by Kara Jaynes
“It is my pleasure, Sir Reginald,” Lady Ilysa said. She glanced sideways at her daughter. “Though, perhaps thanks would be better placed with Jillian, as I know she would not be able to rest thinking the baron’s son needed attending to. I think she, as much as anyone, wants to make sure your stay here is pleasant, particularly after the bandit attack.” Lady Ilysa shuddered delicately, making Isabelle roll her eyes.
“Ah. I see. Thank you, Miss Jillian.” Jack gave Jillian one of his disarming smiles, perhaps unaware of the effect it had on all women present. Isabelle looked away. Fool Jack.
Lady Ilysa and her daughter curtsied again, and just as they were turning to climb inside the carriage, Jack blurted out, “Miss Jillian. Would it be all right if I were to come to call? I mean, I . . .” He trailed off, his eyes wide with uncertainty and nerves. It was an act. Isabelle could tell from the way he stood, the way he tilted his head down. Jack was after something, but what?
“Y-yes, Sir.” Jillian stammered, her cheeks reddening. “It would be an honor.”
Jack grinned. “Then I shall see you later. Tomorrow, perhaps.” His gaze rested on Isabelle for a moment so brief, Isabelle wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it, and strode away.
Lady Ilysa and Jillian squealed, hugging each other. “Fortunate has certainly smiled upon you, my dear, sweet Jillian,” Ilysa gushed, patting her daughter on the head. She giggled. “Oh, wait till the other ladies find out.”
Jillian kept laughing, putting a dainty gloved hand to her mouth.
The rest of the day passed by with agonizing slowness. The carriage moved so slowly through the streets that walking would have been faster by half. Isabelle had never been one to do much shopping, and it felt like the Lady Ilysa and her daughter stopped at every shop, tried on every hat, sniffed every perfume, and purchased what seemed to be all the dresses, silks, and slippers in Illyminatym.
Isabelle was ordered to carry all the purchases until they went back to the carriage, and by the time they’d returned to the palace, her back ached.
She went to bed that night, blinking back tears of disappointment. That she had to endure weeks of this seemed unbearable, yet she must. She would. She remembered Silvan’s words: Call me and I will come. She couldn’t bring herself to do so.
“I’ll reclaim my honor,” she whispered in the darkness of her room. With a pang of guilt in her chest, she remembered it was her family’s honor at stake, too.
22
“The door, Isabelle. Go see who it is.”
Isabelle nodded in response to Lady Ilysa’s orders. Through the entry hall, she went to open the door that led out of the noblewoman’s quarters.
Jack stood there, leaning his back against the far wall in the main palace halls. He smiled at her.
“Good day. I’ve come to call on the Lady Jillian.” His hair looked untidy, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it after crawling out of bed. But then, it always looked like that, even when he did try to smooth it.
Isabelle glared at him. “You don’t give two figs about Jillian. What’s your real motive for coming?”
Jack tsked. “You’re not very good at this whole servant thing, are you?” He jerked his chin toward her. “Let’s go. Sir Reginald is not in the habit of being kept waiting.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes but opened the door wider, allowing him to come in. She lifted her skirts a little to hurry after him when he strode through like he owned the place. “Wait, you buffoon! I have to announce you. ‘Sir Reginald’ would never go barging into the parlor without an announcement.”
Jack paused, lifting an eyebrow as he regarded her. “I see. How good of you to say so.”
Isabelle could have smacked herself. What did she care if he betrayed himself? She straightened her blasted apron and, summoning all the dignity she could muster, stalked past him and into the parlor.
“Sir Reginald,” she almost choked on the name, “is here to see the Lady Jillian.”
Jillian and Lady Ilysa both looked up from one of the sofas. There were two, separated by a gilded coffee table. “Oh? What a pleasant surprise.” Lady Ilysa smiled. “Do show him in.”
Jack appeared a moment later, inclining his head politely to the two ladies. He walked past Isabelle like she didn’t exist. “Good afternoon.”
“Sir Reginald, please have a seat.” Lady Ilysa gestured to the far sofa, her voice trembling slightly with nerves. This was obviously an honor she wasn’t accustomed to. Jillian stared at him, mouth slightly open. Both women stood to curtsey before sitting down again.
“Thank you.” Jack sat, lounging on the sofa like he owned it, an arm flung across the back. “I’ve been training with the Hunters all morning. It was rather thirsty work.”
“Isabelle, fetch the man a drink.” Lady Ilysa’s gaze never left Jack, eyeing him like he was a particularly tasty treat.
The ‘drink’ was on the coffee table, an autumn punch, heady with a hint of cinnamon. Jack could get himself one easily enough, but he seemed to know enough about nobles to know nobles didn’t perform such menial tasks. He lifted his chin a little, watching Isabelle.
Trying not to grind her teeth, Isabelle poured the liquid into one of the goblets. Too bad it’s not a cure for idiocy.
She handed the drink to Jack and he took it, his fingertips touching hers. They were cold, like he’d been outside for too long. His eyes looked into hers for a moment before he sat back, sipping the punch. “I was training with Head Hunter Tyro,” he continued, as if there’d been no interruption.
Jillian fluttered her eyelashes. “That must have been quite the sight to see, the two of you training.” Tyro had his own gaggle of swooning noblewomen, but Aviina was very successful in chasing them off.
Jack shrugged. “He’s definitely a more skilled swordsman,” he drawled. “But I suspect it’s only a matter of time before my skill surpasses his.” His eyes flickered toward Isabelle and then away.
Isabelle knew it was a threat. He was trying to say the Hunters were no match for him. She bit her lip, thinking. If Tyro was weaker than Jack, who could stand against him and his enchantment?
Silvan. Isabelle couldn’t keep back her smile of relief. Silvan was more powerful than anyone she knew. And he was immortal. Jack could not defeat him.
Jack’s eyes narrowed, misinterpreting her smile. “What do you think of Tyro?” he asked abruptly.
All three women started in surprise, then Lady Ilysa and her daughter swiveled their heads to look at Isabelle, confusion on their faces.
Isabelle tilted her head, watching Jack. The man now sat straight-backed and rigid, his jaw clenched. His eyes were like twin sparks of fire as he waited for her answer.
Why does it matter? She considered pretending to like Tyro, but that could end up pretty ill for her if Aviina caught wind of it. Honesty in all things.
“He’s a good man,” she said. “I doubt there could be a better leader for the Hunters. I respect him.” That was the simple truth.
Jack visibly relaxed, taking another swallow of the drink to hide—relief? That couldn’t be right. Jack hated her. “I see. Based on the rumors I’ve heard, you have a funny way of showing respect.”
Lady Ilysa laughed, casting Isabelle a baleful smile. “I intend to change that, Sir Reginald.”
Jack nodded, then stood, setting his empty glass on the table. “Thank you for the drink, but I must go.” He smiled at Jillian, but it looked forced. “I hope I shall be able to come again.”
Lady Ilysa and her daughter just about fell over themselves assuring him that yes, indeed, he could come any time he saw fit to do so.
“Is there a more handsome man in all of the Four Provinces?” Lady Ilysa said to her daughter after Jack had left.
Jillian shook her head, black locks swaying. “No, mother.” Her face took on a dreamy expression. “Such a beautiful smile.”
“I doubt there’s a richer man, either, save the king,” Lady Ilysa said, almost to herself. She eyed her daughter. “We
shall have to take you shopping again. You must be seen in only the finest apparel that Illyminatym has to offer.”
They proceeded to go on another shopping trip, Isabelle required to carry their boxes and bags. But this time, her mind was elsewhere. Why had Jack wanted to know what Tyro meant to her? It didn’t make any sense. She was still musing over the thought when she went to bed several hours later. One thing she was almost sure of: Jack didn’t care for Jillian. But if that were the case, why did he come?
23
Isabelle took the long way about, making her way back to Lady Ilysa’s apartments. She walked slowly, pretending she wasn’t a servant, pretending she was still a Hunter, pretending she wasn’t staggering under the bulk of five dresses wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. All for Lady Jillian. A week since Isabelle had started her service, it was one of the first days the mother and daughter duo hadn’t gone shopping. That didn’t stop the older woman from sending Isabelle off to pick up custom-made dresses.
She almost bumped into another servant hurrying in the other direction and Isabelle murmured an apology, halfway turning around, but the servant didn’t even glance over.
There. She saw Jack step down a side hall, disappearing from her view. Had he been following her? Isabelle stood still, deliberating. She was already late. Lady Ilysa would not be pleased as it was. Then again, Jack had been putting on ridiculous airs. It astounded her that she was the only one who could see him for who he really was. She knew the king was a mage. How could he not sense the enchantment? How could he not see through it?
She hurried back down the hallway and turned left. Jack had stepped through a small door that took him outside, standing at the balcony, his hands resting on the carved stone railing. She couldn’t see his face, but he was quiet. One might think he was at peace. Isabelle knew better. Jack’s soul was a whirlwind of emotions and turmoil.
The balcony offered a spectacular view of the city, cold autumn light bouncing off glittering spires, tiled roofs, and the white stone walls.
“Why are you here?” Isabelle jumped at his voice. How had he known she was there? “Shouldn’t you be off serving the Lady Ilysa?”
Isabelle glowered at his back and took a step forward. “I just want you to know I know what you’re up to.”
“And what’s that?” He sounded tired.
“Well . . . I know it can’t be anything good. You’re a dastard.”
“Takes one to know one.” Jack’s voice took on an edge of steel. His fingers gripped the balcony rails, ice seeping out from under them.
Isabelle ignored the stab of guilt in her stomach. She knew he was referring to her kiss. She’d done what she thought she had to, but was beginning to see the consequences would end up being more dire than she anticipated.
“Who cursed you?” Isabelle asked, and Jack stiffened, turning his head to peer at her over his shoulder.
“How did you know?”
It was an effort not to roll her eyes. “You shoot ice from your fingertips and can change the weather. You’re freezing cold to the touch and you have frost in your hair that never melts. How could I not know?”
Jack turned back to the view, still gripping the railing. “That’s not a curse. My frost is a gift.”
Gift. Isabelle stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Glacia.” Jack spoke the name almost reverently. “She gave it to me. She saw my potential, and blessed me with the power of frost and snow.”
Isabelle felt a tremor of jealousy. “Who’s Glacia?” She recognized the name. So Silvan was right about Glacia being behind this—whoever she was.
“My queen,” Jack replied. “Soon to be everyone’s queen. She will take this land and make a new kingdom from ice and snow. A world worth protecting. A world worth living in.”
“A land full of endless ice and snow doesn’t sound like much of a kingdom,” Isabelle scoffed. Something he’d said tickled at her mind, but she couldn’t remember what it was.
“You could have been part of it,” he said quietly. “But you insist otherwise.”
“I don’t want to be part of a world of ice for this snow queen of yours,” Isabelle said, clutching the parcels closer. A chilly breeze swept by. “Know that I have my eye on you. Don’t think that you can get away with everything.”
Jack snorted, still looking out at the city. Ice now coated the entire railing. He lifted his hands, shoving them into his trouser pockets. He still wore all black, and hunched his shoulders like he was cold. He turned around to face her. “Winter is coming, Isabelle,” he said softly, lifting an eyebrow in a mocking gesture. “And there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
“Yes, there is.” Isabelle lifted her chin, trying to stifle the uncertainty she felt. “I don’t know what yet, but when I do, I’ll stop it. I’ll stop you.”
Jack laughed, his eyes narrowing in frosty amusement. He stepped closer, looking down at her. “Your pathetic attempts to hinder me won’t do anything. No one believes you anyway.”
Isabelle didn’t respond. He was right.
“All right, Isabelle,” he said after a moment, his eyes flaring with malice. “Let us play this game of lies. This game of deception. You started it.” He stepped so close they were almost touching, tilting his head lower so his breath tickled her ear. “But I’m going to finish it.”
He stepped back, eyeing the parcels she carried. “Looks like the Lady Ilysa sent you on an errand. Well, don’t let me hinder you any further. Carry on.”
Isabelle glared daggers at him but the man had already turned his back on her, looking out at the city once more. Still holding the parcels, she left.
It wasn’t until she got to Lady Ilysa’s apartments that she’d remembered what Jack had said. “How did you know?”
If frost wasn’t his curse, what was?
24
Isabelle smirked to herself as she watched Jack stride down the long hall, away from his palace quarters. She didn’t know where he was going, but that hardly mattered, as long as he stayed away long enough for her to accomplish what she came here for.
She was tired of being a servant, tired of watching Jillian simper over the man, tired of Jack gloating over her temporary setback in society. Enough was enough, and she was going to end it. There was no way she was going to spend a month or more as anyone less than a Fabled Hunter. This was her chance. She was going to find physical evidence that Jack was fooling everyone.
Slinking around the corner she’d been lurking behind, she tried the door handle leading into his rooms, relieved to find the door unlocked.
His rooms were staggeringly rich. The carpet was ridiculously fluffy, the walls covered with expensive looking painting and tapestries. All the furniture was gilded and the windows were huge, looking out onto the main palace courtyard. Isabelle closed the door behind her, nerves fluttering in her stomach. She’d managed to get away from Lady Ilysa for a short time, but she’d have to hurry. At the very least, she could expect an earful if the woman called for her and Isabelle wasn’t there.
The room she stood in looked like an entry of some sort. Isabelle hurried into the rooms beyond, past a parlor, bathing room, and a few other chambers until she came to the bedroom. She frowned sourly at the massive four poster bed with its soft mattress and goose-down pillows. Her servant’s bed was cramped and small, the mattress lumpy and hard. It was absurdly unfair.
Her eyes roved the chamber. What she needed to find was proof. Proof that Jack was masquerading as Sir Reginald. Proof that she wasn’t lying, not this time. Isabelle’s mouth twisted distastefully. Jack was a wolf among unsuspecting sheep, and no one could see it. So frustrating.
Isabelle’s gaze fell on a pile of books on the bedside table. She’d start there. Picking up the first book on the stack, she frowned at the title. Dreams and Enchantment. That looked interesting, she supposed, if one had an interest in such things. Flipping through it, the book looked to be a combination of history, folklore, and supers
tition. Strange.
She looked at the covers of the remaining books in the pile. Most seemed to be about magic and the Province histories; one book was about the history of the Fabled Hunters. Isabelle clicked her tongue in annoyance. The book wouldn’t help her.
She looked in his wardrobe, but didn’t see anything there either, aside from an overwhelming amount of clothing, most of it seemingly untouched. Jack didn’t care for fancy clothes.
Isabelle frowned, surveying the room one more time. Surely there was something that would give him away. And she needed to hurry. She didn’t know where he went, and because of that, she didn’t know how long he’d be out.
Her gaze flickered back to the bed. Something was sticking out from under the wooden frame. A strap.
Isabelle felt a triumphant smile bloom on her face. A strap from his old, worn out rucksack. Hurrying over, she knelt down, tugging the pack out from under the bed. She riffled through it and found his old brace of throwing knives. Odd that he wasn’t wearing it now, but she supposed he probably didn’t need the knives anymore, seeing that he could summon ice whenever he wished. She felt a pang of sadness, running her hand over the worn leather straps and knife hilts before she shook her head slightly and put them to the side. She didn’t have time to mourn the loss of the old Jack. She doubted the new Jack would take very kindly to her sneaking about his rooms.
She pulled out a small leather drawstring bag with a few coppers. That wouldn’t work either. The coppers and knives could belong to anyone.
She was beginning to despair when, sticking her hand in the rucksack one last time, her fingers brushed paper. She pulled out an envelope, Jack’s name neatly written on the front in a flowing script. Unfolding the letter inside, she quickly scanned its contents, satisfaction welling up inside her. It was a letter from the king, thanking Jack for his participation. Anyone who had competed in the tournament and lost had received one as a courtesy, thanking them for their time and effort. Being the victor, Isabelle was the only competitor who had not received one this year. The paper looked wrinkled, like it had been crumpled and smoothed out repeatedly.
