Deception (Fabled Hunters Book 2)

by Kara Jaynes

  “Certainly.” Lady Ilysa grabbed his arm, barely able to suppress her obvious eagerness. “I know a secluded spot, my Lord,” she said, smiling up at him.

  Isabelle watched Silvan anxiously. Was this him, or his curse?

  Silvan glanced over at her as they passed, and she felt her knees go weak with relief. His eyes were a brilliant blue. Just him.

  “Finally. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  Isabelle spun around at the voice to see Jack standing behind her. He was dressed in his customary black, except the clothes were made of finer material. Sleek trousers and a well fitted jacket with a high collar. He wore a dark mask, adding to the mysterious look. He held out a gloved hand. “Shall we dance?”

  Isabelle took his hand, her heart thumping painfully. This was it. Would it work? “Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together.”

  “Why not?” Jack moved smoothly, each step measured. Isabelle hadn’t known he could dance. He did so better than she did.

  “We’re supposed to be enemies,” she said, keeping her voice low despite the babble of voices and music all around them.

  Jack smiled. “So we’re not really, then?”

  Isabelle didn’t answer, mulling over his question. Were they enemies? If not, were they friends? She didn’t know. And looking up into Jack’s face, she wasn’t sure what he thought about them, either.

  “I saw Jillian dancing with someone else,” she said.

  Jack laughed. “Yup. Lord Alen has had his sights set on her for a while, and Jillian seems to like him okay, so it wasn’t hard to get them to dance.”

  Isabelle looked down so Jack wouldn’t see her pleased smile.

  “I brought your bow,” Jack said. “Everything is ready to go.”

  “What do I have to do?” Isabelle asked. They took another turn that momentarily separated them, Jack moving behind another couple, as part of the dance. When they clasped hands again, Jack’s fingers tightened around hers painfully. He looked nervous, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply.

  “You have to shoot me,” he said. His smile was crooked.

  Isabelle eyed him as she glided around another couple. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You had no qualms about stabbing me with a sword, if I recall correctly.”

  “That was different,” Isabelle hissed. “I knew it wouldn’t cause real damage.”

  Jack’s smile slid from his face and Isabelle knew what he was thinking. Not the kind you can see.

  As they danced, Isabelle became aware that Jack was gradually leading her away from the main crowd, off to the side of a massive stone pavilion.

  “I hid your bow here,” Jack said, giving her an awkward smile. He stuck a hand in the hedge and pulled out her bow and a single arrow. He reached again and pulled out Isabelle’s red cloak, the hem snagging on the hedge. He smiled hesitantly. “You’ll want to stand out.”

  Isabelle nodded and quickly switched, donning her red cloak and stuffing the fur-lined cloak into the hedge. Jack stood in front of her, hiding Isabelle from the crowd.

  Isabelle turned and looked at the arrow Jack held, feeling a flutter of anxiety. It was golden in color, the feathers catching the light. “I don’t want to hurt . . .” She bit her lip.

  Jack shook his head. “I swear, you won’t be able to hurt me with it.”

  “What will it do?” Isabelle asked.

  Jack shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Break my enchantment.” He looked serious. “Don’t hesitate, Isabelle. You’ll only get one shot.”

  Isabelle felt a stab of worry. “Jack . . .”

  Jack’s jaw set stubbornly. “I already told you I’ll be fine. Do you want your honor restored or not?”

  Her fingers clenched tightly around the handle of her bow. Yes, she did. More than anything. She nodded. “Just so long as you’re not hurt.”

  Jack looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He reached out, running his fingertips across her cheekbone. “Remember to shoot, after I raise a scene.” He smiled uncertainly and was gone, weaving back into the crowd.

  Isabelle clutched her bow to her chest, a sense of loss surging through her. She was beginning to wish she’d talked to Silvan about this. Jack didn’t seem too sure about this at all. What if his plan failed? What if she hurt him? Could she take that risk? What if the enchantment didn’t break?

  Her honor. Her position. Isabelle clenched her jaw. She’d shoot his shoulder, just in case. He was sure the arrow wouldn’t hurt him. She touched the tip of the golden arrow. It felt real.

  She shivered, suddenly aware of a cold breeze rising.

  Jack was about to reveal his true self to the king.

  38

  The murmur of voices rose as the music died away. The wind rose, higher and stronger, and then died away completely, leaving a cold so intense Isabelle was thankful for her red cloak, pulling it closer around her body.

  “What is going on?” The tide of people parted on either side as King Ruald strode forward, dark head turning left to right, his face twisted in a scowl. “Tyro!”

  Isabelle flinched as the tall Hunter appeared from a few feet away from her, walking over to the king. Isabelle hadn’t realized it was him. The man was wearing dark blue formal clothing, very different from his normal Hunter attire. She very much hoped he hadn’t heard any of her conversation with Jack. Aviina followed her fiancé, looking uncomfortable in a fluffy ball gown. Isabelle remembered seeing her in the crowd earlier, hardly recognizable in her fancy clothes. “My king?” Tyro bowed politely.

  “Where are the mages?” King Ruald asked. “What devilry is afoot?”

  “I do not know, my king,” Tyro said. “But I will check with them, and see what’s going on.”

  “Don’t bother yourselves.” Jack’s voice rang out, hard and clear. To a man, everyone within hearing distance turned to him. He stood on a low stone wall, looking imperiously out at the crowd, his chin tilted upward in undisguised arrogance. “There isn’t anything they can do about it.”

  “Sir Reginald?” King Ruald’s brows knit together in puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”

  Jack smiled in condescension. “That my esteemed king hasn’t figured it out yet truly astounds me. Do try and keep up.”

  A gasp went up among the nobles, and Tyro’s face twisted in anger. “You dare speak to the king in such a disrespectful manner?”

  Jack laughed, and the cold grew, making Isabelle’s fingers numb. “I see he’s not the only simpleton here, Tyro.”

  The king had grown still, peering at Jack as if he were a peculiar puzzle. “What do you mean by all of this?” he asked slowly. “Are you responsible for the cold that has gripped this city?”

  With a sharp intake of breath, Tyro’s body went taut, jaw clenched. He was watching Jack like he might a rabid dog.

  He suspects, Isabelle realized. Tyro was remembering the cold in the South Province, and Jack. Her window of opportunity was about to close.

  Jack must have sensed it, too. He laughed again, sneering at the king. “I suspect you didn’t know Sir Reginald had magical powers, did you? Did you?” He fell silent, and Isabelle knew it was time.

  Heart pounding, she scrambled up onto a garden bench, ripping off her mask. Her hands shook, terror racing through her veins. “Sir Reginald doesn’t,” she yelled, shocked by how steady her voice was. “But you do, Jack Colsworth.”

  She ignored the faces that turned toward her. Body humming with nerves, she drew the golden arrow. “Your deception ends now.” She took a shuddering breath, and shot.

  The arrow flew from the bow, singing with its speed as it flew forward. Jack said it wouldn’t hurt him. If the enchantment worked as he said it would, the enchantment would—

  Jack cried out, stumbling.

  No. Isabelle’s breath caught in her throat. No! Had she hurt him?

  The air around Jack flashed in blinding brilliance and shattered, shards of light wink
ing out of existence.

  The massive stone pavilion turned into a sea of chaos as nobles began shouting and crying, many fleeing the scene.

  Tyro unsheathed his sword. “Isabelle was right!” he shouted, his face flushing in outrage. “You’ve been masquerading as Reginald all this time!” He leaped to stand in front of the king.

  Jack. He stood there proudly, head lifted, eyeing those around him, his lip curled in contempt. He was unharmed, and Isabelle exhaled heavily, relief leaving her shaky.

  Jack laughed harshly. “Yes, she was right.” He tilted his head a little, regarding Tyro. “She tried to tell you and the king, but you were both blind to what she saw. Nothing gets by Isabelle. You’re both fools to have ignored her.”

  “Where’s the real Sir Reginald?” the king asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t have the slightest idea,” he said. “Fancy all this time, and no one thought to check in on Lord Brand.” He barked another laugh.

  Isabelle stared at him, frozen. She didn’t know what to do. What should she say?

  Jack glanced at Isabelle, fierce pride burning in his eyes. “I was angry at her for beating me at the tournament.” Darkness sprang into his eyes and he shivered, ice beginning to seep out from under his boots, encasing the low wall he stood on. He took a shuddering breath and the ice stopped.

  The king spoke, his voice calm, almost reasonable. “Surely you didn’t go through all this trouble merely to spite a girl.”

  Jack turned his gaze on the king, his green eyes glittering with defiance. “I came to destroy Illyminatym,” he said, his voice carrying over the crowd. He glanced back at Isabelle, and she shivered, seeing the stark desire in his eyes. “But my plans were foiled before I could finish them.”

  He did this for her. He was giving up everything for her. Isabelle swallowed, feeling her heart swell with gratitude. Gratitude, and . . . something else. Pulse racing, Isabelle stared solemnly back at Jack. Did she—

  Silvan stepped out of the crowd, moving to stand protectively in front of Isabelle.

  Jack’s brow furrowed as he frowned at Silvan, correctly reading the silver-haired man’s stance. “Who are you?” he asked.

  Silvan lifted his chin, eyeing Jack coldly, and didn’t respond.

  Understanding dawned on Jack’s face. “Ah. You’re Silvan.” He feigned indifference, but his fists were clenched at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms. “Isabelle’s friend.”

  Silvan nodded curtly, still silent.

  Jack glared at Isabelle. “Just a friend?”

  Isabelle half-shrugged, a sick feeling in her stomach. What was Silvan to her? She didn’t know what he saw in her. He seemed to care deeply about her, but was reserved and distant at the same time. If she truly loved Silvan, would he reciprocate?

  Silvan’s back was stiff and, looking at him, silver hair glinting in the light of the moon and garden lamps, Isabelle felt a surge of affection. “He’s been a friend when I had none,” Isabelle whispered. “He looked out for me, and cared for me.”

  Tyro stirred, his body tense. His gaze flickered between Jack and Silvan, obviously unsure of which one to attack first. It was clear from his stance that he found both men an obvious threat to the king.

  All color had drained from Jack’s face as he stared at Isabelle, his lips parted in shock. “I’m your friend, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle felt a lump form in her throat. “Are you?” She blinked furiously. She didn’t dare cry, not now.

  Jack’s face contorted in an angry snarl. “You don’t need him, Isabelle,” he said, flinging his arm out as if he could send Silvan away with the gesture. His eyes widened in alarm as a thought came to him. “Have you kissed him?”

  He was thinking of his own curse, Isabelle knew, and her heart wilted at the question. “I . . .” She lifted her chin, wearing pride like a mask. “What I do or don’t do is my business, Jack,” she said.

  “Have—you—kissed—him?” Jack’s question was a hiss.

  Isabelle met his smoldering gaze, then looked away. Her silence was answer enough.

  “No.” The word was an agonized whisper. Jack stared at her, stricken. “No.”

  Isabelle forced herself to meet his eyes, feeling tears spill out of her own. Too late. Guilt stabbed her like a knife. “I’m sorry, Ja—”

  “NO!” Jack shrieked, and a blizzard raged, snow and ice raining down from a cloudless sky, the full moon casting its cold light on the land. Freezing wind lashed at noble and servant alike. “Isabelle!”

  The king fell back, the Hunters in the crowd sprinting to cover him. Jack ignored them, fury and despair warring on his face. Jack lifted his hands, and the earth heaved, throwing Isabelle to the ground. Thick, slick ice coated the stone floor of the pavilion.

  Jack stalked toward her. “I gave you everything I was, Isabelle, everything I am! How could you do this to me?”

  Isabelle’s bow flew from her hand, landing several feet away as Jack stormed over. “Why?”

  Silvan barred his way, his irises glinting blood-red. “Get back.” His voice was a deep growl.

  Jack leaped at him with a howl, a sword of ice appearing in his hand.

  Silvan grabbed Jack by his sword wrist, halting his attack. The men grappled with each other until, with a burst of light, Silvan threw Jack backward several yards in a savage surge of inhuman strength.

  Jack’s boots skidded across the ice, regaining his footing as easily as if he’d walked on rough stone. He lifted his hands and, in a rush of wind, controlled the blizzard. He threw a wall of ice at Silvan, again, and again, trying to overpower him.

  Silvan staggered under the onslaught, chips of ice tearing at him, ripping his clothes. His jacket was a tattered mess, and blood streamed from several cuts. With a roar, he gave in to his curse, shapeshifting into a dragon, the moon glinting on his silver scales. What few nobles remained now fled in shrieks of terror. Only the king, the princess and the Hunters remained.

  Jack wasn’t deterred by Silvan’s transformation. His sword changed into a massive spear of ice and he sprinted toward Silvan, his eyes burning with murder.

  Tyro was the first of the Hunters to recover from the shock of the impossible events. He leaped forward to intercept Jack, red flame racing down his sword.

  Jack switched his attack, bearing down on Tyro. Ice crumpled and heaved under Tyro’s feet and the man stumbled.

  With a sweep of Jack’s arm, a gust of frigid wind sent Tyro and everyone else within a ten-foot radius flying.

  The dragon opened his maw, a sending a torrent of fire at Jack. The redheaded man brought up a wall of ice, using it as a shield.

  Jack didn’t wait for the fire to clear before he threw the spear with a heave of his good arm, the weapon hurtling forward to puncture Silvan’s scaled chest.

  Silvan roared in pain; his lashing tail nearly knocking Isabelle over. He transformed back into a man with a groan, falling to his knees, and ripped the spear from his chest.

  Isabelle scrambled to her feet. She started in shock finding Jack suddenly standing mere inches away from her, looking down into her face.

  Green eyes, flecked with gold, clouded with pain and confusion. Darkness. His curse. Jack’s sides heaved as if he’d run miles in a few moments, silently watching her.

  “Illyminatym will be destroyed and rebuilt for her. For the new world.” The darkness flashed in his eyes and he smiled, his expression cold. “This isn’t over, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle blinked tears from her lashes. She refused to cry. Clenching her fists, she tried to look stern. She knew this would hurt. “My heart lies where it chooses, Jack.” Where is that?

  Jack glared balefully into her face. “You led me along,” he spat. “You lied.”

  “No.” Isabelle felt her gaze slide away, unable to keep his gaze. “You just saw what you wanted to see.”

  She looked back and the pain in Jack’s eyes cut Isabelle to her core. “Jack.” Isabelle reached out to him. He flinched when her fi
ngertips touched his face, but stood as if rooted to the ground. “Jack,” she said again. “This isn’t you. The real you.”

  Jack’s face twisted in pain. The darkness flickered again and went out. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he whispered.

  The wind died away, the cold slowly dissipating.

  Isabelle’s fingers tangled in his hair as she searched his face. “The real Jack is kind and caring. He’s compassionate.”

  “He’s also weak.” A low voice spoke, his tone mocking. “A coward, and a fool.”

  It was Silvan. Blood soaked his shirt but he stood straight, his head held high. His eyes were red as he smiled crookedly at them. “Small wonder she picked me over you.”

  Jack faced him with a snarl, and Isabelle grasped his arm. “Jack.”

  He shrugged her away, still watching Silvan. “What are you talking about?” he snarled.

  “Why would she pick you when she had me?” Silvan arched a silver eyebrow, smirking. “A real man. Women don’t want little boys.”

  Jack’s face went white and he visibly shook with rage. “Glacia was right,” he whispered.

  Silvan stiffened, his mocking smile discarded. “About what?”

  “About everything.” Jack lifted his arms, and the cold sprang again. “This is the beginning of the end for the Four Provinces.” Visible magic swirled around him, gold and silver threads of light, cold pulsing off him in waves. “It begins with no king.”

  Silvan leaped at him with a snarl, but Jack flung a hand out, magic shooting, arcing toward King Ruald with blinding speed.

  Princess Charlotte leaped to stand in front of her father, the magic slamming into her. The girl cried out, and slumped to the ground.

  “No!” The king sobbed in anguish. He crouched over his daughter. “Charlotte, no!”

  Jack pushed Silvan off himself with a savage burst of strength, his face contorted in frustrated anguish as he saw the princess’ crumpled form. “I didn’t mean . . .” His features hardened and he spun around to face Isabelle, fury in his gaze. “Goodbye, Isabelle.”