by Jade Kerrion
A guard pinned Aloysius’s arm on the desk for Varian’s examination. Varian ran his finger over Aloysius’s colorless bracelet and frowned at the subtle shadings of magic layered over the bracelet. The atern bracelet was attuned to the magic levels of its wearer, but he sensed something else. “There’s an illusion bound to the bracelet.”
“Is there?” Tristan sounded grimly pleased. “I thought so, but I couldn’t make it out.”
“It’s brilliantly cast, so tightly woven into the original magic of the bracelet that it’s almost impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.” Varian’s head snapped up, and he stared at Aloysius. “Who did this?”
“Please, your highness.” Aloysius’s voice quavered. “I was afraid…I don’t want to die.”
Tristan snarled, “The prince asked you a question. Who did this?”
“They…they told me about her; everyone goes to her. She weaves the…the most perfect illusions in the city. I had to wait days; the…the line was so long, she was so busy. I was afraid she wouldn’t get to me before the…the guards did.”
“You’re blabbering now, man.” Tristan slammed his hand down on the desk. Aloysius jolted like a scared rabbit. “Who did this?”
“She…she owns a jewelry shop in the city. Illusions.”
Varian’s mind blanked. “Nithya?”
Shock and relief flooded Aloysius’s face, as if he were somehow less guilty if the prince knew of her too. “Yes, Nithya,” he gasped. “The witch.”
Nithya. Varian’s hand clenched into a fist. The witch who casts illusions so perfect you can’t tell where reality ends and the lies begins.
Lies like love.
Varian did not send someone for Nithya.
Some things struck too close to his heart to leave to someone else. Fury propelled him through his spinning thoughts and the acute, stabbing pain in his chest. It kept him moving when the shock would have devastated him.
He went to her home first, but she was not there. Neither was she at her shop. The sun had set when Varian finally found her in Ariel’s suite in the palace. He strode into the room, and the lively conversation between Nithya and Ariel faded to stunned silence.
He stared at Nithya. Beautiful. Bewitching. Betrayer. “I didn’t realize I’d fallen in love with the greatest traitor in the realm.”
Something passed over Nithya’s features. She rose to her feet, composed, utterly lovely. “I did what I felt was the right thing to do.”
“So you don’t deny creating illusions over the atern bracelets?”
“No, I’ve been doing it for years—illusions are the only magic I can weave—but my business soared when you turned tyrant. In the past week, I’ve had more requests in a day than I usually handle in a year.”
“I want those names. I want the names of the fae and witches whose bracelets you’ve magicked.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not giving you those names.”
“I need their magic for the spell. The casting is hours away.”
“If they don’t want to give their magic to you, they don’t have to give it to you.”
“They’re not going to die. Ariel will ensure it. In fact, the more people help out, the less we have to take from any one person.”
Ariel, sitting silent and wide-eyed on the bed, nodded immediately.
Nithya glowered at him. “That’s not the point! You cannot take this choice from them. Magic cannot be compelled from anyone.”
“Magic, like love?” He closed the distance to her. She did not retreat or shrink when he wrapped his fingers in her hair. “Tell me, Nithya, how deep does the illusion go?”
“It doesn’t change the magic level; it just alters the perception of it.”
“I’m not asking about the hundreds or thousands of bracelets you’ve magicked. I want to know—” He grimaced, his chest hurting as if he had been stabbed repeatedly through the heart. “—this thing I feel for you. How much of it is real?”
She stared wordlessly at him for several moments before finding her voice. “I’ve done nothing to you.”
“Nothing?” Despite his attempts to modulate his tone, fury and bitterness seared his voice. “I’ve lived for twenty-eight years, braced for emotionally empty relationships, and within moments of entering your store, I’m immediately entranced by you—so much so that I can’t stop thinking of you, can’t stop wanting you. I brought you—the viper—right next to my heart.” He shook his head. “Undo it.”
“What?”
“Undo the illusion. Take it off.”
Nithya swallowed hard. She shook her head. Suddenly, she seemed smaller, her shoulders curled in. “There is no illusion.” Her voice shook.
“Of course there is. You’ve said it’s the only thing you can do. It’s the only reason I haven’t been able to think straight for a month. What do you want, Nithya? An outrageous price for your jewelry designs. I paid you that. You want your family? You have that too. What else do you want from me? I have nothing left to give you. Remove the illusion.”
“There is no illusion.”
Varian could almost hear the sob in her voice. Beautiful deceiver.
Ariel spoke up timidly. “Varian, her illusions only affect what you see. Nithya’s not lying to you—not about what you feel.”
Of course Nithya was lying. There was no other way to explain his mad, stupid tumble into love. Varian grabbed Nithya’s arm and pulled her from Ariel’s suite. He did not need an audience for their conversation.
He did not let go of his grip on her arm as he strode down the corridor, half-dragging, half-pulling her along.
“Slow down, Varian,” she cried. “Stop it; you’re hurting me.”
He said nothing, but he slowed his pace, and his grip on her arm loosened. The crack in his heart widened when he saw the red marks his fingers had left on her skin. Whatever she had done to him, it didn’t justify hurting her.
Varian walked into his study and slammed shut the door. “I want those names, Nithya.”
“I won’t give them to you.” Her voice sounded stronger, and her chin was lifted in that defiant expression he could not believe he had once found so enchanting.
“I need those names.”
“You’re not having them. Don’t you get it? You’re taking magic from the unwilling. How does that make you any different from the fae who rape witches for their magic?”
“I’m not—” His thoughts tangled in the net of her accusations. “It’s different. The spell will shatter the barrier.”
“I don’t care if you’re taking the magic for yourself or for what you think is the greatest good for Isa Fae. You can’t just take it from people. You have the most lofty, high-handed morality of anyone I know. Why doesn’t it apply in this situation? What you’re doing is theft. It’s rape. It’s below you.”
“If the barrier doesn’t shatter, Isa Fae will die. Not today, not tomorrow, but our world will perish. All I need is a little magic from everyone.”
“Then ask. Don’t demand. Don’t take. Or does the prince of La Condamine not know the difference? Ariel said that you don’t have enough people to shatter the barrier. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“So why are you still holding them here? Why are you still pushing ahead with a spell that has no chance of succeeding?”
“Because the others need proof. I know my people. They will rally and step forward at the last possible moment, but only with proof. And to get that proof, I need enough magic to make something happen—”
“Like what? A crack in the barrier?” She snorted. “You’re going to force a handful of people to sacrifice their magic in the hope that others will volunteer theirs? That puts you in a bit of a bind, doesn’t it?”
“A bind that doesn’t affect you, since you have no magic to give.” Varian snatched the paper off his table and stared at the numbers—too small to make any difference, even if he gave everything, even if he gave his life. “Can’t you see what you
’re doing? You’re blocking the single most critical breakthrough for our future. You’re damning La Condamine and Isa Fae—on what grounds? My demand that my people contribute some of their magic to do more than warm their houses and trade for pretty trinkets?”
“Don’t you dare trivialize what people do with their magic. It’s their magic! You have no right to it, not even as prince of La Condamine. The laws forbid it.”
Varian snarled, “When did you develop any respect for the law? Altering atern bracelets is a crime. Abetting illegal immigrants is a crime. You’ve broken laws in this faction—left, right, and center—and you throw the law back in my face?” His lungs twisted; the pain doubled him over. The coughing fit convulsed his body, tearing through his chest. He tasted blood in his mouth, and swallowed it, along with moist, solid lumps that he hoped was blood instead of the insides of his lungs.
Nithya’s voice seemed to come from a long way off. “Where is your medicine?”
“Desk drawer.” He heard her fill a glass with water, stirring the powder until it dissolved. She touched his shoulder. “Here, drink.”
It hit him then—the exotic spice fragrance of her skin, the gentleness of her hand, the care…the love…in her voice.
An illusion.
The pain in his chest, right over his heart—
What had he told her? That there were things magic couldn’t fix—like his ruined lungs and a broken heart.
If only he’d known how predictive his words were.
Varian did not realize how hard he was clenching his teeth until the muscles in his jaw ached. He could wring the truth from her. His magic was far stronger. She had family in La Condamine now—people she loved. He had leverage over her.
His heart clenched. Was he really the tyrant, the monster she had accused him of being?
She was the key.
She was the one thing standing in his way.
And he couldn’t bring himself to crush her.
He didn’t know who he despised more—her or himself. He didn’t know what to blame—her deception or his weakness.
I am the prince. It’s my responsibility.
My fault.
My weakness.
His eyes squeezed shut. And I choose…
I choose…
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Get out.”
The gentle rub against his back stilled. For a long moment, she, too, was silent. “Varian…”
“Get out. Take your illusions, take your lies, and get out.”
“I just—”
He spun around. “You know how important the Convello is to me. All the time we were together, you said nothing. We shared every physical and emotional intimacy, and the entire time, you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie, and it wasn’t important—”
“It is the most important thing to me, and you sabotaged it. All those conversations about my father’s murder, about who might be trying to hurt me…all those discussions about traitors in my realm—I didn’t know I was talking to the biggest traitor in my realm.”
“Varian—”
“Did it cost you anything to lie? How much pride did you sacrifice to sleep with me? And the time you said you wanted to spend with me—it was a ploy, wasn’t it? To get me out of the city, away from my advisers, away from the data pouring in, so I couldn’t get a handle on the damage you’ve done, so I would have no way of rectifying it in time to cast the spell.”
“No, that’s not it.” Her voice trembled. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Varian, I love you.”
Her words stung, like salt water poured into open, bleeding wounds, but not as much as his stupidity hurt him. My own fault. Trusting her. Loving her. “I should have known better.” The bitter admission wrung from his soul. Love made fools of princes.
He tugged on the bell pull and summoned servants. “Inform my guests they are all free to leave.”
The servants’ startled gazes flicked between him and Nithya. “Your highness, are you—?”
“Send them away. The spell will not be cast.”
“Yes, your highness.” The servants bowed and backed quietly out of his study.
Varian stared out at the almost full moon. His breath—shallow, irregular gasps through aching lungs—could not fuel his air-starved brain. His extremities were cold, his head spun, and his heart—his heart was a bloodied, mangled mess.
The spell would not be cast.
He would live and likely govern for many years. He would live with the knowledge that he had allowed a witch to blind him with the illusion of love. He would live with the knowledge that he had failed his people utterly in this one task that mattered more than any other.
He would never allow himself to be so fooled, so manipulated, ever again.
“Varian…” Nithya’s soft voice recalled him from his bleak thoughts.
“Why are you still here?”
“We have to talk.”
“You’ve said everything I’ve needed to hear.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “In future, I will endeavor to listen more attentively. If a woman calls me a tyrant and a megalomaniac, I’ll accept those words as evidence that we’re not right for each other.”
“Varian, please, I can’t leave you in this state.”
“And what state is that?”
“Alone. Isolated by your power and pain.”
He turned to face her. “I have always been alone. Fleeting illusions of love don’t count.”
Anguish wrenched her expression. “Please don’t do this.”
Varian ground his teeth. Her pain almost looked real. He turned away, unutterably weary. “Just go. You have nothing to fear from me. You and your family are safe from retaliation. But—” He swallowed painfully. How could his chest hurt so badly? “—I never want to see you again.”
Chapter 15
I never want to see you again.
His words were a death knell. Her family would not be hurt or cast out of La Condamine, but she had not been worried about it, not for a moment. It’s Varian. He’s not cruel, not unkind. Above all else, he cares for his people.
And he cares—cared—for me.
Nithya drew a deep, shuddering breath. Varian stood on the other side of his desk, but he could have been standing on the far side of the moon. He was distant, utterly cut off from her by the stiffness of his stance.
He thought her love was an illusion. How could she blame him? How could he accept that she loved him and yet had thwarted him, undermining his attempts to rally enough magic from his people to shatter the barrier?
She hadn’t even done so to save his life.
She had done so because it was the right thing to do, because no one—no witch, no fae—should be forced to give up his or her magic.
He held to his vision.
She held to her principles.
They shared no common ground.
She had won, but there was no joy in that victory.
She turned to leave, but distance screams pierced the closed door of his study. “What are you—?”
“Run!”
“We’re under attack!”
Alarmed, Nithya glanced into the courtyard, which was still and quiet beneath the moonlight. The courtyard was the only way into the palace; the guards at the gates would surely have raised an alarm. How else could attackers have entered the palace—?
Her breath caught. The old palace. The warren of tunnels, corridors, and secret rooms. Ancient exits opening out into the mountains…
“Stay back,” Varian ordered tersely as he flung open the door and stepped out of his study. Ignoring his command, she followed him out and looked over the bannister. Screaming servants ran from rough-garbed fae. The household guards, weapons drawn, stepped between the fleeing servants and the intruders, but were hacked down, overwhelmed by the irresistible tide of greater numbers.
Varian held out his hand. His lips moved in the whisper of a spell.
The invaders’ whoops transformed into howls of
dismay. They swung their swords, their blows striking ineffectually at an invisible barrier in front of them.
On the other side of the barrier, servants and household guards scurried away.
Varian spoke, his voice calm, as if he were not single-handedly fending off an attack. “Find Ariel and my mother, then get out of the castle.”
“No, I’m not leaving you.”
“You don’t belong here.”
Footsteps rushed toward them. Nithya spun around as Tristan approached. His startled gaze flicked to Nithya before returning to Varian. “The people are rioting.”
“It’s much more than a riot. They’re outlanders,” Varian said tersely. “Lead Nithya to safety, then ride to the mountain passes and bring back the army. I can hold the palace until the soldiers return.”
Tristan hacked a cough into his fist.
Nithya stared at him. That cough…it was just like—
Tristan straightened and closed the distance to Varian. Something in his eyes and the set of his jaw sizzled alarm along Nithya’s spine. His voice was calm, even detached. “I know you can hold the palace against this rabble—alone, if necessary.”
Varian glanced at Tristan. “What are you—?” He jerked suddenly, slumping against Tristan. He pressed a hand to his side. It came away, sticky with blood.
“No!” Nithya grabbed Varian’s shoulders, trying to support him.
“Get out. Run,” Varian ordered, his voice shockingly weak. His dark eyes were glazed, unfocused beyond what mere pain or shock could have wrought. He staggered against the bannister, before his strength seemed to melt from his body. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.
The outraged howls below gave way to a loud whoop as Varian’s magical barrier faded.
“What are you doing?” Nithya pressed her hands against Varian’s injury, trying to stem the bleeding.
“Just a touch of datura. Its effects are temporary.” Tristan fastened a runic collar around Varian’s neck and sealed it with a murmured spell. “I should thank you. I wasn’t certain I could pull it off. He would have become suspicious of me, but you distracted him.”
