Deception (Fabled Hunters Book 2)

by Kara Jaynes

  Isabelle felt a shiver of trepidation run up her arms. “What happened?”

  Jack ignored her, his face twisted as he hit the bag over and over, each punch coming faster than the one before.

  At last, he paused, his chest heaving with exertion. He paused leaning his head against the leather bag, his red hair sticking out in the back. Try as he might, he never could seem to smooth it.

  “I gave it away,” he said at last. “To Elris.”

  Isabelle’s eyes widened. “The witch?” Isabelle would never forget the woman who’d cursed Isabelle, turning her into a bird. If not for Silvan, she’d still be one, completely forgetting her life as a human.

  “Yeah.” Jack now kicked the bag, circling it like it was a real opponent. “I went back and asked her to release you. I offered the harp in exchange.” His voice grew frosty. “She refused. Said a maiden was worth much more than a harp.” He extended his right leg, spinning on his left to send the bag flying onto its side. “But she said she’d take the harp in exchange for my life. Rather than turn me to stone.” He set the bag upright, his body rigid. “I will never be that helpless again.” He turned his green-eyed gaze on Isabelle, and she took a step forward instinctively, her heart aching at the pain she saw there. “I wanted to help you, and I couldn’t do anything. I tried to rally the pathetic, stupid citizens of the town Bethyl, but they were a bunch of cowards.”

  Isabelle couldn’t breathe. It was her fault that Jack didn’t have his harp. She thought of the sweet, golden notes she’d heard Jack play on so many nights. Guilt, raw and deep, cut through her. It was her fault.

  Jack saw her expression and snorted. “Don’t look so sad. It was just a harp.”

  It was more than a harp. Jack’s music had been an outward expression of his soul, but seeing the way he was glowering at her now, Isabelle knew she’d never be able to get him to admit it.

  “Well, thanks anyway,” she said awkwardly. “For trying to help me.”

  Jack snorted, resuming his vicious attack on the now rather dilapidated looking punching bag.

  When Isabelle reached the doors that would take her outside, Jack’s voice rang out. “I didn’t abandon you, Isabelle. I was going to come back with the power of the Hunters behind me and free you. I never forgot you.”

  Isabelle swallowed hard and pushed the doors open, walking outside. The crisp, outdoor air was warmer than the air in the halls.

  She tried not to think about Jack as she walked back to apartments, but thoughts of him and his harp wormed their way into her mind. Of course he wouldn’t have given up on her. She should have known that. Jack would have done anything to protect her. And he needed his harp, but it was obviously far beyond either of their reach, now. Silvan had decimated Elris’ home in his dragon home. If bandits hadn’t stolen the harp by now, the elements would have destroyed it.

  A thought came to her and she smiled, quickening her pace. She wasn’t sure when she’d get another day off, but when she did, she’d have to put her thought into action. While she knew couldn’t get him his harp back, maybe she could still give him music.

  28

  “I found his curse.” Silvan had a large tome opened in front of him, the cover made of purple-dyed leather. “Right here.” When Isabelle had come back to the library, she’d found him reading an extremely old manuscript, which he’d tucked away as soon as he saw her, showing her a massive book instead.

  Isabelle leaned over his shoulder to peer at the page section he pointed to. “Animalus Ragus,” she said slowly.

  “Yes,” Silvan said. “Old language for animal rage. It’s an ancient spell, not widely used anymore. I’m surprised Jack has it, to be honest.”

  “Why?” Isabelle asked. She stifled a yawn and pulled up a chair to sit next to him.

  “Because of its unusual nature,” Silvan said, rubbing his chin with a pale hand. “It’s not a very powerful curse, but quite difficult to get rid of, and in some cases, impossible.”

  “A curse that’s impossible to lift sounds like one a witch would want to use,” Isabelle remarked.

  “True,” Silvan conceded, “but the anger that the curse invokes is only an amplified version of that which already dwells within the individual. Most people aren’t prone to great anger, and those who are, are the sort who’d probably be in league with a witch anyway. They wouldn’t have to curse those sort of ruffians.”

  Isabelle considered his words, leaning over to look at the page. She couldn’t understand any of it. “Jack is pretty angry,” she said at last. “He’s always upset about something.”

  “Has he always been like that?”

  “No . . .” Isabelle frowned. “Occasionally he’d get upset, but not like now.”

  Silvan looked pensive as he studied the text. “It says here if the cursed individual has experiences that tangle with his anger, such as humiliation or betrayal, the curse is strengthened. Oh, and being cursed again makes it stronger, too.” He tsked. “It has a rebound effect. The stronger Jack’s negative emotions become, the stronger Animalus Ragus gets. Plus the fact that he’s been cursed by Glacia too, obviously.”

  “How can it be broken?” Isabelle asked. It sounded almost as serious as the Heart of Ice curse.

  Silvan shifted as if his chair had suddenly grown uncomfortable, and looked down at the book. “True love’s first kiss.”

  Isabelle stared at him, unable to breathe. No. What could she do? What would Jack do? “I . . .” Isabelle’s shoulders slumped, guilt crashing over her like an ocean wave. “But I already kissed him.”

  “You know as well as I that you didn’t love him. Not truly. Not completely.”

  “And I kissed . . .” She couldn’t continue.

  “Ah. Well.” Silvan shrugged helplessly, then pinned her with his blue-eyed gaze. “You need to ask yourself whether or not our kiss was true love—” his eyes narrowed, “—or something else.”

  “Something else?” Isabelle sputtered. “Of course I love you! What on earth do you mean by something else?” She bit her lip, blood rising to her face in embarrassment. She’d never told Silvan she loved him. But she didn’t feel like she had to. It was so obvious, wasn’t it? He was her world, the standard to which she held all men—especially that fool Jack, who fell very short of that standard at the moment.

  Jack. The man spun her head like a blasted top. She didn’t know what to think about him. He was a confusing mix of humility and arrogance, smart and stupid at the same time, tall, strong, fast, capable of incredible kindness and—

  “You’re looking distant. Did you hear anything I said?” Silvan tilted his head slightly, regarding her thoughtfully.

  “Sorry.” Isabelle blushed again.

  Silvan’s gaze was speculative. “I wonder . . .” He shrugged. “Have you ever felt the way you feel about me about anyone else?”

  “No,” Isabelle said. “There’s no one else like you.”

  Silvan nodded his head in a gesture of pretended arrogance. “True enough.” He winked. “But if that’s really the case, you better find Jack someone else to fall in love with, and fast. The man is obsessed with you.” His face brightened. “Aha! How about that girl? What was her name? Jillian.”

  Something stirred inside Isabelle. “I don’t think she’s good enough for—” She bit her lip. What did it matter if Jack grew to love Jillian?

  Silvan’s eyes narrowed and he arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps your feelings are more conflicted than you initially thought.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Isabelle said hastily, looking away. “Jillian is definitely interested in him.” She paused, a thought coming to her. “But she thinks he’s Sir Reginald.”

  “It doesn’t matter who she thinks he is,” Silvan countered. “All we need is for her to kiss him and for him to kiss her back. If the feelings go both ways—” he snapped his fingers, “spell broken.”

  “Okay.” Isabelle stood hastily. “I’ll see you later, then.” Her gaze roved over Silvan’s stro
ng, lean form before she turned and walked away, her mind reeling with everything the silver haired man had said.

  She needed to get Jack to fall for Jillian. There wasn’t any way around it. Otherwise, they risked his curse getting even stronger.

  She thought of Silvan. Beautiful Silvan, his handsome features so exquisite that he almost didn’t seem human. His body looked like it’d been chiseled from marble. She wrapped her arms around herself as she climbed the stairs that’d take her to the main level of the library, a tendril of desire shuddering up her spine. No one was more beautiful than Silvan, not even Jack.

  Our kiss was true love, she thought. What else could it be?

  But that now meant saving Jack was out of her hands. She didn’t know how she felt about that, her emotions a confusing web she couldn’t untangle.

  When she reached the main level, she went to the fairy tale section where she knew Jillian would be reading. Sure enough, the girl was sitting straight-backed on a stool, dainty head bowed over an open book she held.

  “Ready to go?” Isabelle asked.

  Jillian looked up, her face blank as if she were struggling to pull her mind out of the story she read. “Oh,” she said, tone dreamy. She turned back to her book. “No. The prince hasn’t saved the princess yet.”

  Isabelle rolled her eyes and stalked away. She could go back to Silvan. She wanted to go back to him, but that also felt like it would seem too desperate. But maybe I don’t care.

  She passed by the section of historical books and manuscripts, pausing mid-step.

  Jack sat on the floor, back leaned against the shelf, flipping through a book that was so old it looked ready to fall apart. One of the pages tore, and Jack winced, quickly closing the book and hiding it on the shelf behind him. He picked up another from an untidy stack next to him. This one’s title read History of Sand Enchantment, though what that could be, Isabelle had no idea. She’d never heard of that kind of magic.

  “What are you reading?” Isabelle asked, stepping closer. Jack jumped, knocking the stack over. He frowned at her, putting the books back into a precarious tower.

  “A book,” he grumbled. He resumed his reading, his hair falling in his face. He’d drawn his legs up, resting the book on his knees.

  Isabelle bit back her retort. Of course he was reading a book. She held her tongue, however, and sat next to him, sitting cross-legged as she arranged her skirts. She stayed silent, watching him as he read.

  His face was still pale and cold looking. She was glad he still had freckles, despite his icy curse leeching the color from his face. His expression was intense as his gaze flew across the script, long fingers turning the pages periodically. Isabelle could easily read the text if she wanted to, but was content to watch his face. He seemed at ease here, among the numerous tomes and manuscripts, the air thick with untold secrets and stories, the smell of ancient pages and dust.

  “Why don’t you use the king’s library?” Isabelle asked. “I know it’s accessible to his guests.”

  Jack laughed nervously. “Turns out Sir Reginald doesn’t like to read.”

  “I see.” It made sense then that he came here. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion. Jack was clever, whatever his faults might be.

  “What’s the book about?” Isabelle asked, peering down at the text.

  Jack shrugged. “Magic. Enchantment and history are two of my favorite subjects. As you can imagine, I didn’t have much opportunity for reading at home.” He leaned his head back, smiling faintly at the shelves that rose high above them. “There are more books here than I thought ever existed. And anyone can read them.” He trailed off, clearly in awe. Isabelle understood. One of king Ruald’s more popular decisions as king had been creating this library for the public. Books were a rare commodity, very expensive for the poor, and uncommon even for the middle class. She and her siblings had always expressed excitement when her father had brought one home.

  She glanced down at the text. Sand enchantment, it read, was outlawed after the death of King Beoryn, due to its unpredictable nature, and the high death rate of those who practiced it—

  Jack closed the book with a thump. “This one doesn’t have what I need.” He stuck it on the top of his makeshift stack and peered at the spines of the rest, his green eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “What do you need?” Isabelle asked. “Maybe I can help—”

  “Isabelle?” Jillian hurried over to meet her, a wide smile on her face. “I finished the story. It had the most romantic ending, and—” Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Jack. “Sir Reginald!” She dipped in a hasty curtsey, pink skirts held wide. Suspicion flitted across her face as she regarded the two sitting together. “Sir, I hope my servant hasn’t been bothering you.”

  “On the contrary, she’s been quite helpful. She’s fetched quite a few books for me at my request.” The lie rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. He flashed Jillian one of his more disarming smiles. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t stop to consider you might need her, and I apologize for that.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Jillian sounded faint, melting under his smile. She cleared her throat then motioned to Isabelle, indicating that she should stand. “We need to get back soon. Mother won’t be happy if we’re very late.”

  Isabelle watched them both, a plan coming to mind. “Jillian, how is your ankle?”

  Jillian looked at her blankly. “My ankle?”

  Isabelle turned to Jack. “She sprained it climbing the steps to the library. Could you help her to her carriage?”

  “You want me to carry her?” Jack looked puzzled, and Isabelle rolled her eyes.

  “If you’re not up to the task, I’m sure Silvan would be.”

  “My ankle?” Jillian’s expression was absurdly confused, but cleared within a moment, understanding dawning on her face. “Oh. Yes . . . Ow.”

  Jack blinked. “I can lift her.” He cast Isabelle a bemused look. “You’ll have to carry any of the books she’ll want to borrow.”

  “Just this one.” Jillian practically threw it at Isabelle. Books were obviously the last thing on her mind with ‘Sir Reginald’ so close.

  Jack scooped her up unceremoniously, one arm supporting her shoulders, the other under her knees.

  Jillian bit back a startled squeak, arms tentatively wrapping around Jack’s neck. She smiled shyly at him, a blush stealing across her cheeks.

  Jack’s gaze locked with hers for a moment, as if suddenly seeing her for the first time, then turned toward the main entrance. “You’ll have to point out your carriage to me,” he said as they strode away.

  Isabelle lifted her skirts to follow, casting a last glance at the books Jack left behind before scurrying after them. She made a mental note to ask Silvan what sand enchantment was.

  “Oh my, what a dream!” Jillian exclaimed when she and Isabelle had returned to her apartments. Jillian threw herself on the sofa. “I do feel wretched lying to Sir Reginald, but magic that be, it was totally worth it.” She grinned over her shoulder at Isabelle. “That was terribly brilliant on your part.”

  “Jillian!” Lady Ilysa burst into their apartments, bosom heaving, whether from exertion or excitement, Isabelle couldn’t tell. “Jillian,” she gasped again, then paused to catch her breath, putting a hand to her heart. Her fingernails were painted purple today.

  Jillian looked up from where she was sprawled. “Yes, Mother? What’s wrong?”

  “The king.” Ilysa dumped herself into a plush chair, rearranging her skirts. “The king has made an announcement that he will be hosting his annual royal masquerade, and we’re invited!” The last word came out a squeal. She procured a letter from her pocket, the seal broken on it. “Are you not excited, darling?”

  Yes, Jillian was very excited. Forgetting she was supposed to have a sprained ankle, she clasped her dark hands together, a look of rapture on her face. “Oh, I do hope Sir Reginald asks me to dance!” she exclaimed.

  “He will, dearie,” Lady
Ilysa said. She eyed her daughter, a calculating look on her painted face. “We must find a dress for you. The perfect dress.”

  Isabelle was completely forgotten as the two chattered away. It reminded her of home. Her mother and sister Lily often spoke of silks and ribbons and the latest fashions of Seabound. She clasped her hands behind her back, trying to ignore the stab of disappointment she felt in her chest. A masquerade ball. As a Hunter she might have missed it anyway if she’d been out on Hunter duty, but this might have been her first masquerade she’d ever attended. She could hardly remember the last time she’d worn a fancy dress. She frowned down at her drab servant’s attire: a pale blue dress and white apron. So boring.

  It’s all right. Fetching the duster, she cleaned the small end tables, gripping the handle so hard her fingers hurt. Sacrifices must be made. I must prove my loyalty to the king. Hang the ball.

  “Oh.” Jillian’s face fell. “I can’t go shopping today. I’d forgotten, I’m supposed to have a sprained ankle.

  “What do you mean?” Lady Ilysa said, sounding annoyed She ran a hand idly down the delicate chain she always wore around her neck, the end disappearing in the neckline of her dress. She smiled when Jillian recounted her eventful afternoon. “So it seems our dull-witted servant is capable of some thought.” She didn’t even glance at Isabelle. “But you better stay here tomorrow as well. It will hardly do to let everyone see you walking about after you supposedly sprained it. The ball isn’t for another two weeks. There’s time.” Her eyes narrowed. “But only just. No more sprains, real or pretend.”

  That evening as Isabelle tended the fire, she thought about Jack and Jillian. He’d picked her up like she weighed no more than a feather. She chewed the inside of her cheek pensively. Jillian had blushed and stammered the entire distance between the library and carriage. She obviously cared for Jack, but could Jack come to care for her? Isabelle wasn't sure how she felt about those two ending up together, but that didn’t make any sense. Despite the fact that the man was unreasonable and bullheaded, she wanted him to be happy.