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Heritage
The Grimoire Saga
Book Three
S. M. Boyce
Genre: Fantasy
ASIN: B00F2Y46I6
Number of pages: 260 print pages
Word Count: 83,000
Cover Artist: Heidi Sutherlin of My Creative Pursuits
Book Description:
Heritage is the third novel in
the epic Grimoire Saga.
Kara Magari isn’t normal, even by Ourea’s standards—and in a
world of shape-shifters and soul stealers, that’s saying something. To the
royalty, she’s a loose cannon. To the masses, she’s a failure. But Kara’s
arrival in Ourea started a war, and she’s going to end it.
An ancient isen named Stone takes an interest in Kara’s training, and it turns out he has more answers than he originally led her to believe. In an effort to unearth a secret that might end the bloodshed, Kara instead discovers an ugly truth about her family—and how much she has in common with an infamous mass-murderer.
Braeden Drakonin has slowly rebuilt his life after the betrayal that tore it apart. His father wants him dead, and frankly, his so-called allies wouldn’t mind that either. Private alliances are formed. Secrets are sold. Tension is driving the armies apart. A single battle will end this war, and it’s coming. Braeden may be a prince, but it will take more than that to survive. He must take the fight to his father’s door—and win.
An ancient isen named Stone takes an interest in Kara’s training, and it turns out he has more answers than he originally led her to believe. In an effort to unearth a secret that might end the bloodshed, Kara instead discovers an ugly truth about her family—and how much she has in common with an infamous mass-murderer.
Braeden Drakonin has slowly rebuilt his life after the betrayal that tore it apart. His father wants him dead, and frankly, his so-called allies wouldn’t mind that either. Private alliances are formed. Secrets are sold. Tension is driving the armies apart. A single battle will end this war, and it’s coming. Braeden may be a prince, but it will take more than that to survive. He must take the fight to his father’s door—and win.
Heritage
(Grimoire Saga #3)
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE
A FRESH START
A hand
reached around Kara’s waist and tugged her closer. Her body
shifted over cotton sheets. The hem of her nightshirt caught and inched upward
along her back. Hot breath sailed down her neck, setting her nerves on fire.
She snuggled into a bare shoulder, her nose brushing against bumps of muscle as
she itched to get ever closer to whomever held her.
Warm skin burned her cheek. A second, thick hand brushed hair
from her face. Her blond locks fell over her shoulder like a sheet of silk.
Kara opened
her eyes. A haze clouded the corners of her vision—the edges of a dream. She
frowned. There was no fun in knowing none of this was real. It just meant she
wouldn’t be able to enjoy it as much.
Braeden
smiled down at her. A few dark hairs fell across his olive face, blocking her
view of those black eyes that glittered with mischief. He pulled her a little
closer with his rough hands, even though no space remained between them. Her
frown dissolved. Every bit of her crackled with energy. He ran his fingers
along the hem of her shirt, pulling it higher.
She poked his
side. “I miss you.”
He ran a hand
through her hair. “Come see me, then.”
“You know I
can’t. Not yet.”
He grinned.
“Liar.”
She faltered
and glanced down at the mattress. Of course she couldn’t leave. Not even a
month ago, she discovered she was an isen—a creature that could steal souls.
Though she hadn’t even known what an isen was before she discovered the crazy
world of Ourea, she had apparently always belonged to the hidden realm of
monsters and magic. Her mother passed the isen gene to her, and their bloodline
had a terrible curse: power and magic came easily to them. It sounded great at
first, sure, but the power came too easily. Kara couldn’t control herself. She
could kill with barely any effort.
Every day,
her control dwindled a little more. If she used the air to turn a page in a
book, she ripped out the sheet instead. If she tried to hit a target with her
favorite attack—red sparks that danced through her fingers like lightning—she
blasted the target to bits. She refused to spar with anyone for fear of what
she might accidentally do to her opponent.
After she
discovered she was an isen, she’d spent every second of free time with her
mentor, Stone. They traveled to a safe place to train: her village, the one she
inherited from the ancient ghost who had given her the Grimoire.
Kara hadn’t
left the village yet only because she couldn’t do anything without destroying
something.
As if Braeden
read her thoughts, he wrapped her in a hug. “It’ll be all right.”
“I’m just so
lost, Braeden. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I don’t know how to stop.”
He pulled
away and held her face in his hands. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”
“You’re
right, I guess.” She smiled and slipped her arms around him in return,
burrowing her face into his torso. Her fingers tightened around his waist.
Something
shifted in her palms. A sharp crack
cut through the dream. The crash of breaking glass rocked her. Braeden tensed in
her arms.
Kara pulled
away, trying to figure out what was going on. Braeden studied her, his smile
gone. A fissure inched along his face as if he were porcelain and she’d dropped
him. It splintered, dividing his handsome features into pieces. His eyebrows
shifted upward, likely to question what was going on—or worse, what she was
doing to him.
Kara gasped. Oh, Bloods! have I hurt him, too?
She reached
for him, unable to form words. Fragments of his shirt broke away like ice in
her hands. The cracks in his face widened.
His voice
shook. “You’re not alone.”
“Braeden!”
she screamed.
Kara bolted
upright in bed, her scream lingering in her chest.
White light
swam in her vision, blinding her. Something crashed again, as if on replay from
her nightmare. Glass tinkled. The wall vibrated with the thump of a heavy
object ramming it with great force.
A breeze
ruffled her hair. Chills raced down her back. She shivered. Salt stung her
nose, as did the sweet tang of honeysuckle. Her fingers tensed, grabbing
handfuls of the cotton bedspread as her vision blurred.
She rubbed
her eyes.
Bit by bit,
her familiar bedroom in the Vagabond’s village shifted into focus. White walls.
Wooden bed posts. Silk blue canopy over her bed. White comforter. Cotton
sheets. Two mahogany bedside tables. A stack of paper on a desk in the corner.
The pages shifted in the breeze, and a couple drifted to the floor.
Sunlight
streamed through the windows on her left, catching on the jagged edges of a
broken window. Wind rattled the drapes, shuffling them aside as it whipped
through the room. Shards of glass littered the floor, glinting.
A red brick
lay on the carpet in the middle of the pool of broken glass, a white piece of
parchment tied around it with a string.
Kara jumped
out of bed and tiptoed across the remnants of her broken window, though it
didn’t matter if she cut herself. She knew plenty of charms to heal a cut well
enough to leave no scars.
She picked up
the brick and yanked the note from the baked clay. A few words covered the
other side of the small square of paper, written in tight handwriting.
We’re done with the basics.
Your real training starts today. Meet me in the clearing in the forest behind
the kitchens. You have much to learn.
—Stone
Kara cursed under her breath. Her mentor threw a brick through
her window to wake her up. That dramatic son of a—
“Couldn’t he
just knock?” she muttered.
Her pulse
settled. Adrenaline dissolved in her veins. She took a deep breath to clear her
head, and the cold air swirled in her chest. Her worry hadn’t been anything
more than the panic of being woken from a dream.
She sighed.
And until the interruption, it had been a wonderful dream.
Something
squeaked by her bed. Her tiny pet Flick stretched from his place on the pillow
beside hers, his bushy tail straight up in the air. His ears—still too big for
his head, even though he was mostly grown—twitched as he shook himself awake.
No bigger than a squirrel, the furry red creature hopped along the folds in the
blanket, battling the valleys of fabric on his way to her.
“Morning,
munchkin,” she said.
He burped in
answer. Charming thing.
Kara focused
her attention on the broken window. She hadn’t fixed a window before, but she
could manipulate the air and start a fire with the magic coursing through her.
Since the glass just needed to be fused back into place, fixing a window
couldn’t be too terribly difficult.
She reached
her fingers toward the shards. With a deep breath, she borrowed the breeze
dancing through her room. Tension pulled on her hands, dragging her knuckles
downward. She resisted, pulling back to lift the fragments of glass. The pieces
hovered. Her palms warmed.
The shards
slid through the air, and Kara directed traffic as best she could. When bits of
the glass pushed into their neighbors, she focused the full weight of her gaze
on the seam, fusing the pieces on contact.
In a matter
of seconds, her window was once more whole. A little worse for wear,
perhaps—she hadn’t quite gotten rid of some of the cracks in the pane—but solid
nonetheless. She smirked with satisfaction.
A dull pain
throbbed in her wrist. She scratched at it, her nails catching on leather. She
sighed and resisted the impulse to rip off the wrist guard on her right arm.
The ornate leather band on her right wrist covered spikes that dug into her
skin, helping keep her uncontrollable magic at bay. Her arm ached when she wore
the thing, but even her grandfather, Agneon, had worn the band at one point to
restrain his magic.
After Stone
awoke her isen nature, he told her to never take off the wrist band for fear
she would lose her last ounce of self-restraint. So far, she had obeyed.
She headed
for her closet to change. However good Stone’s intentions may have been, he’d
forced her into the life of an isen. She hadn’t wanted any of this. Since he
turned her, Stone was her master and could control her. He could make her hit
herself in the face if he wanted, but she listened to him out of respect. He’d
lived for centuries.
Still,
despite his vast knowledge and experience, she would give him a piece of her
mind when she found him.
About the Author:
S.M. Boyce is a
fantasy and paranormal fiction novelist who also dabbles in contemporary fiction
and comedy. Her B.A. in Creative Writing also qualifies her to serve you french
fries. She updates her blog (smboyce.com) a few times each week so that you
have something to wake you up in the morning.
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