by Kara Jaynes
Let us play this game of lies. This game of Deception.
Table of Contents
Silvan
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Jack
About the Author
Silvan
She’d failed.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, yet after the time I’d spent with her, I’d been so sure she would do the right thing, certain she had the courage to stay true to her moral compass, even if it meant losing the tournament. But she’d made it very clear where she placed her values in that one, critical moment.
I need someone who is inherently good and selfless. Who puts others above herself. I should have known that I was asking too much of her. She’s only eighteen, but is her age an excuse? I don’t know.
I sit in Illyminatym’s library, its vast halls filled with countless books. I feverishly flip through book after book, scrolls, manuscripts, and tomes, hoping to find some way out of my predicament. But I find none. Isabelle is my only hope, yet how can I place such heavy responsibilities on her shoulders? She is clearly not ready for it, and history would curse my name if I pressed too soon.
But if not her, who?
I slump back in the hard-backed chair, despair washing over me. I’m a fool. Death is my fate. Nothing can change that. Despair turns to dark humor and I smile. Death. Is it really so bad? I remember a time when it frightened me more than anything, but as the years progressed I’ve wished for it often enough. For me, death remains elusive.
I stand, closing yet another book. I found a few lines of verse that may prove helpful, but they’re cryptic in their meaning. I leave the library with a sigh and walk down a city street, my mood darkening with every step. Isabelle had botched things badly; would the world recover? Yes, the world would heal, but only with my death.
And Glacia’s.
I grit my teeth, trying to push memories of her away. Thoughts of her still hurt, searing my heart with a piercing agony that mere fire never could. This is all her fault. She’d tried to justify her actions, but they were only excuses and pathetic ones at that. Glacia had turned her back on her duties, our duties. She betrayed the world, herself . . . and me. There is no hope for her. Glacia is lost.
As though even thinking of her has the power to summon the woman, I feel a tremor of enchantment stroking my spirit.
The darkness in me shudders, eagerly responding to the magic. I gasp, stumbling into a group of passersby. Ignoring their grumbles, I keep walking, putting up my mental and magical defenses. Glacia always taunts me when I least expect it.
With my emotions carefully guarded, I can no longer feel the invasive magic.
My steps lead me to the palace, to the Fabled Hunters training halls. I wonder briefly why I have come here, after my disappointment, and firmly put the thought away, not willing to consider what the answer might be.
I pause, standing before the great doors, thinking it would be best to depart the city. Now that I think of it, it’s been a long while since I’ve left the Four Provinces. Perhaps it’s time to do so.
I pick up the sound of approaching footsteps. Three, maybe four people approach. Hunters coming to train, most likely. I slink off to stand in the shadows of a small outbuilding a few feet away, not in the mood to engage with others. I don’t get along with most people. I’m sensitive to their emotions; hate, anger, and jealousy put me on edge, and most people harbor these feelings, some in great abundance.
I recognize the Hunters leading the way, and feel a flicker of anger. Tyro and Aviina, the two Fabled Hunters who’d preyed on my weakness, temporarily imprisoning me in the shadowhold. Just as well I avoid them. They might remember me and I don’t feel the inclination to fight right now. Eric, the scar-faced veteran, follows closely . . . and Isabelle.
Looking at her, I feel twin tendrils of hope and despair run down my spine. She is the reason I stay. Despite her faults, I can’t suppress my hope that’s she the one who can help me.
She’s not engaging the other Fabled Hunters in any discussion. Her expression is reflective. I wish I could tell what she was thinking, but I’m not a mind reader. Does she regret her decision to become a Hunter? I watch her, the pang in my heart growing. Does she realize that all she’s managed to do is trade one prison for another? Being a Fabled Hunter isn’t any more freeing than being a merchant’s daughter.
She follows the other Hunters into the training halls. She trains six days out of the week with them, and on her rest day sneaks to the halls to practice alone. No one can accuse her of not being dedicated. She thinks if she pushes her body to exhaustion she’ll be a better Hunter. She might be right.
The large doors close behind them and I turn away, my steps eventually taking me away from the city and into the woods. I’ll return, but I’ve grown to crave the quiet solitude of the forest.
I don’t know what to do about Isabelle. She’s a confusing mix of good and bad, like everyone else, but there something about her that sets her apart from others. What is it? Her Gift? Perhaps.
Despite her failing, I still cling to the hope she is the one who can free me.
1
Loyalty without limit.
Honesty in all things.
Obedience without question.
No task is too great,
with Strength and Honor in my soul.
This is the Hunter’s creed.
Isabelle’s breaths came in shallow, painful gasps. She felt like her insides were on fire, and her limbs shook with fatigue. But quitting wasn’t an option.
“Faster!” Tyro called. “Finish strong, Isabelle.”
“I’m… trying,” Isabelle panted. Breathing heavily, she gritted her teeth and lengthened her stride. There! She finished the tenth and final lap around the huge sparring room in the training halls. She sank to her knees, gasping for air.
“Get up,” Aviina spat, nudging her with her boot. Tiny and slim, one might think Aviina was a timid and weak woman. One would be wrong. “Walk another two laps while you regain your stamina.”
“Okay.” Isabelle stood, her body swaying, and stumbled into a walk. Tyro had turned and was barking out orders to a couple of other Hunters who were sparring.
Isabelle tried to focus on her breathing. Deep, mindful breaths. In. Out.
“You need to eat more,” Aviina said. She kept pace with Isabelle, but she balanced on the balls of her feet as if she were eager to run or fight. “You eat like a bird. A small one. You’re going to kill yourself in practice if you don’t have adequate nutrition.”
Isabelle eyed Aviina somewhat doubtfully. She could never quite tell if they were on the same team. “You look like you could use some of your own advice.”
The small woman laughed,
but it sounded strained. “If I could make myself any bigger, I’d be there in a heartbeat. Just trust me. Eat more.” She spun on her heel and strode back to Tyro, shadowing him like a faithful hound.
As Isabelle continued walking, her mind drifted to the tournament. The king had held the tourney over a month ago, where subjects from all Four Provinces had competed, hoping to become the next Hunter. Isabelle had won, but she’d almost lost.
Jack. Isabelle’s hands curled into fists. Where was he now? Was he safe? Had he gone home? Her chest hurt. Jack didn’t have a home. She remembered their kiss. Her heart was already pounding from her sprint, and thoughts of Jack didn’t help.
I stabbed him in the back.
She shook her head. What was done was done. Isabelle had done what she’d had to in order to win. She quickened her steps, shoving thoughts of Jack aside.
By the time she finished walking the lap, her breathing had calmed, but her legs still felt like jelly.
“Move, you sluggards!” Tyro roared at the two Hunters who were still sparring. “My grandmother would fight better than you.” He laughed. “Literally.”
He turned and flashed a grin at Isabelle. “How are you feeling?”
“Great,” Isabelle lied. She felt about as strong as a wet leaf, but she didn't want him to know. She couldn’t afford to show any weakness.
Tyro’s smile deepened. “Excellent.” He jerked his chin toward the center of the room. “Get out there. Your turn to spar.”
Heaven preserve her. “Now?”
Tyro arched a dark brow. “Are you saying you’re tired, then?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get out there.”
Isabelle walked to the center of the room, shaking her arms to loosen them. She knew what was coming.
Tyro sauntered out to join her, positioning himself a few paces across from her. He didn’t wear the leather armor of a Hunter today. He had dressed in more casual attire: form-fitting trousers and an untucked, loose cotton shirt, the drawstrings unlaced. “Get ready.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, arms held up to protect his face. “Copy me.”
Isabelle did, silently thankful for the sleek trousers she now wore. They made movement much easier than the skirts she was accustomed to wearing.
“Ready?” Tyro asked. Isabelle barely had time to nod before Tyro brought his leg up and out, his heel making solid contact with her stomach.
Isabelle gasped, the air leaving her body in a painful whoosh. She dropped her arms down and the Hunter’s arm snaked out, his fist connecting with her chin. It was a light, controlled movement, but it still hurt. Isabelle staggered away, knocking his hand from her face.
Tyro’s shoulder dipped as he darted forward and grabbed Isabelle by the wrist. He yanked her toward him, twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her down, pinning her to the floor. “I thought you said you weren’t tired.” His tone was conversational.
“I—I might be. A little.”
Tyro’s voice darkened. “Then say so the first time. Don’t lie to me, Isabelle. It’s not the Hunter’s way.” He released her and stood. Holding out his hand, he helped her to her feet. “Get a drink of water,” he ordered, “then get your bow.”
“Yes, sir.” Rubbing the arm he’d twisted, Isabelle hurried to a long table which held jugs of water. Her steps lightened at the thought of archery.
“Hunter Tyro!” A young servant darted into the training room and skidded to a halt in front of the tall Hunter, dipping in a hasty bow. “The king requests your presence immediately.”
Tyro nodded back. “Lead the way, boy.” He glanced over at Aviina and she swiftly strode over to stand a little behind his right shoulder. They were rarely separated, even with Tyro’s recent promotion to Head Hunter. Aside from the king and the barons, there was no higher ranked official than Tyro now.
Isabelle picked up one of the jugs and drank from it, letting the lukewarm water cascade down her throat.
“Come, Isabelle.”
Isabelle choked on her water and turned toward Tyro. The Hunter was standing by the exit, looking over his shoulder at her. She stared back, thinking she must have misheard, and he frowned.
“I said, come.”
Isabelle hastily set the water down and followed him and Aviina out of the halls, her mind whirling with questions. Why did Tyro want her to be in attendance? What did the king want? Was she really cut out to become a Hunter? The last question made her mouth twist distastefully. She was still so weak. For every compliment Tyro or Aviina gave her, there were two criticisms.
She tried to engage with the two Fabled Hunters who walked in front of her, but they silently waved her questions aside. She would have to wait until she stood before the king.
2
“My king.” Tyro knelt in one smooth motion, head bowed in respect. “You have need of me?”
King Ruald looked up from a map he’d been studying. His black beard was neatly trimmed and his clothing immaculate, but he looked tired. His skin was the same color as Isabelle’s. His ancestors had come from Seabound, though Isabelle knew they couldn’t be related. He motioned to Tyro impatiently, indicating him to rise. “We have a problem,” the king said. “I’ve received a letter from Baron Faedir, from the Southern Province. It seems winter has come early.”
“Winter, my king?” Tyro looked puzzled as he rose and walked over to look at the map. The two men didn’t even glance at Isabelle and Aviina.
Isabelle frowned, feeling a ripple of annoyance. She glanced at Aviina out of the corner of her eye. The shorter woman stared at the two men, her face impassive. If she was insulted by their behavior, she didn’t show it. Tyro was Head Hunter which was probably why the king didn’t acknowledge them. It was still irritating to be ignored, though.
“Yes. Faedir has sent reports of entire villages being encased in ice.” King Ruald shook his head as if he had a hard time believing it. He laid a dark finger on the map. “Here, in the farther southern reaches, almost at the edge of the realm.”
Tyro rubbed his chin, musing. “Most of the South Province is warm, almost unbearably so, especially that far south. Snow never falls there.”
“Apparently, it does now,” the king said. “Perhaps it’s magic. Whatever the reason, I need some Hunters to go investigate.”
Tyro nodded, his handsome face creased with concern. “I will go.” His gaze lifted to lock with his fiancé’s. “And Aviina.” His gaze shifted. “I’ll take Isabelle, too.”
“The newest Hunter?” King Ruald looked skeptical. “Surely it’d be better for her to stay and continue her training.”
“Isabelle has had more real life experience than most new Hunters,” Tyro said. “I think this would be an excellent opportunity for her to learn and grow. I’ll continue her training as we travel.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, she needs further lessons in Hunter ethics.”
He’s still upset that I lied to him. Isabelle tried not to wilt under his stare. It had been just a little lie; most people wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
“Very well.” The king shrugged as if it were of no matter to him. He turned back toward the map. “Leave soon, Tyro. I want to get to the bottom of this.”
Isabelle followed the two Fabled Hunters out as she struggled to suppress the surge of excitement she felt. While she didn’t mind the training, she’d felt confined being required to stay within the city. It’d feel good to travel again.
“Don’t think this means we’ll go easy on your training.”
Isabelle snapped out of her thoughts and found Aviina had slowed her pace to stride alongside her. “You will continue to be pushed to your limits and endurance, your obedience and loyalty tested. That’s the quickest way to improve.”
“I’ll keep training hard,” Isabelle promised. She frowned at Tyro’s back. They had returned to the training halls, picking up the gear they had left behind when summoned. “Aviina, why did Tyro want me to come?”
She cringed inwardly at the f
lash of jealousy in Aviina’s eyes before the shorter woman shook her head slightly, relaxing visibly. “He sees your potential. You work hard and don’t shirk your training. While all new Hunters have strong enthusiasm, in the beginning, that excitement is usually dampened once training starts.”
Isabelle nodded as she picked up her bow, watching the other woman carefully. Aviina couldn’t seem to help but glare and snort at every woman who crossed her fiancé’s path, regardless of whether or not they seemed interested in Tyro. I’m not jealous, Aviina had protested when Isabelle had asked her about it. I’m territorial.
Isabelle didn’t see the difference but hadn’t pressed the matter.
“And seriously, don’t think we’ll go easy,” Aviina said, shaking a finger at Isabelle in warning.
“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Isabelle protested.
“Whatever,” Aviina said. “Be sure to pack tonight. I don’t know when we’ll go but it’ll be within the next few days. Best to be prepared.”
They entered the Fabled Hunter’s women’s quarters. Isabelle reached out, lightly touching Aviina on the shoulder. “If the reports are true,” Isabelle said, “who would be powerful enough to cause towns in the South Province to freeze?”
The slim woman shrugged Isabelle’s hand off. “The report is almost certainly exaggerating. Reports usually do.” She opened the door that led to her personal rooms and paused, her face becoming thoughtful. “It would require an immense amount of power to make that kind of magic. Hmm.” She tapped her chin, biting her lower lip. “That’s assuming we’re talking about a witch or a mage. It could be a beast that’s caused all this trouble.”
“What kind of beast could cause such damage?”
“A dragon,” Aviina replied, leaning against the doorframe. “Except they are quite rare. Almost extinct, fortunately. Dragons are unpredictable at best, at worst—” She left the implication hang in the air, then walked into her room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Isabelle continued walking down the hall to her own room.
Dragon. The word stirred the hint of a memory. It made her think of feathers, cages, and hands. Safe hands. Why? She’d never seen a dragon before.
