Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  Silvan glanced warily at Isabelle. “Do you need me to help you upstairs?” He placed a hand on the small of her back as if to steady her and Isabelle shivered.

  “I’m fine. I … just need to lie down.”

  The same dour-faced woman appeared to help Isabelle to her rooms, and for a moment, Isabelle considered asking Silvan to help her after all. He’d already turned back to Lady Ebony though, and the two had jumped into discussing the business of the city. It’d be awkward to ask him now.

  Suppressing a sigh, Isabelle followed the elderly servant out. The older woman was silent, leading her through long halls and passageways until they reached Isabelle’s room. The servant opened the door, holding it wide. She watched Isabelle, her face expressionless.

  “Thank you.” Isabelle walked past her, but froze when the woman spoke.

  “Watch your back. The baroness is a jealous woman.”

  Isabelle turned, amazed, but with a quick bob of the head, the woman left.

  Isabelle chewed her lip, considering the woman’s words and dinner’s brief events. Lady Ebony was a jealous woman. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that, she could see it. She’d had wine poured for Isabelle from a separate pitcher. Isabelle wouldn’t have thought much of it, but the expression on the baroness’ face had made her suspicious. The woman was clearly interested in Silvan, and wouldn’t be sad to have Isabelle out of the way.

  Silvan. Isabelle ground her teeth in frustration, throwing herself on the bed. He was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. Why was he playing this charade? What was his motive?

  She recalled his lips brushing her ear, his fingers pressing into her back. She shook her head. No. It was pretend. He had to have a motive. She just didn’t know what it was yet.

  26

  Isabelle opened her eyes, not sure what it was that had woken her. It was dark. She’d fallen asleep in bed, still fully clothed. She was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  Her first thought on waking was to wonder why Ebony was jealous. She was a beautiful, powerful woman. She had expensive clothing, fabulous food, and plenty of guards and servants. She ruled the Eastern Province, second only to the king.

  Silvan. Isabelle frowned in the darkness of the room. Ebony either wanted him, or wanted him to want her. Probably both.

  Sleep wasn’t going to come again for a while, she could feel it. She began to sit up, and froze. Someone was in bed with her. Isabelle peered at the slumbering figure in the dark, heart pounding.

  It was Silvan. He lay on his side, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold. The curtains were only partially drawn and a beam of moonlight fell across his face. Isabelle felt her breath catch, looking at him. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered. It was the word that fit him just right. His silver hair shone in the moonlight, his pale face still, hair falling in his face. He looked … sad. Isabelle lifted her hand to caress him, her fingertips inches from his cheek before she stopped herself. It’d be beyond awkward if she woke him now.

  Silently, Isabelle crawled out of bed on her side, walking to the vanity. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was hard to see detail in the dark, but she knew what she’d see. A pretty girl, but not beautiful. She thought of Lady Ebony and grimaced. Small wonder the baroness was surprised to hear Silvan was “married.” Isabelle didn’t come close to the other woman’s beauty.

  On the vanity countertop, she noticed a basket of fruit with a note. She hadn’t seen it earlier. Picking up the note she tiptoed over to the window, holding it up to the moonlight.

  To my dear Jahzara. Please know I am truly sorry you weren’t feeling well at mealtime. Poor Ivan couldn’t stop talking about you. The ink was thicker on the word stop, as if the hand that wrote it shook. Isabelle continued reading. I have had some refreshment brought up to you. I hope that, if nothing else, it will ease Ivan’s fretting over you.

  Isabelle scowled at the letter. A simple “I want your husband,” would have been more honest. She tore the letter, then took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger. She had no cause to be upset. Sternly, she reminded herself she wasn’t married to Silvan and had no claim on him.

  She went back to the basket. Even in the darkness she could see the red of the apples. They almost glowed. She began to pick one up, hungry, but paused. A waft of cold air blew past her ankles. She looked around, unsure of where it was coming from. The window was closed. A tapestry depicting a scene of two lovers wrapped in a warm embrace moved with the draft.

  The breeze of air drifted again, and the tapestry rippled. Frowning, Isabelle lifted a corner of the wall hanging and found herself looking at a small door. It was slightly ajar. Curious, Isabelle opened it all the way, the hinges silent.

  She hesitated. It was dark, and she didn’t have a light. She quietly went back to the vanity, lighting a candle. She glanced over at Silvan. He hadn’t moved.

  Walking back to the small door, Isabelle entered the passageway. Narrow and made of stone, it smelled of dust. The small light of the candle flickered and fluttered but didn’t go out. Isabelle walked slowly, careful not to stumble. The hall was straight with no side passages. Where did it lead?

  Occasionally she paused, straining her ears for any sound, warning her of what might lay ahead, but heard nothing other than her own breathing.

  At last she came to a small door, tightly closed. Isabelle stopped, eyeing it curiously. She was nervous, prowling about someone’s castle, but knew she’d wonder about it forever if she didn’t at least look to see what lay beyond the door.

  Opening it, Isabelle stared. From the small light of the candle, she could see she was in a closet, only it was the biggest closet Isabelle had ever seen, stuffed with dresses, shoes, cloaks, sashes, gowns; there was even a stand for glittering tiaras. It was bigger than Isabelle’s entire bedroom at home. She frowned. Why would a passage be built between Ebony’s closet and a guest bedchamber?

  One thought flitted across her mind and Isabelle’s face twisted into a scowl. She marched toward the black wooden door that would undoubtedly take her into Lady Ebony’s personal rooms. It opened silently, a fact Isabelle was decidedly grateful for.

  Lady Ebony stood only a few paces away, her profile harsh as she gazed into the light of a fire burning in the hearth. She stood in the same golden gown from earlier. She glowered at the flames. “How could he forget me?” she growled, speaking into the air, her hands clenching into fists. “He never did give me the attention I deserved, but he will. Soon.”

  She turned in a swish of gold silk and glided over to a mirror mounted on the wall. Isabelle studied it from her vantage point, puzzled. It was an irregular shape, a slim glass shard, but clearly only a part of what must have once been a truly massive mirror.

  Lady Ebony looked silently for a moment, then reached up and stroked its surface. “Mirror, on the wall,” she breathed, “who is fairest in my land?”

  Isabelle watched, holding her breath as the mirror’s surface darkened and shifted. It swirled as if gray mist lurked behind the glass. Then the mist parted, showing a young woman with dark skin and hair, brown eyes wide as she stared at the mirror.

  Isabelle.

  Lady Ebony started in surprise and then turned toward Isabelle with a smile. “What a surprise! I see you found my secret passage. No harm done.” She gestured toward the glass. “This mirror, it’s magic. Would you like to look?”

  Isabelle stepped forward hesitantly. She put out the candlelight. The baroness seemed … friendly. Nicer than she had been the entire visit.

  “The mirror will show you anything you ask,” the baroness said. “And it looks like you’re the fairest in the Eastern Province. No wonder Ivan stares at you so.”

  “Does he?” The question was out before Isabelle could stop herself.

  Lady Ebony frowned at her, puzzled. “Well, why wouldn’t he? You are married, after all. Come.” She motioned to a plush sofa. “Sit. It’s been a long time since I’ve had another woman to talk
to. I’ll fix your hair. It’s messy after your sleep.”

  Isabelle complied, but the feeling of danger in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. Something was wrong. “Why are you being kind to me?”

  Lady Ebony picked up a comb and glided over to Isabelle. “I’ll admit, Jahzara. I’m a jealous woman, especially when I saw that my dear friend from so many years ago had returned, married. But it makes sense. You are more beautiful than me. The mirror said so.”

  “It’s just glass,” Isabelle mumbled. She eyed the comb uneasily. Its ends looked pointed, sharp.

  “The mirror never lies.” Lady Ebony stood behind her. “You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you’ve come to the Province, but no more. I will be the fairest, and Ivan won’t refuse me when you’re gone.”

  Isabelle reacted by instinct. She threw herself off the sofa a moment before Lady Ebony slashed the comb where Isabelle’s throat had been. Her face was twisted in a feral snarl. “Spirits take it,” she hissed. “I might have considered letting you live, but not after I’ve seen the way Ivan looks at you.”

  “Stop!” Isabelle put her hands out in a peaceful gesture, skirting around the sofa so it was between them. “It was all an act, my Lady. I don’t know why S—Ivan wants to make you jealous, but it’s all an act. We’re not even married.”

  The baroness’ eyes glittered. “You think I’m a fool? You just want to be the fairest!” She lunged across the sofa, the comb dropping from her fingers as she grabbed Isabelle around the throat. “You’re dead!”

  Isabelle struggled to stay on her feet as the other woman attacked with savage strength. She slammed Isabelle against the large windowpane.

  Glass shattered, leaving a gaping maw that led to the courtyard far below. Isabelle grit her teeth and pushed back, inches away from falling to her death. She slipped on broken glass and fell to her knees, crying out as glass cut into her legs.

  “Ivan is mine.” The other woman’s eyes gleamed.

  “His name is Silvan,” Isabelle spat and shifted her shoulder, throwing the woman off her.

  Lady Ebony scrambled, trying to find a handhold. Isabelle lunged forward, trying to grab the woman’s hand but it was too late. She could only watch as Lady Ebony fell off the ledge with a shriek. She couldn’t see the baroness, but from the way her scream suddenly cut off, Isabelle knew she was gone. She knelt in the shattered glass, trying to stop the shudders that wracked her body.

  She’d killed. She’d killed a human. Not intentionally, but that didn’t change the fact. She was going to be sick.

  “Isabelle.” She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. She stifled a whimper. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.

  Strong arms enveloped her in an embrace. Silvan hugged her, resting his chin on her hair. “It’s over.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill her,” Isabelle said. Her body shook, and Silvan’s arms tightened around her.

  “I know.” Releasing her, he stood, helping Isabelle to her feet. “But after everything she’s done, death was her due.”

  “What do you mean?” Isabelle asked.

  “I mean after what I’ve heard in the taverns and what I’ve seen here; Lady Ebony was behind the murders. But why?” Silvan frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What would have changed her so drastically? She’s always been a confident woman, sure of her own beauty … but jealous?” He shook his head. “That’s new. But when her guards are out hunting women in the forest? Who else could be behind the murders?” He frowned. “Why would she try to kill you before you’d even met?”

  “She has this mirror.” Isabelle pointed. “She saw me in it.”

  Silvan turned, his eyes widening in shock as he saw his reflection in the large shard of glass. He leaped at it with a roar, ripping it from the wall. “Maltoresh!” Fire sprang from his hands, engulfing the mirror. “D’mon diatesh!”

  His eyes flickered, red, blue, violet, his face a mask of uncontained rage. Isabelle shrank away from him, fear covering her like a blanket.

  The mirror cracked and burned, turning to fine ash. As the fire died away, Silvan flung the dust away from him, wiping his hands on his palms. He exhaled heavily. “That explains a lot.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t.” Anger stirred to life inside of Isabelle, replacing her fear. “I’ve almost died three times in the past three days, and I don’t have a clue as to why.”

  Silvan eyed her, his handsome face puzzled. “You didn’t almost die. I followed you down the passage and watched you fight Ebony. You were fine. I would have intervened, otherwise.”

  “You-you what? You were awake?” She suddenly remembered what she’d called him back in their room. Beautiful. Heat rushed to her face. “You weren’t pretending to be asleep, were you?”

  “Maybe.” A hint of a smile played on his lips. He’d heard her.

  Isabelle’s face felt like it was on fire. She shook a finger at him. “You’re a scoundrel, Silvan.”

  He shook his head, the smile fading. “I only did it so you could accomplish your quest without interference.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been second guessing yourself and full of doubt ever since I freed you from Elris, the witch’s curse. Silvan’s blue-eyed gaze pinned Isabelle where she stood. “You’d lost your confidence. I hope this has brought it back.”

  “So even though I was in danger, you didn’t help?” She thought of Jack. Jack would’ve helped. He would have done everything in his power to keep her safe.

  “I won’t be with you all the time, Isabelle,” Silvan said. He took a step closer. “I was ready to help in the event you needed it, but you need to learn how to take care of yourself.”

  Isabelle grimaced, looking away. He was right.

  Silvan clicked his tongue, looking around the room in disgust. “Some servants also told me that their late mistress was behind the murders. With her dead, Lord Girild will have to stand in as Province ruler.” He smirked. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to oblige.” He grinned, his eyes shining with triumph. “Congratulations, Isabelle. You’ve completed your quest.”

  27

  “There it is.” Silvan paused on the ridge, shading his eyes with a long hand. “The city of Illyminatym.”

  Isabelle stared. Massive didn’t even begin to describe it. The city was nestled in a valley, sprawling as far as the eye could see. The walls were made of a white stone that caught the sunlight and seemed to glow, wrapping around the entire city. At the center of the city rose the palace, white and gold, blue pennants snapping in the breeze. A more impressive city, Isabelle had never seen, except…

  “Is the wall their only defense?” Isabelle asked, frowning up at Silvan.

  Silvan eyed her mildly. “What makes you think that?”

  “There’s no other defense,” she said. “No moat or trenches?”

  Silvan smiled, his eyes catching the light. “You’re using your Gift again.”

  “Archery?” Isabelle asked, and Silvan laughed aloud.

  “The city is protected by magic.”

  Isabelle looked at the city again. It made sense.

  She felt a flutter of nerves, thinking about what lay ahead for her. She would soon be swallowed up in that immense city, facing off against who knew how many competitors.

  “You better get a move on.” Silvan jerked his head toward the city. “You don’t want to miss registration for the tourney.”

  “You’re not coming with me?” Isabelle’s nerves became a rising wave of panic. “I can’t do this, Silvan. I need you. What if something goes wrong? I thought you said you needed something here in the city. I thought—”

  Silvan touched a finger to her lips, silencing her. He smiled, his gaze full of compassion. “I can’t win this for you, Isabelle. I need something in the city, but I whether or not I find it is up to you.”

  “What do you mean?” Isabelle asked, but Silvan shook his head.

  “Never forget,” he whispered, pressing his forehead a
gainst hers. “You are strong. You are clever and resourceful. You left home because you wanted to find happiness. But what you want and what is right, might not always align. Remember that.”

  “I will.” Isabelle’s heart wrenched as Silvan stepped away, his face sad.

  “You have so much potential, Isabelle. You could change the world.”

  Before Isabelle could ask him what he meant, he turned and sprinted back the way they had come with almost inhuman speed, disappearing into the trees.

  With Ash trotting by her side, Isabelle took the path that led down into the large valley. The path was well trodden, and she made good time. Within an hour the road quickly became crowded, filled with travelers of every sort: minstrels, farmers, peddlers, wanderers, even a thin, graceful fellow with the most beautiful face Isabelle had ever seen. As he passed her, Isabelle caught sight of his ears, pointed at the tips.

  “An elf,” she breathed in astonishment, and the elf glanced at her for a moment, his lips curving in amusement before he quickened his pace, leaving her behind.

  Before they reached the city gates, Ash bumped Isabelle’s legs with her head. That was her signal for Isabelle to stop. She did, kneeling down to scratch the wolf behind the ears. “Are you going to wait out here then?” The wolf licked her face in response.

  Isabelle felt a surge of loss, hugging Ash. She’d be alone in there. “When I’m a Hunter, I’ll get you in. We won’t have to separate anymore.”

  Ash grinned, tongue out and tail waving. She turned and trotted away, drawing the eyes of several travelers. It was uncommon to see a wolf out in the open, away from the safety of a pack.

  We’re a pack, Isabelle thought, watching her friend bound away. Regardless of what happens, I’ll still have Ash.

  Four guards stood at attention at the entrance, with two more sitting nearby, one with a large book in front of him. When Isabelle reached the gate one of the men looked down his long nose at her. “State your name and business.” He sounded bored.