Read Heritage: Book Three of the Grimoire Saga for Free Online

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