by Kara Jaynes
Silvan’s expression turned grim. “Better safe than sorry. I’d better go to the ball and look at it.”
“Let me come with you.” Isabelle stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her skirts. “Do you know what Lady Ilysa looks like?”
Silvan shrugged. “No, but I can ask around.” He tilted his head to the side, regarding her. “Is going to the ball a good idea for you?”
Isabelle swallowed, nodding.
“But it doesn’t have anything to do with Ilysa, does it?”
Isabelle paused, then sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”
Silvan rubbed his chin, watching her closely. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”
Isabelle smiled, her heart lurching painfully. “When I’m ready?”
Suspicion flitted across his face, but he nodded. “Okay. But if things turn sour, I’m getting you out of there.”
Isabelle turned to her mother, expecting her to object, but Eliza merely stood there watching them, arms folded across her chest. “You’re not going to try and tell me to stay?” Isabelle asked, unable to hold back her surprise.
Her mother smiled. “Like that would stop you?” Her smile faded and a steely glint flickered in her eyes. “You’ll need a mask, to hide your identity.”
She rummaged in the travel bag she’d been carrying and procured a pale mask, touched with silver. She also procured folded parchment, with the king’s seal. “It’s an invitation,” she explained. “You can go as me.” She shrugged. “I only got here yesterday, but I’ve been received warmly by the Fabled Hunters.”
“That’s too dangerous,” Silvan broke in smoothly. “If Isabelle is exposed it could put you in a precarious situation.”
Eliza opened her mouth to argue, but Silvan spoke again. “I’ve already forged her and myself some invitations.” He raised his shoulders at Isabelle’s questioning gaze. “You are a woman. I suspected you might be interested in going to the ball, regardless of your reasons.”
Isabelle smiled sheepishly. “True enough.”
“Do you have a dress?” Silvan asked.
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “Back in my old room in the Hunter’s quarters.”
“We’d best get a move on, then,” Silvan said. He swung Eliza’s pack over his shoulder and took Isabelle by the hand, striding from the room. Eliza followed, glancing worriedly about them.
Servants were everywhere, dashing to and fro on errands probably related to the night’s event, and no one spared the trio a second glance.
On arriving at Isabelle’s old Hunter quarters, Eliza shooed Silvan out of Isabelle’s room, firmly closing the door. She turned to Isabelle, her eyes shining with amusement. “I’ll admit it, he’s a good deal easier on the eyes than George Hummel.”
Isabelle laughed, remembering the old butcher. “Definitely.” As her laughter died away, a sobering mood fell over her. “Why did you take so long to come?”
Her mother smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. I tried to hurry, but I’ve been searching as well, so it took me longer to get here.”
Searching? “For what?”
A worry wrinkle appeared on her mother’s brow. “Alore is worried. She hasn’t heard anything from her son, Tymothias, since he left the town last spring. I was hoping to find him to ease his mother’s mind, but I haven’t seen him. Have you?”
Isabelle shook her head, feeling guilty. So much had happened since she left Stormview, she’d all but forgotten about him. “I haven’t, Mother. I’m sorry. He wasn’t here to compete in the tournament like he said he would.” They stared at each other silently, neither wanting to voice the thought they shared. It was a bad sign that Tymothias hadn’t contacted his family. She hoped her childhood friend was all right.
Isabelle exhaled heavily. She didn’t have time to think about him right now. She cast a quick glance around the room, pushing her friend from her thoughts. She didn’t see her bow. So Jack had already come. She felt a shiver of anticipation. Did he really plan to go through with this mad idea of his? For her? Or was it a trap?
The thought hit her like a punch to the stomach. Did he plan to betray her? She chewed the inside of her cheek, considering the idea.
Memories rose to her mind. Jack playing his whistle, helping her pick berries, playing Knights and Kings. Furtive glances and stolen smiles.
The momentary fear was replaced with a feeling of security, like a thick blanket that warded off the chill. Despite their past, Jack wouldn’t betray her to the king. Not anymore.
She and Mother went through her wardrobe. She didn’t have nearly as many dresses as Jillian, but it was still enough for Eliza to look impressed. She deliberated over them, finally selecting a white dress that was narrow at the waist, the skirts flaring out in white silk, silver embroidery catching the light of the candles they’d lit on the small table.
“This will look stunning,” Eliza said, her expression smug as she eyed her daughter.
Isabelle studied the dress critically. White and silver, it reminded her of frost in the moonlight. “It will do.”
Her mother helped her into it, then selected a dark cloak lined with fur. Isabelle shook her head. “I want to wear my red cloak.” Travel-stained and worn out, it might draw attention, but Isabelle was counting on that. As long as she could avoid suspicion until Jack said it was time, the bright red of the cloak would draw every eye, making sure she had her audience. But her cloak wasn’t in the wardrobe, and when she quickly searched her room, discovered it was missing. Did Jack take it?
Isabelle frowned, but accepted the cloak her mother still held. With the fur of the cloak contrasting her white dress, she felt like a queen.
“Oh. One more thing.” From her pack, Mother fetched a pair of slippers. “Need to look your best, even if your dress will cover these most of the time.”
They caught the candlelight, the shoes glowing with a faint, silvery sheen.
“They look like glass,” Isabelle whispered, and her mother nodded.
“Enchanted glass,” her mother confirmed with a pleased smile. “I certainly won’t be needing them. I’ll wait here for you. I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to come in case I somehow give you away.”
Isabelle stared at the shoes wordlessly, gratitude welling up inside of her. “These must have cost a fortune.”
Her mother waved her hand dismissively. “The money you sent to us was more than enough to get your father back on his feet in his merchant business. I wouldn’t have bought them if we couldn’t afford them.”
True enough. Isabelle slipped her feet into them, and she shared a smile with her mother. They had had the same sized feet for a few years now, a fact both found quite useful. “They’re beautiful. I love them.”
Eliza Aryn stepped back as she looked at her daughter for a few moments, an emotion shining in her eyes that Isabelle couldn’t read. “You look lovely,” she said. “And I’m so proud of you.”
Isabelle hugged her impulsively. “Thank you, Mother.”
“You better hurry.” Eliza glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. “The ball has already begun.” She smiled. “You don’t want to keep your silver-haired prince waiting.”
Or my redheaded one. Isabelle started in surprise. Where had that thought come from? She couldn’t afford to think like that. Jack needed someone who could break his curse.
37
With a final hug, Mother watched Isabelle leave the quarters, her face calmly composed, but eyes full of worry.
Stepping outside of her room, Isabelle found Silvan pacing the small hallway. He smiled broadly when he saw her. “Wow.” He laughed delightedly. “You look amazing.”
Isabelle took a good look at Silvan. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he had discarded his usual loose shirt in favor of a tailored dark gray button up coat, with a shower of white lace at his throat. His midnight-black trousers fit him like a glove and his boots went up to the knee. “I could say the same thing about you,” she responded. Magic that be
, he was gorgeous.
Silvan winked at her, his eyes violet. “I won’t deny it.” He put on a mask that was silver, its metallic scales glinting dully. “We’re going to be quite the lookers.”
He took her arm in his, and together they strode through the palace. Isabelle’s stomach was a writhing pit of snakes; if Jack was right, then she would get her honor restored, but so, so much could go wrong. She glanced at Silvan and found him eyeing her, concern in his features. “Are you all right?” he asked softly. “You don’t have to come.”
Isabelle shivered. “Yes, I do.”
Silvan nodded and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Just know that I’ll be there,” he said. “If you need help.”
Isabelle felt a tremor of guilt. She should tell him about Jack, but she was worried how he might react. What if he tried to stop her?
Several minutes later they were outside of the palace, striding toward the gardens. Isabelle looked up at Silvan in confusion. “Shouldn’t we be inside? I know where the ballroom is.” She shivered. It wasn’t as cold as it had been, but there was still a bite to the air.
“Not tonight,” Silvan said, striding confidently along. “This particular masquerade is taking place in the gardens.”
Isabelle felt a prickle of curiosity. “Is there enough room for dancing?” She’d explored a fair amount of the gardens, but admittedly not the whole of it. It was much too big for anyone to explore in a single day.
“You’ll see.” Silvan smiled, but wouldn’t say anything after that. Isabelle mentally shrugged. She was becoming used to his tendency toward the mysterious.
Under a large stone arch stood two servants, looking decidedly bored. One held her hand out with a dismissive air. “Invitations?”
Silvan procured two. “Lord Sylvanus and the Lady Artemis, from the very far reaches of the Western Province.” He smiled blandly down at Isabelle. “Though it will hardly do to proclaim our identities, isn’t that right, love? It is a masquerade.”
Isabelle lifted a hand, tittering like a fool-noble, and the servant stifled a yawn. “Enter, if you please.”
Walking under the arch, Isabelle blinked. Initially, she had assumed the ball would take place inside, but she’d been wrong. They stood in the gardens and soft, tiny lights twinkled in the hedge and sparkled in the fountains, casting a pale glow. The moon shone high overhead, casting its own ethereal light on the scene. What was even more astounding was that after passing under the stone-arch, the air was now warm. Magic was at work, she was sure of it. The king employed several mages into his service. She suspected they were the ones responsible for the change in temperature.
Music could be heard in the distance, and it was in the direction of the lilting melody that Silvan took Isabelle. They soon found themselves in a part of the garden Isabelle had never been. Lords and ladies were everywhere, servants weaving through the thickening crowd, holding trays of wine and spiced punch. Guards were stationed throughout the gardens, obviously there to make sure the king was kept safe, and to ensure drunk nobles didn’t get out of hand.
The garden, lined with trees and hedges, reminded Isabelle briefly of the maze in Tenebris where Jack had found a golden apple. If everything went according to plan, she’d be meeting him very soon.
They turned a hedge corner, and saw an open, large gate, it’s intricate iron design laced with gold.
“The queen’s garden,” Isabelle breathed. She’d never seen it herself. Deep inside the royal garden, it was a special place, forbidden to all save the king and those he allowed entrance.
King Ruald’s wife had passed away years ago, but her love of green, growing things had lived on. The king built this garden for her before her death. When she’d died, the legend was that he’d sealed the gate and forbidden everyone entrance. It wasn’t until Charlotte grew older, and showed her mother’s same love for plants, that her father had finally unlocked the doors, allowing his daughter to find joy where her mother had.
Until now, only Charlotte, her father and mother, and a few servants had walked through those golden doors. Isabelle felt a thrill of apprehension and excitement walking through the gate and into the Queen’s garden.
It was even more extravagantly decorated here. A wide expanse of smooth stone stretched before her, strings of lights hanging down from trees and bushes. Flowers were in full bloom, and a heady fragrance hung in the air. Couples danced gracefully, silk jackets and skirts swishing as they waltzed. Isabelle had been to a few royal parties, but this one was far more lavish than any she’d attended before.
Silvan’s eyes were narrowed behind his mask as he surveyed the crowd. “Where’s Lady Ilysa?”
The shard. Isabelle had forgotten all about it. She stood on her toes, eyes scanning the throng. “I don’t see her.”
“Would she have skipped the ball for any reason at all?”
Isabelle shook her head. “No. She’s here. Let’s find her.”
Silvan nodded, his expression sly. Before Isabelle could react, he’d tugged her into the crowd, his long strides turning into the waltz. Together, they merged seamlessly into the crowd. Silvan put his face close to hers, his breath tickling her ear. “Keep your eyes open and tell me when you see her.”
“Okay.” Isabelle did that, or tried to, at any rate. She’d danced a few times in her life, at Stormview gatherings and such, but she’d never been a very good dancer. Seeing Silvan now, in the wavering lights of enchantment, his movements fluid, his touch powerful, made her mouth go dry. He was beautiful. More than beautiful. She wasn’t sure there was a word to properly describe Silvan.
After several minutes, his smile grew. “You’re not even trying to find her, Isabelle.”
“Sorry.” Isabelle’s face warmed with embarrassment. “Uh, let me see.” She reluctantly tore her gaze away from Silvan and watched some of the couples they passed by. She saw several lords and ladies, servants, and a glimpse of a short, pale woman that looked familiar, but she didn’t see Lady Ilysa. Or Jack.
Isabelle bit her lip. She hadn’t seen Jillian, either. Was Jack safe? Had the king already discovered his deception?
There. In a flash of emerald green and gold silk, Jillian swept by, hanging on the arm of a young man Isabelle vaguely recognized as the noble that attended the princess’ luncheon. He was rail-thin with brown skin and black hair that stuck out in the back. Jillian was laughing, gazing up into his eyes.
“Jillian,” Isabelle called out, letting go of Silvan, pushing her way past several couples. “Jillian!”
The young woman and her partner paused in their dancing. The man looked at Isabelle with bland interest. Jillian pushed a few flyaway hairs from her face, peering at Isabelle through her gold mask. “Can I help you?” the girl asked, her voice filled with puzzlement.
Isabelle held back a nervous laugh, remembering belatedly that Jillian wasn’t supposed to recognize her. She smoothed her skirts, lifting her chin, trying to look the part of a lady. “Lady Jillian. I’m looking for Lady Ilysa. My Lord Sylvanus is hoping to have a word with her.”
Jillian turned her gaze to Silvan, her eyes widening slightly. “My mother?” she said, her voice sounding breathy. She curtsied. “My mother never mentioned you before, my lord.”
“That would be of no surprise,” Silvan drawled. “We’ve never met.” A smile played on his lips. “But I must speak with her on a matter of utmost importance.”
Jillian opened her mouth to reply and her partner tugged on her arm, impatient to get back to her dancing. “She’s here, but I’m not sure where,” she replied. “Perhaps she’s near the king. Please excuse me.” And she disappeared into the crowd again.
“Come on.” It was Isabelle’s turn to pull Silvan along, stalking through the crowd. Where was Jack? “We don’t have time to dance. We need to find Ilysa and have you check out that shard.”
It wasn’t hard to find King Ruald. He had a cluster of servants and nobles surrounding him like bees around a jar of honey. Isabelle smirked at the
analogy. King Ruald was dressed in a glittering gold jacket with puffy sleeves. He was engaged in conversation with a slim pretty woman Isabelle didn’t recognize. From the looks of several of the other women in the crowd, some were none too pleased about it.
Lady Ilysa stood in the crowd, closer to the back. She wore a long sweeping dress that was silver, sparkling like it was made of starlight. Her neckline plunged far lower than was decent, and she cast a look at the king that was nothing short of petulant. She wore the same golden chain, the glass shard still dangling from it. Isabell eyed it. The thin gold wire that wrapped around it protected the woman from getting cut. Looking at the shard, Isabelle felt . . . strange. It looked like ordinary glass, but . . .
Isabelle nudged Silvan. “There.” She jerked her chin toward the noblewoman. “Lady Ilysa.”
“Ah.” Silvan regarded the woman for a moment, his handsome face serious. “You’re right, it’s a piece of the mirror.” His voice lowered. “I need to destroy it, but not here. Somewhere else, or I’ll draw the attention of everyone in the garden.”
Isabelle nodded. “Do what you need to do.”
“I plan to.” Silvan eyed her for a moment. “Know this is all pretend, okay?”
Before Isabelle could ask him what he meant, Silvan strode forward, approaching the noblewoman.
“My lady.” Silvan bowed formally, one hand held over his heart.
“Yes?” Lady Ilysa’s voice was curt, obviously displeased at the distraction. She turned, looking up into Silvan’s face. Her eyes widened, her painted mouth parting in surprise. “Do I know you?”
Silvan chuckled. “Not yet.” Isabelle started at his voice. Dark with seduction, his voice was low and sensuous. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Lady Ilysa, and you have something I want.”
Lady Ilysa swallowed, clearly unnerved by his looks. Really, it was ridiculous and unfair that a man should be so attractive. “Want, Lord . . .?”
“Lord Sylvanus, from the Western Province,” Silvan said smoothly, offering his arm. “I was wondering if we could speak somewhere a little more . . . private.”
