by Kara Jaynes
Traitor. Tyro’s voice echoed in her mind, and Isabelle shuddered. “No. I have to go back. I have to.” She glanced pleadingly at Silvan. “If I don’t, the king and Tyro will think I’m a traitor. What if my family suffers because of it? I have to at least try to explain things. Now you know why I was so desperate to get bitterweed for that woman.” She bit her lip at her admission. “I mean, I wanted to help her, but—”
“I know what you mean,” Silvan said. He wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “But in a situation that serious, you can’t afford to have anything but the person’s best interests at heart.”
Isabelle nodded. He was right. “I have to go back, Silvan.” She took a deep breath. “I’m scared, but I’ve put everything that I am into this. Being a Fabled Hunter is my life.”
Silvan withdrew his hand and stood, only to offer his hand to help her up. “Well, let’s hurry then. We don’t want to make the king wait any longer than necessary.”
“You’re coming with me?”
Silvan lifted his shoulders nonchalantly, but his eyes looked suddenly guarded, wary. “I don’t have anywhere better to go at the moment. I’ll see you safe there, at least.”
Isabelle regarded him, her eyes narrowed as she remembered something he’d said. “At the enchantress’ garden. What did you mean when you said you thought I was ‘the one’?”
Silvan paused. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready,” he said, mirroring Isabelle’s words in Alinor’s garden. He smiled apologetically.
Isabelle shrugged. “Okay.” She knew him well enough by now to know she couldn’t force him to tell his secrets anyway.
They resumed their travel. Ash had disappeared, probably hunting a rabbit or squirrel. Isabelle chewed her lip, trying not to worry about what lay ahead. She glanced at Silvan and felt a flutter in her stomach. Whatever happened, she would never be able to regret freeing him.
16
The Southern province grew colder the farther north they went. They were now less than a week out from the king’s city. Silvan guided Isabelle with the same assurance that he had for the entire trip, but keeping his distance from her, staying aloof.
Isabelle eyed him sadly. Could he not see how much she was beginning to care for him? He was powerful, kind, and really seemed to care for her wellbeing. Her eyes narrowed, a thought coming to her.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Silvan?”
Silvan started, looking at her with surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“Have you?” Heavens, please say no.
Silvan shrugged. “I had, actually. A . . . while ago. It didn’t work out.”
“That’s maddeningly mysterious,” Isabelle complained, and Silvan smiled.
“We were attracted to each other as we both shared common interests, and enemies.”
“What happened?”
Silvan was silent for a long moment. “She eventually sided with our enemies,” he said at last. Isabelle’s heart clenched at Silvan’s voice. It was thick with grief. “I tried everything to bring her back. But in the end, I lost her.”
Isabelle bit her lip, her face twisting in pain for Silvan’s sadness, and disappointment for herself. She was glad he didn’t have someone, but he sounded . . . attached. “Do you still love her?”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” he said simply. “She’s dead.”
Isabelle was finding it difficult to breathe. Her heart broke for his grief, yet she felt a sliver of hope. Was he beginning to move on, then? She thought about their kiss, a faint blush stealing over her cheeks. She could still remember—
Ash came barreling out of the woods, her tail between her legs. Silvan unsheathed his sword in one swift movement.
Isabelle barely had time to process this before a black horse leaped from the forest, screeching in fury as it bore down on Silvan.
Not a horse. A unicorn.
Isabelle fumbled for an arrow as the beast charged Silvan, it’s horn lowered chest level. Unicorns were sought after by many, for they were some of the few animals alive who held magic in their blood. Not typically violent, they would, however, tear a man to shreds if they felt threatened.
Silvan slashed at it, dodging its horn, and the unicorn screamed again, lashing its hooves at him.
Nocking the arrow, Isabelle took aim and shot. The arrow sprang from the bow, imbedding itself where the heart should have been. The unicorn turned, its eyes red with rage, and galloped toward Isabelle, heedless of the wound it’d received.
“No!” Silvan roared. He leaped to protect Isabelle, and the unicorn swung back toward him at blinding speed, its horn stabbing Silvan through the chest.
Isabelle’s bow slipped from nerveless fingers as she watched Silvan’s face crumple in agony. He gripped the horn with one hand, holding his sword with the other. Blue flame flickered down the pale steel, and with an anguished cry, he shoved the blade through the unicorn’s neck.
The beast dropped to its side with a gurgle and lay still, it’s horn sliding free of Silvan’s chest. The man collapsed on the ground with a groan, his shirt soaked with blood. His blood. Silvan’s blood.
“No. Please, no!” Isabelle tripped in her haste to reach him, scrambling back to her feet. “Silvan, no!” She was crying. It’d been so sudden, how could this happen? Why?
She dropped to her knees, trying to staunch his wound with the folds of her cloak. So much blood. He was going to die. “Silvan!”
“Isabelle.” Silvan took her by the wrists. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not all right.” She tried to pull her arms free. His shirt stuck to him, the front completely red. “We need to find you a healer right now.”
Silvan smiled, his eyes cloudy with pain. “Isabelle.” Still holding her by one wrist, he pulled up the front of his shirt, showing her the wound.
Isabelle stared in shock. There was no wound. There was still blood, sticky and wet all over his chest, but where she’d clearly seen the man get impaled, there was flawless skin. She looked at him, fear and uncertainty fluttering in her heart. “How?”
Silvan’s blue eyes were full of sadness as he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m immortal,” he whispered.
17
Immortal. Isabelle stared at Silvan, a thousand questions tumbling in her mind. “How?”
The pain in Silvan’s eyes was receding and he sat up, peeling his soaked shirt off. Isabelle’s gaze wandered over his well-muscled chest and abs She looked away, feeling her face redden.
“Magic,” he replied, his voice sounding crisp. It was the tone he adopted when he was guarding himself against uncomfortable questions. “It happened a long time ago.” He chuckled wryly, picking his sword up. “I would never have agreed to immortality if I could have foreseen the future, but what’s done is done.” Closing his eyes a moment in concentration, blue flame hissed into life, dancing along the blade of his sword. Grabbing the unicorn horn, he lifted his sword arm and swiped the blade down with a tremendous burst of speed, cutting the horn off.
Isabelle looked at the dead animal, feeling the stirrings of pity. “It’s such a pretty animal.”
Silvan smiled at her, lifting his eyebrows in amusement. “Was it pretty before or after it impaled me?”
“That not what I meant.”
Silvan laughed. “I knew what you meant.” He looked down at the slain animal, his features softening. “There was something . . . wrong, with this unicorn. A sickness of some sort. Unicorns are fiercely territorial, and can be violent when need be, but this one was different. Sick.” He shrugged. “It happens sometimes. Probably an imbalance of magic, where it became too strong for the beast to handle. Sadly, killing it was for the best.”
He held out the horn. “Here. Unicorn horns hold great power. Put it in your rucksack and don’t tell anyone about it.”
Isabelle carefully took it from Silvan. It felt solid and smooth, the horn turning in a perfect spiral that narrowed to the tip.
In most paintings she’d seen, unicorn horns were white. This one was ebony in color, with a dull sheen. She could feel the trapped magic inside, swirling in an endless spiral, waiting to be released. She shivered.
“Thanks.” Isabelle hurriedly put it in her pack. It was long, but Silvan had cut it up far enough that, standing upright, the horn just barely fit in her rucksack. She slung the pack over her shoulder, picking up her bow and quiver. Silvan picked up his blood-soaked shirt, looking at it for a moment. “I don’t know if I can save this one.” He tried to wring it out, Isabelle’s stomach churning at the sight of blood oozing between his fingers. He shrugged and hung it over a tree branch. “Guess not.” Looking through the old, worn out pack he’d purchased in one of the villages they’d crossed, he pulled out another shirt. This one was the same style, with loose sleeves and drawstrings, but was a faded gray. He pulled it on, leaving the ties undone.
He motioned to the trees. “Shall we go?”
Isabelle nodded. She looked to see where Ash was and found the wolf circling the slain unicorn, eyeing it with undisguised hunger. “Ash, no.”
“Let her,” Silvan said. He was already moving out of the small clearing. “She may not be a real wolf, but even she needs to eat. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
Isabelle hesitated a moment, then followed. “What is she, then?”
“That’s her business,” Silvan said. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
Isabelle looked over at him as they walked. Silvan strode along like he’d never been hurt, moving with the same graceful lope he always did. He caught her watching him and smiled. “What?”
“You’re immortal,” Isabelle said, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.
Silvan shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
“I doubt that.” Isabelle frowned. “How can you even say that? You can’t die. You’ll live forever.”
Silvan’s eyes flared red. “No, I won’t.” He paused, closing his eyes, willing the curse back to dormancy. “No. I will die. Someday. I have to.”
Isabelle reached out, taking his hand, and the man flinched, his fingers gripping hers almost painfully. He opened his eyes, looking down at her sadly. “Sorry, Isabelle,” he said, seeing the questions in her gaze. “The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“And yet here you are, traveling with me.” She poked him in the ribs and Silvan laughed.
“That’s true. But so is what I said.” He paused, running a hand through his hair, considering his words. “I . . . made a bargain a long time ago. In exchange, I was given immortality, with a catch.” His beautiful face twisted like he was in pain. “Things didn’t turn out the way I expected, and I want out.” He looked away, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to die.”
Isabelle stared at him, forgetting to breathe. What could he mean? How could anyone feel that way? Words wouldn’t come.
Silvan saw her stricken look and smiled ruefully. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t die, yet. You saw as much earlier.”
“You haven’t given me very much information to go on,” she replied faintly.
“It’ll have to be enough for now,” Silvan said. He resumed walking, and for the rest of the day Isabelle had to hurry to keep pace or be left behind.
18
They had arrived. Isabelle, Silvan, and Ash stood on the same rise facing the city of Illyminatym where they’d stood months previously. Isabelle shivered, feeling cold fingers of fear running up her spine. She smiled at Silvan. She tried to anyway. It felt like more of a grimace. She would miss him terribly. “I’ll be seeing you later, then.”
She turned away, goosebumps prickling across her skin when Silvan reached out, his fingers wrapping around hers. “Isabelle.”
Isabelle eagerly turned toward him, looking up into his handsome face. “Yes?”
Silvan’s eyes were sad as he pulled a tendril of Isabelle’s dark hair out of her face. “Whatever happens, if you need me, call me. I will come. I want you to know that. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to be a Hunter.”
Isabelle stared at him. What did he mean? Of course she wanted to be a Hunter. She swallowed, and nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Silvan.”
Silvan stared at her, his jaw clenching, then compulsively stepped forward, kissing her gently on the forehead. “Stay safe.”
He turned, disappearing into the depths of the forest that sprawled endlessly behind her.
Ash bumped Isabelle’s hand with her nose, a low whine emitting from her throat, then she, too, trotted back into the woods.
Isabelle inhaled deeply, then began walking toward the city, gripping the handle of her bow like she could gain comfort from it. She had to do this. She’d sworn fealty to the king, and to the Hunters. Despite her mistakes, she wouldn’t abandon them. Not like this.
But she still hoped Tyro hadn’t come yet. Perhaps he’d been waylaid by other Hunter business.
Isabelle wore her full Hunter’s garb again, striding to the palace with a show of confidence she didn’t feel. Her skin tingled with apprehension.
When she reached the palace she stopped to speak with one of the guards. “Has Tyro returned?”
The guard ducked his head in a respectful nod. “Yes, Hunter Isabelle. But he’s been in and out of the palace. I don’t know if he’s here right now.”
Isabelle thanked the guard and continued on, her stomach writhing with nerves. Why had the king called her? If Tyro had spoken to the king, then her summons could only be bad.
“Isabelle Aryn.” Isabelle turned to the voice and saw two Hunters approaching. The one who had spoken was Erik, a grizzled, scar-faced Hunter. She didn’t recognize the other. “The king has requested you see him at once.”
“How did you know I was here?” Isabelle asked.
The older man shrugged. “The king has messengers posted throughout the city. They must have seen you coming.”
Great. Isabelle motioned to the great palace doors. “I’m ready to see him.” She tried to keep her face impassive. “Perhaps I should drop my things off at my quarters first?”
Erik shook his head. “The king said immediately. That means right now.”
In what seemed much too short a time, Isabelle found herself walking down the long, familiar hall that would take her to the throne room. She did her best to keep herself composed, face expressionless, but that did nothing to calm her nerves. Her stomach twisted painfully.
Pausing before the great doors that would take her to the throne room, she was halted by the guards that stood there. One ducked in to announce her presence then came out and said, “The king will see you now.”
Isabelle nodded. Steeling herself, she walked in. The throne room was resplendent as always in its white, gold and pale blue décor, but Isabelle was hardly aware of it, her steps echoing hollowly as she approached. King Ruald sat in his golden throne, back stiff, dark brown gaze trained on Isabelle. Huge gauzy drapes hung on the windows behind him, partially casting him in shadow. There was the usual gaggle of ladies and nobles off to the side, all watching her. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to icy disapproval. Great. I’ll have an audience if the king decides to kill me.
Two men stood on either side his throne, but she couldn’t see them in the shadows. Guards, maybe?
It was so quiet, Isabelle was sure she’d be able to hear a mouse if it scampered under the king’s chair. She knelt smoothly on one knee. “My king.” She kept her gaze on the floor a couple of feet ahead of her. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t let him see your fear.
“Well, at least you had the courage to return,” King Ruald said. “After what I’ve heard about you, I rather expected you wouldn’t come back.”
“I . . . don’t know what you mean, my king.” Isabelle’s mouth went dry. Had Tyro told him about Silvan, or was this about something else?
“Don’t play stupid, Isabelle.” A hint of anger entered his voice. “I’ve received a lengthy report on your progress, and it
isn’t good.”
“A report, my king?” She heard footsteps up on the dais by the throne, and lifting her gaze, locked eyes with a tall man with angry brown eyes, his red-brown hair tied back in a sleek tail.
Tyro.
Isabelle instinctively dropped her other knee, crouching lower on the floor. Her fingers felt numb and her breath came in shallow gasps. He was here. Tyro was already here. I’m not a traitor, I’m not a traitor, I’m not a—
The king tsked. “She shows more obeisance toward you than her king,” he muttered, just loud enough for Isabelle to hear.
“Nothing that can’t be cured, my king,” Tyro spoke in clipped measured tones. “She just needs more training.” He paused. “It was my mistake. I shouldn’t have taken her with me on my last journey. She’s too inexperienced.”
Isabelle’s heart lifted a moment before Tyro firmly stomped it. “Still, she’s too willful, prideful, dishonest and disobedient by half. I’ve never had this much trouble with a new recruit. She has to be disciplined.”
“My king,” Isabelle pleaded, looking up at King Ruald. “I’m still loyal, my king. Truly. I came here when I could have run away. I—”
“Not another word,” Tyro said quietly. Isabelle closed her mouth so quickly her teeth clicked together.
The king chuckled, his dark face lined with amusement. “Based on what I’ve seen here, I don’t think she’s beyond saving. She’s young.” He sighed, rubbing his beard with a finger. “Do what you have to, Tyro. If you think she has the grit and talent to stay a Fabled Hunter, see to her training. If not . . .”
Isabelle still knelt on the floor, trying to stop the tremors of disappointment and terror that kept running through her.
“Stop cringing,” Tyro snapped. “Stand up. You’re a Hunter, for pity’s sake. At some point, you need to start acting like one.” Isabelle obeyed, scrambling to her feet. She tried not to shiver; it’d gotten very cold all of the sudden. The lords and ladies still watched her, their eyes hungry, eager to see how this played out. She saw a woman standing near her, a dark woman with curly black hair. She looked familiar but in her current frame of mind, Isabelle couldn’t recall who she might be.
