Illusions: Faction 4: The Isa Fae Collection

by Jade Kerrion

  “Yes, yes, it was…”

  That voice. She knew that voice, from her earliest memories, but it couldn’t be—

  The woman’s voice continued, “We were told…our daughter…”

  “She’s here.” Varian turned to Nithya. “Come say hi.”

  Come say hi? Nithya flung herself off her horse and raced to the carriage. Her father and mother, her brother, and her two sisters stared at her. “Oh…” Her voice caught on a sob as she threw her arms around them, trying to hug all of them at the same time.

  She was only distantly aware of movement behind her, of guards carrying boxes and bags into the house, of a conversation between Louis and Varian—something about fair weather and a much shorter and easier journey than expected.

  Nithya pulled back, staring at the beloved faces, worn with age and hard labor, but precious to her. “I can’t believe…” Varian, of course. How could she ever thank him? “Come, come down,” she said, holding their hands and helping them from the carriage. She stared, as her entire family did, at the stately house that now contained her family’s belongings.

  Varian’s slight nod beckoned her away for a private conversation. “My secretary will come by later this morning with their citizenship papers, their pension, and the deed for the house.”

  “The deed…” Her hand flew up to her throat. “I don’t…” Nithya drew a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I don’t know how else to say it.”

  He glanced over her shoulder at the wide-eyed gazes of her parents and youngest siblings as they took in the glorious wonder of La Condamine. “Seeing your family reunited is thanks enough. And keep Dandelion. There are stables in the back of the house.” He leaned forward and breathed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Be happy, Nithya.”

  Her throat too filled with tears—happy tears—to speak, she watched in silence as he mounted his horse and rode away, with a final, backward glance at her.

  “Who is he, Nithya?” her father asked softly.

  “He is Varian Delacroix, prince of La Condamine.” The man I love.

  Sunlight poured in through the large windows of the parlor overlooking a frozen pond and de-iced cobblestone paths. It must have once been a beautiful garden. To Nithya’s eyes, it was abundantly beautiful still. It was now her garden.

  Her gaze flicked down to the envelopes an elegant young fae had delivered an hour earlier—her family’s citizenship papers, a sizable government pension for each member of her family, and the deed of the house, paid in full and signed over to her.

  Her parents sat across from her. The voices of her brother and sisters were distant, lilting with joy as they explored their new home.

  “I don’t understand why he would do this, Nithya,” her mother said, her thin fingers wrapped around her cup. “It’s too much.”

  “Yes, it is, and the obvious answer is that he can easily afford it, but that answer downplays the unstinting generosity of his gift.”

  “Are you his mistress?”

  Nithya winced. Sometimes, I almost enjoy the polite beating around the bush that the fae use in lieu of honest conversation. “I love him, but I am not his mistress. He sent for you long before there was any hint of affection on my part.”

  “But how will you repay him now?”

  Repay him? She thought of Varian’s farewell. Be happy, Nithya. Perfectly gracious and utterly simple. He fit a lifetime of love into three simple words, without once uttering the word love.

  “He did this for me, without any expectation of gratitude, let alone payment. There is no need to repay him.” Nithya swallowed the wobble in her voice. Besides, in thirty-six hours, he will be dead.

  Chapter 14

  When Varian returned to the palace, he found his mother in the library, reading in a comfortable seat by the fire. She smiled as he approached. “You had a good time away with Nithya.”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “Because I thought that, for people like us, relationships are born out of duty. Like you and Father.”

  “Your father married me because I was the highest-born, marriage-eligible fae at the point when custom and necessity demanded he get married. We learned to get along, but we would not have connected naturally as friends, let alone lovers.” Her smile was affectionate, although touched with sadness. “I’m glad you’ve found something different with Nithya.”

  For one day. But he swallowed the bitterness. One day was more happiness than some people found in a lifetime.

  If only it could last longer—like a day short of forever.

  Varian’s fingers grew cold when he thought of the spell. Dread knotted in the pit of his stomach. Less than thirty-six hours.

  Did he really want to do it?

  No.

  Did he have to do it?

  A shuddering breath tore out of him.

  “Varian?” his mother’s gentle voice recalled him. “It’s almost lunchtime. Will you join me for the meal?”

  “Of course.”

  The attentive servants standing by the doorway hurried into the library to add another place setting for Varian.

  “I have something for you.” He placed a small velvet drawstring pouch in his mother’s hand.

  Sabine gave him a delighted smile before loosening the pouch strings. A folded piece of silk tumbled into the palm of her hand. She smoothed back the soft layers. “Oh…” she breathed, her voice trembling. She picked up the pendant and held it up. The three jewels captured the sunlight and transformed it. The green amazonite leaves softened the harsh light into an embracing glow; the red garnet rose fractured light into radiant facets; and the blue-violet tanzanite teardrop embraced light into its glittering heart.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she murmured. “Will you help me put it on?”

  He slid the pendant through a delicate platinum necklace and fastened it around his mother’s neck. “Happy birthday.”

  “It’s a little early.” Her smile wavered. They both knew why he had delivered her gift early instead of on her birthday. She ran her fingers over the pendant’s leaves. “It’s a bit of you, always close to me.”

  He sat across from her, the small table keeping the conversation cozy. “Tell me what you’re reading,” he said as the servants appeared with the first course.

  “Are we really going to pretend everything is normal, Varian, that this is just another day in your life?”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve always had the most amazing ability to go on as if nothing unusual were happening, even when the world was collapsing all around you.”

  “I’d like to keep the world from collapsing.”

  “Is there any way to talk you out of heroic self-sacrifice?”

  “It’s a job that has to be done, and I’m the best person for it. Really, Mother, do you think every soldier has this kind of conversation with his mother before going off to war?”

  “Yes, I do. And your situation, in fact, is nothing like that of a soldier going off to war. They go to war, expecting to fight. They realize they might even get hurt, but they will do their best to avoid it. They will do their utmost to come back alive.” She glared at him, her bowl of soup untouched. “But not you.”

  “Mother, we’ve already talked about this. There’s nothing left to discuss.” His soup was no more touched than hers.

  “Did your time with Nithya do nothing to change your mind?”

  “Did you expect it to? Nithya knows how important it is and why it matters to Isa Fae.”

  “And to you.”

  “Mother—”

  “How much of your ego and pride is tied up in the Convello? Do you even know when to stop—when courage ends and folly begins?”

  “I will not proceed if there is no chance of success.”

  “Are you in any position to judge that?”

  “Yes, I have not lost my mind over this. If anything, I’ve lost my mind over Nit
hya.” Varian grimaced. “I’ve only known her for a few weeks.”

  “Love isn’t a race. There isn’t a clock ticking down, dictating when love can or cannot start.”

  “I never expected it to happen. I was just trying to buy you a gift.”

  “And you’ve told her.”

  Had he? “She knows.”

  His mother’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell her.”

  “I spent the past day with her. I’ve given her everything I could give.”

  She shook her head. “You gave her a day? You gave her gifts that barely made an impact on your finances? That’s nothing, Varian. You’ve given her nothing.”

  I gave her memories.

  But the memories would not keep her warm in the night; they could not hold her, cherish her.

  I gave her my heart.

  But in the end, those were merely sentiments, worth nothing when his heart stopped beating.

  He expelled his breath in a quiet sigh. “I don’t have anything else to give her.” The words whispered out of his aching heart. “I’m out of time.”

  “Don’t allow your father to hurt you from his grave.” His mother’s voice caught with unshed tears. “I was glad when he died.” Anger strengthened her tone and straightened her shoulders. “I thought it would finally give you a chance to break free of his death sentence.”

  “Mother, you know the sickness in my lungs—”

  “Not that! The Convello. It was his dream, his vision, not yours. He filled your head and heart with it until it was the only thing you could see. You were not born to die for the Convello. You were not born to die so that your father could rule over a restored La Condamine.”

  “Mother, I’ve chosen—”

  “Have you? Or were you given no choice? The influence—the damage done to children extends far beyond what can be seen, and your father damaged you. He let you believe that sacrificing your life in the Convello was the only way to earn his love.”

  Varian’s chest tightened. Because it was…

  “He’s gone now. He cannot love you. In fact, he never did or he would have cherished your life, not raised you for death, for slaughter.” Sabine slammed the palms of her hands on the table, rattling dishes and glasses. “He’s dead. I’m glad. I wanted him to die. I wanted you to live. I would have given anything to end his tyranny over you.”

  Chill crept to the edges of Varian’s fingertips. Anything?

  Would you kill your husband to save your son?

  He stared into the fury, the love, in his mother’s eyes. She could have—

  Varian shook his head sharply. He had to stop seeing his father’s assassins in every person he knew. No proof. He grimaced. And in thirty-six hours, it would not matter anymore.

  The reign of the Delacroix was over.

  Conrad would take the throne of La Condamine and establish a new dynasty. La Condamine would have hope in a world free of the endless winter.

  He met his mother’s eyes. “Just because the Convello would cost my life doesn’t make it the wrong thing to do. The spell has to be anchored by a powerful, willing caster, and it was always my responsibility to secure La Condamine’s future.”

  Tears filled his mother’s eyes. “Whatever it costs?”

  Surrender wrenched his soul. “Sometimes, that’s what a miracle demands.”

  Lunch with his mother had been brutally draining. The conversation had plowed through his emotions, dredging the depths of his soul—most especially his need for his father’s love, now utterly unattainable even if he fulfilled his father’s vision. Varian had never allowed himself to dwell on it before, but it struck him now—he would die with much of his life unlived.

  Damn it did not capture the tangle of emotions in the pit of his stomach, but he could not spare the mental energy to find more apt words. He was fighting the onset of a migraine when he walked into his study to find Tristan already there.

  “Where were you?”

  The anxious edge in Tristan’s voice jarred him, but Varian had already decided that he would not let the trivial distract him. Life—specifically, his life, was too short.

  “Away,” Varian answered Tristan’s question with a single word that cut off all further discussion of the topic. He glanced up as his cousin, Conrad, strode in without knocking.

  “Why are the council members under house arrest?” Conrad asked.

  “I gave no such order.”

  Tristan spoke up. “You said Baudin was dismissed from his duties at the palace.”

  Varian’s jaw dropped. “So you placed him and the entire council under house arrest?”

  “Maybe you don’t think Baudin ordered his men to kill you, but he wanted you stopped regardless. You don’t know who he’s collaborating with—although I suspect Grimaldi is involved too. Until the spell is cast, you’re in danger.” Tristan scowled. “I can’t believe you left the palace without telling me or without your personal guard.”

  Varian’s eyes narrowed. “The people who needed to know knew. I don’t make a general proclamation when I decide to take a day off. I left instructions that the council was to handle my meetings in my absence. If they were under house arrest, who attended those meetings?”

  Conrad smirked at Varian. “Who do you think? I did.”

  Varian ground his teeth. And this was why he couldn’t take any time off.

  Conrad continued. “Everyone thought you were in some kind of trouble yesterday when the army and cavalry marched out of La Condamine. Either that, or we were going to war.”

  Tristan glared at Conrad. “Varian wanted the guard doubled on our borders.”

  “What for?”

  “Trouble brewing in the outlands.”

  Conrad shrugged. “Hadn’t heard of it. I get missives from my estate manager every day. In fact, he mentioned that it’s been refreshingly quiet lately. They’ve probably found some other unfortunate people to bother.”

  Varian looked at Tristan. “Where did you hear about the outlands?”

  “It was in one of the national security reports.”

  Buried somewhere on his desk, no doubt. Varian gave the piles of paper an unhappy glance. “I must have missed it. I’d like to take a look at it. Can you find it for me?”

  “You don’t trust me?” Tristan flung his arm out at Conrad. “You’d accept instead the second-hand report of his third-rate estate manager?”

  “In the face of contradictory observations, I want a second opinion—mine. Where’s the report, Tristan?”

  Tristan glowered. “I have a copy in my office. I’ll see if I can find it.” He stalked out of Varian’s study, leaving Varian alone with Conrad.

  Conrad chuckled, but the tone was ironic. “Your best friend hates me.”

  “Tristan takes a while to warm up.” And he’s loyal.

  “He doesn’t have any kind of official role, does he?”

  “No, but he’s close to everyone in the administration. He’s like a chief of staff.”

  Conrad shrugged. “Since it’s not official, I won’t have to fire him officially. He won’t do. Too opinionated. Too quick to take things personally. I don’t have any time or inclination to pander to his damaged feelings.”

  “Some people call it consideration among friends.”

  “Sounds like work.” Conrad stared with distaste at Varian’s desk. “That’s going—all of it.”

  “You can redecorate my office the day after tomorrow. Meanwhile, I have lots of work to do.”

  Conrad pasted on an aggrieved expression. “Whatever happened to ‘consideration among friends’?”

  “Are we friends, Conrad?”

  The mocking gleam in Conrad’s eyes disappeared. “I’m your heir.”

  “Which implies nothing about friendship.”

  “You don’t think I’m good enough. You don’t think I can take over.”

  “I don’t think you spent much time imagining that you would ever be in this position one day.”

  “True
enough. The Delacroix have been meticulously responsible when it came to providing heirs to the throne. Until you, of course.”

  “You didn’t spend any time preparing for this position. Some people prepare their whole lives, and don’t feel ready anyway.”

  “Like you?”

  Varian nodded. “Every council meeting is a fight. I’m sure there’s a perfect balance between convincing others and bringing them along in the decision versus just getting things done on your own, because it’s far faster and easier—but I haven’t found it.” He smiled faintly. “You could, though. You have time to figure it out.”

  Conrad’s eyes narrowed. He seemed as if he were about to say something, but he shook his head and walked out of Varian’s study.

  Thirty-six more hours. Why am I not spending it with the people I love? Why am I here, still buried in work, trying to keep the peace between Tristan and Conrad?

  Because “apologize to and reconcile with the council” had just been added to his to-do list. He had to ensure the council was in place, ready to help Conrad govern La Condamine.

  Varian struggled to draw deep breaths. I am not ready. He glanced out at the sun, already low in the cloudless sky. One more day, for myself. Tomorrow morning, he would talk to the council, and then tomorrow night—

  He shot to his feet and paced the length of his study. I’m not ready.

  I’m not ready to die.

  But Nithya…La Condamine has to survive, and if this is the only way…

  A sharp knock drew his attention. “Tristan. Did you find that report?”

  “No. I was sidetracked by a few people on their way to see you. They have the latest tally on the magic you need for the Convello.”

  Varian took the sheaves of paper Tristan held out. A chill wrapped around him as he flipped the pages of the report. “That’s it? Even after pulling from the other citizens? How can it come up so short? Were the initial estimates wrong?”

  “No.” Tristan shook his head. “Someone’s been sabotaging the count.” He snapped his fingers, and two guards entered the room, dragging a scrawny male fae in between them. The fae was shaking so hard, he could hardly stand. “This is Aloysius. Eyewitnesses say that he had a gleaming bracelet two days ago, but when the guards came for him this morning, his bracelet was grayer than the sky before a storm, and he can’t account for how he spent his magic.”