by Kara Jaynes
Why would Jack hold onto his rejection letter? Isabelle didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t care. All that mattered was that it get into the right hands. Tyro’s hands, as a matter of fact. Once he learned that this letter had been found in ‘Sir Reginald’s’ rooms, he’d have no choice but to investigate matters more closely. And once Jack’s deception was revealed, Isabelle’s honor would be restored, especially because she was the one who’d told Tyro it was Jack in the first place.
“What are you doing?”
Heart leaping, Isabelle looked up. Jack stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he leaned his shoulder on the frame.
Isabelle held the letter behind her back, standing as gracefully as she could manage. “Lady Ilysa wanted me to check on you,” she lied. “To make sure you didn’t need any more sewing done.” She didn’t have to fake the bitterness in her voice. “She wants to make sure your stay is a comfortable one.”
Jack arch an eyebrow at her. “So if I talk to Ilysa, your story will match up with hers, right?”
Isabelle swallowed hard. Spirits take it, she should have thought about that. She shrugged. If she could get out the door with this letter, it wouldn’t matter if he told the woman or not. “Why did you come back so soon?” she muttered.
“I was on my way to the public library when I remembered I’d forgotten to return a few books.” His gaze never left hers.
Isabelle’s gaze flickered to the bedside table. She needed to get him to move, so she could make her escape.
“I didn’t know you were one for reading,” Isabelle remarked casually, sitting on the edge of his bed. She felt jittery, her blood warming in anticipation. She needed to bolt before he realized what she held behind her back.
Jack’s lip curled in annoyance. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He crossed the room, his long strides quickly covering the distance to stand on the other side of the bed in front of the books.
Isabelle stood smoothly, still keeping the letter out of sight. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your visit to the library.” Her voice came out too friendly and Jack’s gaze snapped to her immediately, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“What are you hiding behind your back?”
Run, Isabelle’s mind screamed at her, but in the half second it took to tense her body, muscles ready to propel her forward, Jack had launched himself across the bed, his body colliding with her as they crashed to the floor.
Using his weight to keep Isabelle pinned to the floor, Jack’s hand snaked out, taking the now extra-crumpled letter from her grip. Jack’s brow was knitted in confusion. “Why did you hope to gain by taking this?”
Isabelle scowled at him, trying to ignore the feeling of his body pressed against hers. Jack glowered back, his hair falling on either side of his face as he looked down at her. “You were going to try and rat me out, weren’t you?”
Isabelle clenched her teeth together so hard it hard. She eyed Jack balefully, trying to control the tremors of fear that coursed through her. “So what now? Are you going to rat me out?”
Jack’s sneer turned into a smirk and his eyes glittered. “Maybe so, maybe not. I want an apology, Isabelle.”
Isabelle knew he didn’t mean the break-in. Pride surged through her blood, raw and hot and she squirmed under Jack, trying to push him off. He shifted so she could scramble to her feet. It didn’t help knowing she was able to move only because he let her. “An apology?” She laughed humorlessly. “You want me to lie, then?” The glare he shot her could have frozen sunlight, but she continued, too angry to care. “Besides, I did what anyone would have under the circumstances. Run to the king, the Fabled Hunters, I don’t care.” She sneered at him, her heart hammering painfully with hidden fear. “You’re a coward, Jack. Running from witches, running from a game like a sore loser, running from me.”
Jack’s face had gone completely white, his eyes blazing like twin sparks of fire. Something dark swirled in their depths. “Get out,” he whispered. “Get out of my sight!” The temperature dipped, ice creeping up the window panes. He clenched his fists, arms held rigidly at his sides.
Isabelle smoothed her apron, hiding the shaking in her hands. She turned and walked out, hearing the sound of ripping paper as Jack tore up the letter, destroying Isabelle’s chance at exposing him to the king and restoring her honor anytime soon.
Anxiety surrounded her like a cloud as she hurried back to Lady Ilysa’s apartments. She’d taunted Jack on purpose, hoping it would wound his pride enough for him to shut his mouth about her sneaking into ‘Sir Reginald’s’ apartments. She’d be in very hot water if the Fabled Hunters found out.
25
By the end of the second week of her suspension, the days had started to merge together for Isabelle. Time lost meaning as her life became a pattern of endless drudgery. It began with sweeping out the ashes of the large fireplace in Lady Ilysa’s front room, and ended with tidying the parlor before crawling into bed herself, late at night, working all hours in between. She hadn’t seen Jack since they’d squabbled a few days before.
Jillian spent a lot of her time reading, a fact that bothered her mother to no end. “Reading won’t get you a husband, dear,” she’d say with a touch of exasperation in her voice.
But Jillian would look so mournful that her mother would let it be, unless there was shopping to do, or parties to attend, which seemed to happen more often than not.
One morning after Isabelle’s routine of clearing ashes out of the fireplace and starting a new fire, setting the table and serving breakfast, Jillian declared she was going to the library.
“Whatever for, dear?” Her mother idly stirred some sugar into her teacup, stifling a yawn with her free hand. “We have plenty of books here.”
“I’ve read them all,” Jillian said patiently. “I want to read some new books. I’ve only been to the library once since we’ve come, Mother. Do say that I can go.”
“Very well,” her mother said, sounding irritated. She was now absentmindedly arranging a thin golden chain that encircled her neck. It hung in such a way that it looked like there was a bauble of some sort at the end, but it went down the neckline of her dress, so Isabelle couldn’t tell what it was. She always wore it, though. “But take the servant with you.” Her glittering black eyes snapped to Isabelle. “Come here.”
Isabelle complied, hiding her grimace with a curtsey. She’d never get used to this.
“Go with Jillian to the library, and carry her books for her. I don’t want her to overexert herself. And wash your face before you go, you have soot on your cheeks. Cinder-elle would be a more fitting name for you.” She laughed at her own joke and yawned again.
Isabelle hastily washed her face and, following Jillian, left the palace. They rode by carriage as noble women never walked anywhere outside of the palace grounds.
“I’m so excited!” Jillian smiled at Isabelle, practically bouncing in her seat. “I never get to go anywhere without Mother.” She peered out the carriage window as they rolled down the street. “I feel like I’m going on an adventure.”
Isabelle stared at her. An adventure? Had Isabelle ever been this naive? She couldn’t remember. She’d like to think she hadn’t.
Jillian smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Otherwise, Mother would have insisted on coming.” She tilted her head a little to the side, considering her own words. “I’m almost seventeen, which means I’ve been old enough to marry for nearly a year. I don’t understand why she hovers so.”
“Probably because she cares for you,” Isabelle responded before she could stop herself. When Jillian looked at her questioningly she continued. “My mom was the same way. She was always worried about the fact that I wasn’t interested in getting married.”
“I want to get married,” Jillian protested. She looked out the window, chin in her palm. “I want to marry Sir Reginald,” she said dreamily.
“I can’t imagine why,” Isabelle said. She felt decidedly mo
re comfortable around Jillian when the girl’s witch-of-a-mother wasn’t around.
The younger woman stared at her, dark eyes wide. “Why, because he’s so kind.” She twined a lock of hair around her index finger. “Anyone with eyes can see the man has a good heart.”
A good heart. Someone else had said that of Jack, once. Isabelle bit her lip, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was turning. “I don’t think Sir Reginald is the man you think he is.” Well, he isn’t.
“Do you know him well, then?” Jillian asked. She didn’t look jealous, just curious, and Isabelle felt a twinge of guilt, recalling all the ill things she’d thought toward the girl. She seemed dull-witted and superficial at times, but maybe it was just when she was around her mother. “I don’t know him well at all, actually,” Isabelle said, remembering Jack was supposed to be the real Sir Reginald. “But I know enough about men to know that they’ll make your life miserable.” She grimaced. That made her sound bitter and old. This was all Jack’s fault.
Jillian’s black eyes twinkled as she bit back a smile. “You’re only a couple of years older than me and I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”
Isabelle shrugged, swallowing back her angry retort just in time. Maybe the girl was dull-witted after all. But Isabelle couldn’t argue with her. She was supposed to be a servant right now, not Jillian’s equal. Not yet.
The king had his own personal library, but he valued the pursuit of knowledge and believed it should be shared with the world, so he’d also erected a massive library in the city, open to all. It was to this library that they went. Jillian was unable to suppress a giggle of excitement when the two of them walked up the giant stone steps leading inside. Two stone gryphon statues stood on either side of the great open double doors.
Isabelle’s eyes opened wide in amazement when they went in. It was massive, bigger than she’d imagined. The library was several stories high, each level packed from floor to ceiling with books, manuscripts, scrolls and tomes.
“Your mouth is open,” Jillian whispered, and Isabelle closed it with a snap. Jillian laughed quietly, hiding her mouth with a delicate hand. “Meet me at the entrance in two hours,” she said.
Isabelle nodded, remembering to curtsey. Jillian swept away in the direction of a sign that said Fairy Tales.
Isabelle walked in the opposite direction, trying not to feel too elated at the small bit of freedom she’d received. While she enjoyed reading, it wasn’t a passion for her like it obviously was for Jillian. Still, she’d take her moments of independence wherever she could get them.
She found the stairs that would take her to the upper level, and paused. A small, narrow set of steps descended into what looked like a basement. Perhaps it was for storage, but there weren’t any signs that indicated one way or the other, so Isabelle went down, curious to see what was kept in the lower level.
There were books down here as well, but not as many. The large room was eerily lit, the torches in the wall sconces were not as plentiful down here. The nearest sign hanging above the closest shelf read Curses. Isabelle shuddered, turning away, then paused. Jack was cursed. Maybe she could learn something of it here. She began walking through the dusty aisles, looking for a book that’d catch her eye. Most of them were old, their leather bound covers cracked and peeling.
When she reached the end of one aisle, she paused, the hairs rising on the back of her neck as she heard the page of a book rustle and turn. She wasn’t alone down here.
Peeking around the edge of a bookcase, she saw a collection of wooden chairs and desks, most of them covered in dust. One had been cleared of dust, however, and a lean figure sat in one of the chairs, his silver head bent over an open book.
“Silvan!” Isabelle rushed over, flinging her arms around his shoulders as she collided with him so hard she almost knocked his chair over.
Silvan gripped her in a return hug as he braced himself so they wouldn’t fall. “I missed you, too,” he chuckled.
Isabelle turned her head so her face was nestled into the side of his neck. He smelled the same as he always did, like ashes and rain. She couldn’t speak. Her throat felt constricted and she knew she was about to cry.
Silvan’s arms tightened around her and he rocked her slightly back and forth. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice deep and soothing. “It’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t. But Isabelle couldn’t speak. Tears began to build on her lashes, and she blinked furiously. She needed to tell him.
“I know what happened, Isabelle,” Silvan said quietly. His hand stroked her back, sending shivers of longing down her spine. “And I know you’ll get through this. You’re strong.”
They sat like that for a moment, Isabelle fighting to get her emotions under control. When she did, she mumbled, “What are you doing here?”
Silvan shifted a little and with a start, Isabelle realized she was sitting in his lap. She hastily slipped off, her face reddening. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Silvan arched a silver eyebrow, a small smile on his lips. “I wasn’t.” His eyes flickered between blue and violet. He looked away, coughing self-consciously.
“What are you doing here?” Isabelle asked again, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. “I thought you’d stay away from the city. You’re a wanted man.”
“I’ve always been a ‘wanted man.’” He laughed at Isabelle’s eye roll. “You’re blushing.”
“Stop it.” Isabelle nudged him on the shoulder, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “You know what I meant.”
Silvan nodded. “But I doubt any of the Hunters will be looking for me here. Enemies of King Ruald typically stay away from his city.”
“Are you an enemy to the king?” Isabelle asked quietly.
The silver haired man shrugged. “Not intentionally.” His eyes had gone blue again. “But sometimes even the best intentions don’t always produce adequate results. Anyway, enough about me. Look here.”
Isabelle leaned forward, looking at the page of the old book Silvan pointed to. The page was titled Glaciem e Corre. “What does it mean?”
“It’s ‘Heart of Ice’ in the old language,” Silvan replied. He frowned pensively, silver hair falling on either side of his face as he studied the page. “It’s a very ancient and powerful curse. Not what I’d thought Glacia had initially done to him.” He noted Isabelle’s mystified expression and explained. “I thought she’d cast a simple Frost spell, where the cursed individual is able to work enchantments of ice. Easily broken with a counter spell.”
“What makes you think it’s not a Frost spell?” Isabelle asked.
“Because the counter spell didn’t work.” Silvan pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I tried one on him when he was in the training hall. He sensed the enchantment and tried to find the spell caster, but of course, he couldn’t.” Silvan gave a pleased smile. “I’m not easy to catch. But unfortunately, this almost certainly means Jack has been enchanted with the Heart of Ice curse. And this book isn’t telling me how to break it.” He glanced over at the shelves. “I’ll need more time to research it.”
“Well, you’ll have plenty of that. Jack isn’t going anywhere.” Isabelle started in surprise, a thought coming to her. “Wait. You can see him, too?”
Silvan nodded. “I can see through most enchantments. It’s how I could tell you’d been turned into a bird by the witch Elris.” He smiled at her look of awe. “It’s taken me many years to develop that ability.”
“Why can I see him?” It seemed odd that she would. Isabelle was no mage.
Silvan’s expression turned speculative. “You’re special, Isabelle. It could be your Gift manifesting itself. It’s easier for you than others to see things for what they truly are.”
Silvan had mentioned Isabelle’s Gift before. He said everyone had one, but hadn’t gone past that in his explanations. She made herself a mental note to ask him more about it later.
“Why can’t the king see through it?�
�� she asked instead.
“The Mask of Enchantment is not a weak spell. You must have a very strong spirit to cast it.” Silvan’s tone was filled with grudging admiration. “And Jack’s spirit has only one weakness.”
“What’s that?” Isabelle asked, and Silvan laughed at her.
“You haven’t figured it out?” he asked and laughed again at her bewildered expression. “Isabelle, Isabelle.”
“What?” she replied, and scowled when he grinned at her.
“Anyway,” he continued, not answering her question, “we’re in a predicament. The Mask of Enchantment is an unusual spell.”
“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Silvan said. “It’s pretty uncommon. I doubt most mages know of it, to be honest.”
“How can I break it?” Isabelle asked.
“You can only break it with a weapon,” Silvan replied. “It’s peculiar in that regard.” He shrugged. “The way the Mask of Enchantment works is that when Jack cast the spell, he would be required to entwine the spell with a weapon of his choice. The weapon can be anything, but must be made of some kind of metal.” He looked at Isabelle quizzically. “Does he have preferred weapon he carries around all the time? A sword, maybe?”
Isabelle pondered the question. “He has his throwing knives,” she said at last. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that the weapon would be one of those. “But it’s a strap of five.”
Silvan nodded thoughtfully. “It’d only be one. But impossible for us to tell which one was enchanted.” He grinned. “You could stab him with all five, but that probably wouldn’t turn out very well for either of you if you were to guess wrong the first time.”
“Hmm.” Isabelle placed her chin in her palm, thinking. She knew that despite their being at odds with each other, there was no way she could intentionally hurt Jack. Not like that. Plus there was the matter of trying to break into his room again. If she was caught, she’d be in so much trouble. “Is there any other way of taking down his Mask of Enchantment?”
