover. Another whisper chorused in her ear, but even though her breath caught in her throat and panic made her hands shake, she didn’t try to find the source. She doubted anything would be there if she looked.

She slid her thumb under the now-unlocked cover, pausing for only a second before she flipped it open.

A gale blew through the room from nowhere, ruffling pages and tearing books from their shelves. It ripped around her, whipping her hair so that her face and neck stung. The pendant’s diamond glowed blue. Her veins boiled, scorching her from within. Pins and needles ravaged every inch of her body. Sweat dripped down her back until it was chilled by the gusting wind. The ripped shreds of her shirt stuck to her bruises. She opened her mouth, but the air was gone. She couldn’t scream.

Then, all at once, everything settled. The library was silent, the pain in her body dissolved, and all she could hear was that incessant ringing.

“Holy—!” She couldn’t even finish her thought. She wiped her face, her mouth, her neck. Something scratched her skin.

The little clover pendant glittered in her hand. She stared at it, gaping. Something started clicking. It was a steady noise: flick, flick, flick.

She gasped.

The flick sound came from the book, which was—well, it was—its pages were turning. The room was motionless, the air heavy and still again, but the pages flipped on their own, one after the other. After a minute or two, they finally stopped when the last page drifted slowly to rest on its brothers.

“Holy…” she whispered. She sat on the edge of the immobile stone chair and peered at the open book while keeping as far a distance from it as she could.

A drawing covered both pages. The loose sketch showed a cliff overlooking a lake, a river, and a valley, and on top of the cliff was a lush forest. She squinted at a familiar sloping path up the cliff face and saw, hidden in the overhanging branches of the trees, the lichgate’s roof. And there, at the base of the path, was the marble door. Beside it, a man draped in a blue cloak lounged against the rock.

He peered up at her from beneath his hood, his face draped in shadow while one of his hands pointed to something off the page. She looked to where he was pointing and found the little note she’d brushed aside earlier. It still lay on the desk, unaffected by the gale which had ripped books off their shelves.

She flipped to the next page, but before she could read more than a few words, the page shook itself free of her grip and settled once more on the landscape and the man.

She grumbled and turned the page again, but it once more wrenched itself free and turned back to the drawing of the cloaked man who pointed to the letter. She huffed and moved the book so that he was pointing at a bookshelf.

His arm moved against the motion of the book so that he still pointed to the letter.

Kara gasped and grabbed the loose parchment from the desk, taking the hint and leaning as far back into the chair as she could.

The letter had been gibberish before, but she caught a word she knew as she scanned the page. Then another. And another. Her hand covered her mouth in horror as she read.

From the moment you read these words, you will be hunted. If you wish to survive what will come, you must pay attention.

Because you have found this Grimoire, you will come to know my world: Ourea. It’s a beautiful place, but its creatures are unforgiving and brutal. Ourea is a hidden pocket of the earth and has always been locked away, accessible only through the lichgates. Since you found this book, you have already discovered one of these portals. You can never return to the life you knew once you step through a lichgate.

Thousands of magical and non-magical species live here, but three are notable above all others: drenowith, isen, and yakona. Be wary of them all.

Drenowith are known in human lore as muses; they change form freely and don’t age. Isen are mostly evil, as their kind harvest souls to remain immortal and can don their prey’s appearance at will. But I believe that my people, the yakona, are far worse. We as a race have mastered magic, but we are divided and live in secluded, warring kingdoms. They will be the death of me, though all I ever wanted was peace.

To learn more, ask your Grimoire. It will always answer if you ask the right question.

You must be cautious. When you opened this Grimoire, you became its next master, and you will be known as the Vagabond. Only you can read these pages, and the vast knowledge held here is a coveted thing. I trust to you its secrets, its stories, and its fearful power. Though the coming adventures will daunt you, I hope that you discover the beauty hidden in even the most vile of things.

Tread carefully, Vagabond. You are the last of us. Guard the Grimoire as you would your life because everything you hold dear will one day depend upon what it tells you.

The lines in Kara’s forehead deepened, and she reread the short letter, holding her breath the whole time. A thought pulled on her mind, but her heart beat too quickly for her to pay much attention to it at all.

Buy your copy of the Grimoire:

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The Grimoire is a book that turns its own pages and can answer any question asked of it. So when Kara Magari stumbles across the old book while hiking a hidden trail, she has no idea what she’s getting herself into. She’s thrown into Ourea: a beautiful world full of terrifying things that want the Grimoire’s secrets. Most of the creatures there want to control Kara, but everyone is trying to find her. There’s no going back now.

 The Grimoire Online exists so that you can keep reading about Ourea even after you finish the book. You now have access to excerpts straight out of the Grimoire, exclusive short stories that never show up in the Saga, and stunning sketches of your favorite players (courtesy of my buddy Rob Meridy).