Fabled (Fabled Hunters Book 1)

by Kara Jaynes

  Isabelle couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “Easy for you to say.”

  Silvan’s mouth thinned and he frowned at her. “For someone who’s so good at archery, you can be infuriatingly blind at times.” He released her shoulders, only to take her hand. “Come. It’s time to visit Lady Ebony.”

  “What? Why?” Isabelle allowed herself to be led down the hall.

  “I think you will find the visit … illuminating.” Silvan chuckled, as if he’d just told a good joke. When Isabelle remembered she’d left her bow, his hand tightened around hers. “You won’t need it.”

  He became quiet when they entered the streets, refusing to answer her questions. Isabelle’s apprehension rose, but if there was one thing she knew, is was that Silvan wouldn’t intentionally hurt her. So she held her tongue, determined to wait and see what Silvan had in store for her.

  25

  Isabelle smoothed the front of the new dress Silvan had purchased for her. Dark green silk. She’d only ever owned two dresses this fine. Silvan wore all black, a stark contrast to his pale skin and silver hair.

  “Whatever you do, don’t contradict anything I say while we’re here, understand?” he said.

  Isabelle frowned up at him. “Why?”

  “I have my reasons, Isabelle. You’ll have to trust me.” He sat back against the padded backing of the rented carriage, silent.

  His comment was terribly mysterious, but no further prodding would get him to reveal more than what he’d already said.

  The baroness’ mansion was dark and imposing. A black wrought iron fence surrounded the dull gray stone structure. Isabelle curled her lip in distaste. “It’s ugly.”

  “So it is,” Silvan mused, looking with curious eyes. “How interesting.”

  “Why is it interesting?” Isabelle asked and Silvan tsked at her.

  “Haven’t you heard curiosity is unbecoming in a woman?”

  Isabelle was about to come up with an angry retort but saw the twinkling in his eye and knew he was jesting.

  With a wink, he continued. “There’ll be plenty of time for questions later, dear.”

  Dear? Isabelle wasn’t sure what to make of that. Silvan squeezed her hand reassuringly as their carriage came to a halt outside the gate. He passed a sealed letter and some gold to the guards, and the gates opened to allow them entry.

  The grounds looked even more forbidding on this side of the fence. Strange dark twisted statues stood on either side of the path leading up to the front entrance. Isabelle stared at them as they passed. Most of them were human in appearance, but warped versions. Some sprouted curling horns, while others had great curved claws, or cloven hooves. All looked like they were suffering immense pain. She shivered, remembering the statues at the witch’s castle. She hoped these weren’t cursed souls.

  “They aren’t real, Isabelle,” Silvan reassured her, noticing her looking at them. “These ones are just stone.”

  Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief, but the apprehension swiftly returned on entering the house. All of the furniture was dark, either ebony or mahogany. The tapestries depicted violence and gratuitous scenes, so graphic that Isabelle felt herself blush scarlet and avoided looking at them after the first few. Silvan glanced at her, unable to hide his smile. While Isabelle felt her discomfort grow, he seemed to be more at ease than she’d seen him.

  They followed a servant through the long entry hall and into a waiting room.

  “The baroness, Lady Ebony, will call for you shortly. Please wait here in the meantime.” The servant bowed and left.

  Still holding Isabelle’s hand, Silvan sauntered over to a plush looking sofa. He sat and in one strong, swift movement, pulled Isabelle onto his lap.

  “What the—” Isabelle froze as Silvan’s lips brushed her ear.

  “Shh. Play along, Isabelle. We’re being watched.”

  Isabelle’s skin prickled as Silvan’s hands encircled her waist. She tried to convince herself that fear caused her pulse to pound and her heart to race rather than the man whose lips had now moved from her ear to lightly rain kisses down her jawline. One of his hands reached to take hers, fingers entwining. He paused before he reached her mouth, pulling his face away to look at her. His eyes were violet. His body tensed and he took a shuddering breath. “I can’t decide if you’re very good for me, or very bad.”

  “Does it matter?” Isabelle whispered. A lock of silver had fallen across his forehead, shining faintly in the daylight that came in through the windows.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Silvan stiffened, his back straightening as he gently shifted her body so she was sitting next to him. Isabelle mentally stomped on the disappointment she felt. What kind of game was he playing at anyway?

  A loud harrumphing sounded and Isabelle leaped to her feet. A woman servant stood in the doorway, scowling at Isabelle. Her white hair was pulled back in a severe bun, her livery austere black and gray.

  Silvan lounged on the sofa, arrogance rolling off him in waves. His eyes were still violet. What was he planning? “Yes?” He spoke to the servant in a condescending tone. “What is it?” The way he leaned back on the cushions, casting a critical eye at the old woman, he looked like he was the master of the house.

  The servant wasn’t impressed. She sniffed loudly. “Lady Ebony will see you now.”

  “Ah. I see.” Silvan stood. His demeanor had changed completely. Usually kind and gentle, Silvan was cold, prideful and—

  “Come here, my dear.” Silvan offered his arm to Isabelle. She took it, casting a glance up at him. Was this an act then? It was very convincing.

  The servant visibly sneered at them before turning around and leading them down a different hall, also full of tapestries and grotesque statues. Isabelle kept her eyes down.

  “You’re not very good at this, are you?” Silvan murmured. When Isabelle glanced up at him he winked at her. “I know you find me dashing; act like it.”

  “Why should I?” she hissed back before realizing she didn’t deny his statement.

  Silvan grinned. His long hair fell on either side on his face as he looked down at her, giving him a rakish look. “So you do find me attractive.”

  “What has gotten into you?” Isabelle cast a look behind her. If she made a break for it now, maybe she could reach Illyminatym on her own.

  Silvan noticed her look and his expression changed. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “You’re close to completing a quest, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle didn’t have time to consider his words before two large doors opened before them and they were welcomed into a large room. If it had belonged to a king, Isabelle would have called it a throne room, but that wasn’t quite right. A large chair stood on a dais at the far end, where a woman was seated. She rose when Silvan and Isabelle entered. “Ah! Ivan. You return.”

  “It’s been too long, my lady.” Silvan swiftly knelt on one knee, and taking her extended hand, kissed it.

  Isabelle tried to hide her shock behind a mask of indifference. Silvan knew Lady Ebony. She curtseyed deeply, trying to study the baroness as discreetly as she could.

  Lady Ebony was a beautiful woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, with smooth, creamy-white skin. Her lips were impossibly red, so red that on first glance Isabelle was sure she was wearing paint, but on studying them further she wasn’t as sure. The baroness’ hair was black as midnight, put up in a magnificent tower of curls. A few dark tendrils hung down on either side of her face in stark contrast to her pale skin. She wore a red dress that was cut scandalously low.

  “Dear Ivan, I’ve missed you so,” she purred. “The Eastern Province just isn’t the same without you.” Isabelle frowned. Ivan?

  “Regrettably, I’ve had business to attend to.” His voice sounded crisp, almost business-like. He rose smoothly to his feet and turned toward Isabelle, motioning her to step forward. “I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Jahzara.”

  Isabelle shuffled forward, shifting her gaze to Lady
Ebony a moment before curtseying again. The older woman’s face showed shock and anger for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. “Oh? I didn't know you were the marrying type, Ivan.”

  Isabelle’s face burned at the implication as she kept her gaze respectfully on the floor.

  “Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it? Jahzara and I couldn’t be happier, isn’t that right, dear?” Silvan smiled at Isabelle as if they shared a secret. Isabelle smiled back, her heart beating painfully.

  “But we’re not here to discuss beauty and happiness,” Silvan continued, his face growing serious. Isabelle noticed his eyes were blue again. “We’re here to look into the rumors of several women being murdered in the area.”

  “Oh?” Lady Ebony suddenly looked very bored, inspecting her nails on one hand. “I haven’t heard anything like that.”

  “Well, that is strange.” Silvan’s voice sounded just as casual. “Because I think some of your men might be behind the murders.”

  “My men?” Lady Ebony’s eyes went wide with shock. A tendril of suspicion travelled through Isabelle, though she couldn’t say why.

  Silvan cast his gaze around the room, his lip curling with contempt when his eyes lit on the old servant and two guards standing by the doors at attention. “May we speak somewhere more … private?”

  “Of course.” Lady Ebony smiled warmly at him. She turned to the older serving woman. “I would like to have Ivan and his wife—” the baroness shot Isabelle a venomous look “—to dinner tonight. Please see to the arrangements.”

  Lady Ebony then told another servant to lead Isabelle and Silvan to a guest room. Before leaving Ebony’s presence, Silvan casually took Isabelle by the hand, the latter trying to ignore the shiver that ran up her arm at his touch.

  Their bedchamber was massive with plush, blood-red carpets, black drapes, and an enormous wardrobe in one corner. The tapestries in this room were more scandalous than the ones in the halls. But even more disconcerting was the massive bed in the middle of the room—the single bed. Inviting, soft and warm—and clearly just the right size for two. Isabelle cleared her throat and looked away. If there was ever a moment she was grateful her mother couldn’t see her, now was it.

  Silvan shooed the servants out, closing the door behind him. He stood for a moment, back toward Isabelle. He was quiet, his head bowed as if lost in thought.

  “What was that all about?” Isabelle blurted out. “What did you hope to solve by coming here? Why didn’t you tell me you know Lady Ebony?” Her ears burned at the next question. “And why did you tell her we’re married?”

  “We aren’t?” Silvan feigned puzzlement and chuckled at Isabelle’s glare. “I jest.” He put his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “To answer your questions, I hope to discover why you were almost murdered, twice now. And it didn’t seem important to tell you I know her. We’re barely acquaintances.”

  “She seemed to think she knows you pretty well,” Isabelle muttered, crossing her arms, but Silvan continued as if he didn’t hear her.

  “Lastly, I want to pretend we’re married to test a suspicion of mine.”

  “What suspicion?” Isabelle asked.

  Silvan opened his mouth to respond and paused, tilting his head to the side. “Someone is coming,” he said. He placed a finger to his lips. “Remember to play the part, Isabelle.”

  A servant had come to lead them to a large dining hall. Several servants stood off to the side, ready to swoop in and offer whatever their superiors and guests might need, but aside from Isabelle and Silvan, only Lady Ebony and an older man sat at the table. He was introduced as Lord Girild, Lady Ebony’s right-hand man.

  The baroness had changed her dress to a flimsy golden gown that clung to her like a second skin. Her hair fell in dark waves, curling about her shoulders. She smiled when Silvan came in. “Ivan, how good of you to come. Do come sit, and tell me of your most recent adventures. If you have anything private to speak of,” she smiled suggestively, “we can speak of that after dinner.” Isabelle, she ignored completely.

  Silvan walked to the seat nearest, then offered Isabelle the chair next to him. “Sit here, love.” The smile he gave her would have melted the heart of a witch. Isabelle swallowed, feeling slightly dizzy, and slid into the chair Silvan offered.

  Ebony watched their interaction, a jealous scowl on her beautiful face.

  Dinner was an enormous affair of varied dishes: roast pheasant, chicken, lamb, and beef. Baked and mashed potatoes, delicately arranged salad and soft white rolls. Isabelle’s mouth watered at the sight. Her father had been wealthy enough before his loss of fortune, but even they didn’t eat like this.

  Two of the servants approached, each holding a pitcher of wine. One supplied some for Lady Ebony and poured for Silvan, while the other servant poured some for Isabelle. Isabelle lifted the glass, her eyes going to Ebony. The baroness watched her, eyes glittering with triumph.

  Warning bells went off in Isabelle’s mind and her glass slipped from her fingers, landing on the table with a dull thud, spilling wine over the tablecloth.

  “Jahzara!” Silvan leaped from his seat to fuss over her, looking for all the world like a doting husband. “Love, what’s wrong?”

  “I feel … decidedly unwell,” Isabelle said faintly. Looking up into his blue eyes, she saw genuinely concern … or was it part of the act? She glanced over Silvan’s shoulder at the baroness.

  Lady Ebony’s face was twisted in frustration until she caught Isabelle watching her, then her face instantly smoothed. “Oh, what a pity. You must have overtaxed yourself during your travels. Allow one of my servants to assist you upstairs. Don’t bother yourself, Ivan, stay and eat. A man must keep up his strength.”

  Silvan glanced warily at Isabelle. “Do you need me to help you upstairs?” He placed a hand on the small of her back as if to steady her and Isabelle shivered.

  “I’m fine. I … just need to lie down.”

  The same dour-faced woman appeared to help Isabelle to her rooms, and for a moment, Isabelle considered asking Silvan to help her after all. He’d already turned back to Lady Ebony though, and the two had jumped into discussing the business of the city. It’d be awkward to ask him now.

  Suppressing a sigh, Isabelle followed the elderly servant out. The older woman was silent, leading her through long halls and passageways until they reached Isabelle’s room. The servant opened the door, holding it wide. She watched Isabelle, her face expressionless.

  “Thank you.” Isabelle walked past her, but froze when the woman spoke.

  “Watch your back. The baroness is a jealous woman.”

  Isabelle turned, amazed, but with a quick bob of the head, the woman left.

  Isabelle chewed her lip, considering the woman’s words and dinner’s brief events. Lady Ebony was a jealous woman. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that, she could see it. She’d had wine poured for Isabelle from a separate pitcher. Isabelle wouldn’t have thought much of it, but the expression on the baroness’ face had made her suspicious. The woman was clearly interested in Silvan, and wouldn’t be sad to have Isabelle out of the way.

  Silvan. Isabelle ground her teeth in frustration, throwing herself on the bed. He was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. Why was he playing this charade? What was his motive?

  She recalled his lips brushing her ear, his fingers pressing into her back. She shook her head. No. It was pretend. He had to have a motive. She just didn’t know what it was yet.

  26

  Isabelle opened her eyes, not sure what it was that had woken her. It was dark. She’d fallen asleep in bed, still fully clothed. She was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  Her first thought on waking was to wonder why Ebony was jealous. She was a beautiful, powerful woman. She had expensive clothing, fabulous food, and plenty of guards and servants. She ruled the Eastern Province, second only to the king.

  Silvan. Isabelle frowned in the darkness of the room. Ebony either wanted him, or wanted h
im to want her. Probably both.

  Sleep wasn’t going to come again for a while, she could feel it. She began to sit up, and froze. Someone was in bed with her. Isabelle peered at the slumbering figure in the dark, heart pounding.

  It was Silvan. He lay on his side, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold. The curtains were only partially drawn and a beam of moonlight fell across his face. Isabelle felt her breath catch, looking at him. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered. It was the word that fit him just right. His silver hair shone in the moonlight, his pale face still, hair falling in his face. He looked … sad. Isabelle lifted her hand to caress him, her fingertips inches from his cheek before she stopped herself. It’d be beyond awkward if she woke him now.

  Silently, Isabelle crawled out of bed on her side, walking to the vanity. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was hard to see detail in the dark, but she knew what she’d see. A pretty girl, but not beautiful. She thought of Lady Ebony and grimaced. Small wonder the baroness was surprised to hear Silvan was “married.” Isabelle didn’t come close to the other woman’s beauty.

  On the vanity countertop, she noticed a basket of fruit with a note. She hadn’t seen it earlier. Picking up the note she tiptoed over to the window, holding it up to the moonlight.

  To my dear Jahzara. Please know I am truly sorry you weren’t feeling well at mealtime. Poor Ivan couldn’t stop talking about you. The ink was thicker on the word stop, as if the hand that wrote it shook. Isabelle continued reading. I have had some refreshment brought up to you. I hope that, if nothing else, it will ease Ivan’s fretting over you.

  Isabelle scowled at the letter. A simple “I want your husband,” would have been more honest. She tore the letter, then took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger. She had no cause to be upset. Sternly, she reminded herself she wasn’t married to Silvan and had no claim on him.

  She went back to the basket. Even in the darkness she could see the red of the apples. They almost glowed. She began to pick one up, hungry, but paused. A waft of cold air blew past her ankles. She looked around, unsure of where it was coming from. The window was closed. A tapestry depicting a scene of two lovers wrapped in a warm embrace moved with the draft.