by Kara Jaynes
“No.” Silvan’s expression turned to one of disgruntlement. “And he’ll be tough to defeat, especially if we don’t want to raise a scene.”
Isabelle grew solemn at the thought. A mage. Who would have thought carefree Jack would have a talent for magic? It made her wonder how many commoners in the Provinces had the knack for enchantment and were never given the opportunity to discover it.
Silvan continued. “With his abilities, Jack is a powerful ally to Glacia, and a dangerous enemy to those who oppose him.” He gestured to the book. “It says here that Heart of Ice is stronger on those who have magical talent.” The smile slid from his face. “But there is a catch. The curse will also eventually kill him. No mortal can withstand it forever. It will freeze his heart and it will stop beating.”
Isabelle stared at him. How was that possible? Could magic do that? How could they break it?
“Breathe, Isabelle,” Silvan said, and Isabelle took a shuddering breath.
“We have to break it,” Isabelle said. “We have to.” She looked pleadingly at Silvan. “What can I do to help?”
“There’s nothing you can do right now,” Silvan said. “But I’ll let you know if that changes.” He turned back to the book, flipping a few pages.
Isabelle sat quietly, trying to revel in this precious moment she had with Silvan, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Jack. Back to his curse. “I think Jack may have two curses,” she said.
Silvan stared at her. “Really? Having one curse is rare enough. You think he has two?”
Isabelle nodded, a wave of sadness washing over her. Silvan set the book aside, watching her intently. “I think you better tell me your reasoning for that.”
“Well . . .” Isabelle twisted the corner of her apron in her hands, her mind going back to what Jack said. “He asked me how I knew he was cursed, but when I mentioned the frost, he said that wasn’t a curse.” She paused. “Now that I think of it, sometimes when Jack got angry, I’d see a flicker of something in his eyes. Something dark. I thought I might’ve been imagining it, but now I’m not so sure.”
Silvan rubbed his chin, his gaze thoughtful. “Hmm. I don’t know what the ‘darkness’ would be based on your description, but you’re right. It doesn’t sound promising.” He reached for the book. “I’ll keep searching, and see what I can find.”
“Thanks, Silvan.” Isabelle reached out a hand hesitantly, her fingertips lightly touching Silvan on the shoulder. “I really appreciate it.”
“How has Jack been treating you?” Silvan asked suddenly.
Isabelle paused, startled by the abrupt question. “He’s horrid,” she said. “He’s arrogant, rude and condescending. He gets angry so easily, and he’s constantly looking for ways to make my life difficult, and takes obvious pleasure in doing so.” She sighed. “It’s not like him at all. Before the tournament he was so thoughtful, caring, and actually kind of humble.”
“I see,” Silvan said. “Good to know. That gives me something to go on. Thank you, Isabelle.”
They sat in silence after that, Isabelle wishing time would stop so she could stay in this moment forever. But time went on and she was compelled to leave so Jillian wouldn’t come looking for her. Silvan was her secret.
When she stood to leave, Silvan smiled up at her, still leafing through the same book. “Take care, Isabelle. If you need me, this is probably the best place to find me. If I discover something urgent, I will find you.”
“Okay.” Isabelle hesitated, then quickly bent forward, kissing Silvan lightly on the cheek. “Goodbye.”
Surprise flitted across the beautiful man’s face, but Isabelle was already retreating down the book aisles and hurrying up the stairs.
26
“I’ve been invited to go hunting by the king himself.” Jack sat down on the sofa opposite Lady Ilysa and Jillian, a smug expression on his handsome face. He tried to downplay it, but Isabelle could see the excitement sparkling in his eyes. She paused her sweeping, feeling a flicker of joy at his expression. It’d been a long time since she’d seen Jack this happy. Almost a week since they’d argued, she’d begun to think he was going to let her actions slide.
“Oh my, what an honor,” Jillian breathed, her eyes shining.
Isabelle stared at her. The young woman really did seem to like him. All the ladies in court simpered around Jack in a sickening manner, but Jillian’s adoration seemed . . . genuine. It made Isabelle think of an old nursery rhyme called Jack and Jill, and she had to hold back a snicker.
“Yes.” Jack reached his arms above his head in an exaggerated stretch. “The only catch is, I don’t have my own bow. Because of the bandit raid, if you recall.” His green gaze flickered toward Isabelle and away.
Isabelle stared back flatly, her good mood fading in an instant. She knew what he wanted, and she knew why. This was his revenge.
“Oh dear,” Jillian said. “Perhaps the Hunters have some in the training halls?”
“They do.” Jack shrugged. “But they’re practice bows. Not hunting quality. I need a bow that I can shoot quick from the saddle. Something well made.”
Jillian was silent for a moment, then her eyes brightened. She turned toward Isabelle. “You have a bow, don’t you, Isabelle? Perhaps you could lend him yours.”
Isabelle clutched the broomstick like she could ward away what was coming next. “Oh, mine’s a . . . a woman’s bow,” she said, casting Jack a venomous look. “He wouldn’t want it.”
Jack grinned, arching an eyebrow. “It is not a woman’s bow. And I think I would very much like to use it.”
“How would you know what kind of bow it is, Sir Reginald?” Isabelle flung back. “You’ve never used it. And you can barely shoot at all. You participated in the tournament and looked the utter fool using the bow, if my memory serves me correctly.”
Jack’s smile dropped from his face and his eyes glinted dangerously. Isabelle tightened her grip on the broomstick. Perhaps she’d said too much.
Lady Ilysa and Jillian were both staring at Isabelle as if she’d sprouted horns.
Jack’s hands were balled into fists as he glowered back at Isabelle. It was obvious that the memory of the tournament still stung him. Why? Because she tricked him? Why would he care so much? He didn’t even want to be a Fabled Hunter anymore.
“Isabelle,” Lady Ilysa finally spluttered. “Apologize at once. I will not have my servant show such disrespect to a noble, especially if that noble is the son of a baron.”
“I will not,” Isabelle declared, lifting her chin as she tried to stare Jack down. She felt a terrible lump in her throat. “Sir Reginald has been anything but noble and honorable. It’s not my fault if you’re too blind to see that.” She blinked furiously, scowling at Jack. The man returned her dark stare, his jaw clenched. “You, sir,” she continued, sputtering in her indignation, “don’t know the first thing about manners, about women, hunting, about anything, and I will not lend you my bow.”
She staggered under the ringing slap Ilysa struck across her face. The older woman’s face was contorted in rage, her black eyes glittering. “You will ask forgiveness at once, and then you will go fetch your bow, and give it to him.” Her painted lips quirked into a cruel smile. “You won’t have further need of it after this little display of ridiculous behavior.”
Isabelle continued to glare at Jack until Lady Ilysa said, “I will have to report your disgraceful and impudent performance to Hunter Tyro.”
Isabelle quickly masked her face in an expressionless shroud. She curtsied to Jack. “I’m sorry, please forgive my temper.” Her voice sounded fake and expressionless, like someone else was speaking. She turned and glided from the apartment with all the dignity she could muster. She shook with rage and humiliation. Why was she still here? Why did she put up with Lady Ilysa? Why didn’t she take Silvan’s offer to leave? What did she care if fool Jack froze to death from his stupid curse?
Stalking into her apartment she snatched up her bow and quiver, refusing t
o stop and admire them as she so often did. Her heart, her life’s joy. Her most prized possessions.
Returning to Lady Ilysa’s quarters, Jack was still lounging on the sofa, his chin tilted upward in pride as he watched her approach. Lady Ilysa and Jillian sat opposite him, trying to engage the man in pointless conversation.
Isabelle shoved them into his hands. “I hate you,” she whispered so only he could hear. The words were a lie, but Isabelle couldn’t form her rage into more coherent sentences. “I hate you, Jack.” Her tears came, hot and overpowering.
Jack stared at her, his green eyes wide, thunderstruck by her words and emotion. Isabelle turned and fled from the room, ignoring Ilysa’s orders to stay.
She ran back to her apartment, bolting the door shut. Running across the room she threw herself onto her bed, pressing a pillow over her mouth to stifle the sobs that wracked her body.
He would break it on purpose. He knew how important her bow was to her. He’d struck at her heart, knowing she wouldn’t be able to bear it. Why? Why did he hate her? Had she wounded his pride so much that he must make her life a living misery? Being a Hunter wasn’t worth it, not anymore.
She cried until she had no more tears, and cried some more. When she could no longer do that she simply lay on her back, staring at the wall. She heard footsteps near her door. Someone knocked gently, but Isabelle ignored it. Who would want to see her anyway?
A long pause, then the footsteps receded.
Isabelle closed her eyes, exhausted by her tears. How much time passed? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. Dusk came and darkness fell. She wasn’t sure if she slept or if she merely drifted through a haze of almost-slumber, so she was only half aware of her window opening. She shivered, her eyes still closed. It’d gotten colder, like winter had entered her bedroom.
Someone approached her. Isabelle didn’t move, still not sure she wasn’t dreaming, when she felt a hand stroke her head. “I’m sorry, Isabelle,” a voice whispered. The hand lifted, and in a few moments, the cold receded.
When Isabelle awoke the next morning, her bow and quiver lay at the foot of her bed.
27
Jillian put a hand to her mouth, stifling a yawn. “You know you don’t have to stay here,” she said to Isabelle. She opened up a book and began to read.
“What do you mean, my lady?” Isabelle asked. She looked over, pausing her dusting. It’d been a couple of days since she and Jack had bickered in front of Lady Ilysa. Isabelle had hidden her bow and quiver back in her old Hunter’s quarters, and Lady Ilysa hadn’t mentioned it, probably thinking Jack still had them.
“Well, it’s not every day my mother goes out by herself,” Jillian said, yawning again. “Heavens, I’m tired. Maybe I’ll take a nap. Anyway, you know you get precious little time to yourself. Have the afternoon off. What mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Are you sure?” Isabelle tried to stifle the hope that rose in her. It’d been ages since she’d left the city. Maybe she could go visit Ash.
“Yes, I’m sure. Just don’t leave the city, and be back before dinner.”
Drat. Oh well. She hadn’t practiced archery in weeks. It was still almost more than she could hope for. She curtsied. “Thank you, my lady.”
“It’s Jillian when Mother isn’t around.” Jillian looked up from her book to smile briefly at her. “I don’t know why Mother’s been so disagreeable of late. Ever since we left Seabound. Perhaps the dry air doesn’t agree with her.”
Isabelle lowered her brow, puzzled by Jillian’s statement. “Your mother’s usually nice?”
“Well, she’s always nice to me,” Jillian said. She flipped a page. “But she used to be kind to everyone else as well. Until we came here. Maybe she’s stressed by the competition. A lady must be at her best, always, in the palace. I don’t know.” She didn’t sound particularly worried about it, still reading.
Isabelle mused over Jillian’s words as she walked back to her old Hunter apartments, slipping into some trousers and picking up her bow and quiver. Her parents had mentioned that Lady Ilysa had been kind, too. What had changed? The noblewoman was a complete harpy. Even her own daughter noticed it.
Isabelle’s step quickened as she approached the training halls. It’d been far too long since she’d trained. She hoped the Fabled Hunters weren’t there, or she could be waiting for hours and miss her opportunity. She sighed in relief when she stepped inside. It was empty. The torches were unlit, but plenty of cold autumn daylight streamed through the large windows.
She walked over to the far side of the massive room to where a row of targets was set. Nocking arrow to the bowstring, she aimed and fired, over and over. Thock. Thock. Thock. The arrows slammed into the bullseye every time. Isabelle grinned, feeling a warm glow of joy. She’d missed this so much.
When she’d hit all the targets, she retrieved her arrows and did it again. And again. Her joy grew. She felt like she might burst from happiness. She resolved to serve the Lady Ilysa better after this. If she did well, her suspension would be shorter. It had been nearly a month. She needed archery back in her life. It was what made her who she was.
She practiced for over an hour, ignoring the growing soreness in her fingers and arms. At last, she lowered her bow, taking a moment to close her eyes and live in the moment.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the repeated thud of someone hitting the leather punching bags. Someone had come in when Isabelle was distracted by archery. She grimaced. She wasn’t supposed to be here if the Hunters were training. She retrieved her arrows one last time and turned to leave.
She froze, watching the man who was now punching the bag like he meant to kill it. Jack was stripped to the waist, wearing form-fitting black trousers. He was barefoot, his boots discarded off to the side of the mat. His hands curled tightly into fists as he attacked the leather punching bag, swiveling his lean hips to land a hard side kick that knocked it over.
Isabelle stood as if rooted to the ground, her mind numb as her gaze involuntarily traveled over him. She needed to leave, but he was between her and the door. How would she get out without attracting his attention?
As if sensing her there, Jack ceased his attack and turned toward her, watching her wordlessly. His red hair stuck out in all directions, and his face was flushed from exertion, but she didn’t see any sweat on him, despite the fact that he’d been working hard.
They stood there quietly for a moment until Isabelle realized she’d been staring, and her face flushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, striding past him toward the door. “I don’t want to get in the way of your practice.”
“Stay.” Jack’s voice rang out in command. Isabelle paused, wanting to leave and remain at the same time. She glanced over her shoulder inquiringly.
“I need a partner,” Jack said. An awkward silence followed and his face reddened. “For sparring, I mean.”
Isabelle walked over to one of the reed mats, turning to face him. “Very well. But I’ll have you know I can’t stay long. Ilysa won’t be happy to know I’ve been here.” She kicked off her boots.
“You can leave if you’re scared.” Jack rolled his shoulders, loosening his body. Shaking his fingers out, he crossed the mat to stand opposite her.
Isabelle snorted. “I’m not scared.” She moved into a ready stance, arms up, fist held in front of her face. She watched Jack through narrowed eyes cautiously. This was the first time Isabelle had seen him shirtless, and she had to admit, she didn’t mind the look at all. He was leaner than Silvan but well-muscled, his movements catlike and graceful.
His smile was crooked as he bounced on the balls of his feet, holding his arms up in the same defensive gesture. “Ready to lose?”
Isabelle felt a pang in her chest. It was the same question he’d asked her right before the tournament. “I’m ready to start if you are.”
Jack leaped forward with startling speed, his leg bending up and out in a front kick. Isabelle brought
her fist out in a block, wincing as pain lanced down her arm. He wasn’t going to go easy on her.
She darted to the side, narrowing avoiding an elbow to the head. She counterattacked, trying to knee him in the stomach, but he blocked it easily.
They went back and forth, both of them trying to find an opening, a weakness. Sweat soon ran down Isabelle’s back, but she was able to keep up, blocking most of his onslaught.
Then, quicker than she could react, Jack slipped forward, hooking his leg behind her knee. Isabelle fell, landing on her back hard. She gasped, her breath leaving her in a whoosh.
Jack held her arms down, pinning her to the ground with a knee. He was panting as if he’d run several miles, but she still couldn’t see any sweat. His hands were icy, and Isabelle could feel the cold rolling off him in waves. He looked down at her silently, his green eyes swallowing her up in their gaze. Such beautiful eyes, with specks of gold, and . . . Isabelle’s own gaze narrowed. Something was wrong.
Jack smirked, putting his head down so his lips brushed her ear. “You lose,” he whispered. He abruptly stood, offering her a hand to help her up. “But you fight better than you did before.”
“Thanks.” Isabelle brushed imaginary dust off her trousers, her face warm, pleased by his words. She walked over and retrieved her bow and quiver. “I need to get back. Lady Ilysa is going to be upset if she learns I was here.”
Jack didn’t respond, watching her. Isabelle wondered what it was about him that seemed so different since the tournament. Curses aside, he seemed more subdued. Quieter, somehow.
Then she remembered. “Jack,” she asked, “what happened to your harp?”
Jack stiffened, then stalked back to the punching bag, hitting it again and again. “It doesn’t matter. I have no use for music anymore.”
