by Kara Jaynes
The breeze of air drifted again, and the tapestry rippled. Frowning, Isabelle lifted a corner of the wall hanging and found herself looking at a small door. It was slightly ajar. Curious, Isabelle opened it all the way, the hinges silent.
She hesitated. It was dark, and she didn’t have a light. She quietly went back to the vanity, lighting a candle. She glanced over at Silvan. He hadn’t moved.
Walking back to the small door, Isabelle entered the passageway. Narrow and made of stone, it smelled of dust. The small light of the candle flickered and fluttered but didn’t go out. Isabelle walked slowly, careful not to stumble. The hall was straight with no side passages. Where did it lead?
Occasionally she paused, straining her ears for any sound, warning her of what might lay ahead, but heard nothing other than her own breathing.
At last she came to a small door, tightly closed. Isabelle stopped, eyeing it curiously. She was nervous, prowling about someone’s castle, but knew she’d wonder about it forever if she didn’t at least look to see what lay beyond the door.
Opening it, Isabelle stared. From the small light of the candle, she could see she was in a closet, only it was the biggest closet Isabelle had ever seen, stuffed with dresses, shoes, cloaks, sashes, gowns; there was even a stand for glittering tiaras. It was bigger than Isabelle’s entire bedroom at home. She frowned. Why would a passage be built between Ebony’s closet and a guest bedchamber?
One thought flitted across her mind and Isabelle’s face twisted into a scowl. She marched toward the black wooden door that would undoubtedly take her into Lady Ebony’s personal rooms. It opened silently, a fact Isabelle was decidedly grateful for.
Lady Ebony stood only a few paces away, her profile harsh as she gazed into the light of a fire burning in the hearth. She stood in the same golden gown from earlier. She glowered at the flames. “How could he forget me?” she growled, speaking into the air, her hands clenching into fists. “He never did give me the attention I deserved, but he will. Soon.”
She turned in a swish of gold silk and glided over to a mirror mounted on the wall. Isabelle studied it from her vantage point, puzzled. It was an irregular shape, a slim glass shard, but clearly only a part of what must have once been a truly massive mirror.
Lady Ebony looked silently for a moment, then reached up and stroked its surface. “Mirror, on the wall,” she breathed, “who is fairest in my land?”
Isabelle watched, holding her breath as the mirror’s surface darkened and shifted. It swirled as if gray mist lurked behind the glass. Then the mist parted, showing a young woman with dark skin and hair, brown eyes wide as she stared at the mirror.
Isabelle.
Lady Ebony started in surprise and then turned toward Isabelle with a smile. “What a surprise! I see you found my secret passage. No harm done.” She gestured toward the glass. “This mirror, it’s magic. Would you like to look?”
Isabelle stepped forward hesitantly. She put out the candlelight. The baroness seemed … friendly. Nicer than she had been the entire visit.
“The mirror will show you anything you ask,” the baroness said. “And it looks like you’re the fairest in the Eastern Province. No wonder Ivan stares at you so.”
“Does he?” The question was out before Isabelle could stop herself.
Lady Ebony frowned at her, puzzled. “Well, why wouldn’t he? You are married, after all. Come.” She motioned to a plush sofa. “Sit. It’s been a long time since I’ve had another woman to talk to. I’ll fix your hair. It’s messy after your sleep.”
Isabelle complied, but the feeling of danger in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. Something was wrong. “Why are you being kind to me?”
Lady Ebony picked up a comb and glided over to Isabelle. “I’ll admit, Jahzara. I’m a jealous woman, especially when I saw that my dear friend from so many years ago had returned, married. But it makes sense. You are more beautiful than me. The mirror said so.”
“It’s just glass,” Isabelle mumbled. She eyed the comb uneasily. Its ends looked pointed, sharp.
“The mirror never lies.” Lady Ebony stood behind her. “You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you’ve come to the Province, but no more. I will be the fairest, and Ivan won’t refuse me when you’re gone.”
Isabelle reacted by instinct. She threw herself off the sofa a moment before Lady Ebony slashed the comb where Isabelle’s throat had been. Her face was twisted in a feral snarl. “Spirits take it,” she hissed. “I might have considered letting you live, but not after I’ve seen the way Ivan looks at you.”
“Stop!” Isabelle put her hands out in a peaceful gesture, skirting around the sofa so it was between them. “It was all an act, my Lady. I don’t know why S—Ivan wants to make you jealous, but it’s all an act. We’re not even married.”
The baroness’ eyes glittered. “You think I’m a fool? You just want to be the fairest!” She lunged across the sofa, the comb dropping from her fingers as she grabbed Isabelle around the throat. “You’re dead!”
Isabelle struggled to stay on her feet as the other woman attacked with savage strength. She slammed Isabelle against the large windowpane.
Glass shattered, leaving a gaping maw that led to the courtyard far below. Isabelle grit her teeth and pushed back, inches away from falling to her death. She slipped on broken glass and fell to her knees, crying out as glass cut into her legs.
“Ivan is mine.” The other woman’s eyes gleamed.
“His name is Silvan,” Isabelle spat and shifted her shoulder, throwing the woman off her.
Lady Ebony scrambled, trying to find a handhold. Isabelle lunged forward, trying to grab the woman’s hand but it was too late. She could only watch as Lady Ebony fell off the ledge with a shriek. She couldn’t see the baroness, but from the way her scream suddenly cut off, Isabelle knew she was gone. She knelt in the shattered glass, trying to stop the shudders that wracked her body.
She’d killed. She’d killed a human. Not intentionally, but that didn’t change the fact. She was going to be sick.
“Isabelle.” She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. She stifled a whimper. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.
Strong arms enveloped her in an embrace. Silvan hugged her, resting his chin on her hair. “It’s over.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Isabelle said. Her body shook, and Silvan’s arms tightened around her.
“I know.” Releasing her, he stood, helping Isabelle to her feet. “But after everything she’s done, death was her due.”
“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked.
“I mean after what I’ve heard in the taverns and what I’ve seen here; Lady Ebony was behind the murders. But why?” Silvan frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What would have changed her so drastically? She’s always been a confident woman, sure of her own beauty … but jealous?” He shook his head. “That’s new. But when her guards are out hunting women in the forest? Who else could be behind the murders?” He frowned. “Why would she try to kill you before you’d even met?”
“She has this mirror.” Isabelle pointed. “She saw me in it.”
Silvan turned, his eyes widening in shock as he saw his reflection in the large shard of glass. He leaped at it with a roar, ripping it from the wall. “Maltoresh!” Fire sprang from his hands, engulfing the mirror. “D’mon diatesh!”
His eyes flickered, red, blue, violet, his face a mask of uncontained rage. Isabelle shrank away from him, fear covering her like a blanket.
The mirror cracked and burned, turning to fine ash. As the fire died away, Silvan flung the dust away from him, wiping his hands on his palms. He exhaled heavily. “That explains a lot.”
“Actually, it doesn’t.” Anger stirred to life inside of Isabelle, replacing her fear. “I’ve almost died three times in the past three days, and I don’t have a clue as to why.”
Silvan eyed her, his handsome face puzzled. “You didn’t almost die. I followed you down the passage and watched you
fight Ebony. You were fine. I would have intervened, otherwise.”
“You-you what? You were awake?” She suddenly remembered what she’d called him back in their room. Beautiful. Heat rushed to her face. “You weren’t pretending to be asleep, were you?”
“Maybe.” A hint of a smile played on his lips. He’d heard her.
Isabelle’s face felt like it was on fire. She shook a finger at him. “You’re a scoundrel, Silvan.”
He shook his head, the smile fading. “I only did it so you could accomplish your quest without interference.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been second guessing yourself and full of doubt ever since I freed you from Elris, the witch’s curse. Silvan’s blue-eyed gaze pinned Isabelle where she stood. “You’d lost your confidence. I hope this has brought it back.”
“So even though I was in danger, you didn’t help?” She thought of Jack. Jack would’ve helped. He would have done everything in his power to keep her safe.
“I won’t be with you all the time, Isabelle,” Silvan said. He took a step closer. “I was ready to help in the event you needed it, but you need to learn how to take care of yourself.”
Isabelle grimaced, looking away. He was right.
Silvan clicked his tongue, looking around the room in disgust. “Some servants also told me that their late mistress was behind the murders. With her dead, Lord Girild will have to stand in as Province ruler.” He smirked. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to oblige.” He grinned, his eyes shining with triumph. “Congratulations, Isabelle. You’ve completed your quest.”
27
“There it is.” Silvan paused on the ridge, shading his eyes with a long hand. “The city of Illyminatym.”
Isabelle stared. Massive didn’t even begin to describe it. The city was nestled in a valley, sprawling as far as the eye could see. The walls were made of a white stone that caught the sunlight and seemed to glow, wrapping around the entire city. At the center of the city rose the palace, white and gold, blue pennants snapping in the breeze. A more impressive city, Isabelle had never seen, except…
“Is the wall their only defense?” Isabelle asked, frowning up at Silvan.
Silvan eyed her mildly. “What makes you think that?”
“There’s no other defense,” she said. “No moat or trenches?”
Silvan smiled, his eyes catching the light. “You’re using your Gift again.”
“Archery?” Isabelle asked, and Silvan laughed aloud.
“The city is protected by magic.”
Isabelle looked at the city again. It made sense.
She felt a flutter of nerves, thinking about what lay ahead for her. She would soon be swallowed up in that immense city, facing off against who knew how many competitors.
“You better get a move on.” Silvan jerked his head toward the city. “You don’t want to miss registration for the tourney.”
“You’re not coming with me?” Isabelle’s nerves became a rising wave of panic. “I can’t do this, Silvan. I need you. What if something goes wrong? I thought you said you needed something here in the city. I thought—”
Silvan touched a finger to her lips, silencing her. He smiled, his gaze full of compassion. “I can’t win this for you, Isabelle. I need something in the city, but I whether or not I find it is up to you.”
“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked, but Silvan shook his head.
“Never forget,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You are strong. You are clever and resourceful. You left home because you wanted to find happiness. But what you want and what is right, might not always align. Remember that.”
“I will.” Isabelle’s heart wrenched as Silvan stepped away, his face sad.
“You have so much potential, Isabelle. You could change the world.”
Before Isabelle could ask him what he meant, he turned and sprinted back the way they had come with almost inhuman speed, disappearing into the trees.
With Ash trotting by her side, Isabelle took the path that led down into the large valley. The path was well trodden, and she made good time. Within an hour the road quickly became crowded, filled with travelers of every sort: minstrels, farmers, peddlers, wanderers, even a thin, graceful fellow with the most beautiful face Isabelle had ever seen. As he passed her, Isabelle caught sight of his ears, pointed at the tips.
“An elf,” she breathed in astonishment, and the elf glanced at her for a moment, his lips curving in amusement before he quickened his pace, leaving her behind.
Before they reached the city gates, Ash bumped Isabelle’s legs with her head. That was her signal for Isabelle to stop. She did, kneeling down to scratch the wolf behind the ears. “Are you going to wait out here then?” The wolf licked her face in response.
Isabelle felt a surge of loss, hugging Ash. She’d be alone in there. “When I’m a Hunter, I’ll get you in. We won’t have to separate anymore.”
Ash grinned, tongue out and tail waving. She turned and trotted away, drawing the eyes of several travelers. It was uncommon to see a wolf out in the open, away from the safety of a pack.
We’re a pack, Isabelle thought, watching her friend bound away. Regardless of what happens, I’ll still have Ash.
Four guards stood at attention at the entrance, with two more sitting nearby, one with a large book in front of him. When Isabelle reached the gate one of the men looked down his long nose at her. “State your name and business.” He sounded bored.
“Er—Isabelle. Isabelle Aryn.”
“And what is your business in the city?”
“I’ve come to try my hand at becoming a Fabled Hunter.”
That got his attention, and everyone’s within hearing distance. Several pairs of eyes looked her way. Isabelle shifted uncomfortably.
“A Fabled Hunter?” The man eyed her doubtfully. “You mean you plan to enter the tournament?”
“Yes.” Isabelle looked back coolly, hoping she hid the doubt that swirled inside. “Is there a problem?”
“You won’t win, girl,” a stranger said. He was a rough looking character, with shaggy hair and scraggly beard. “You won’t last a second against the others.”
“If you’ve proven your worth, anyone can compete,” the gatekeeper said sternly, but then in an undertone said, “You might want to rethink it, lass. The competition is stiff every year, but this one has some particularly unsavory characters, what with commoners being allowed in.”
“This may be my only chance, sir.” Isabelle swallowed, gripping the handle of her bow. “I’m a commoner, too.”
“Ah. Well.” The gatekeeper nodded his head. “Good luck, lass. I wish you the best. Isabelle Aryn. I will try to work out my guard duty schedule ahead of time in order to make sure I’m there to cheer you on.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Thank you, sir,” Isabelle replied. The knot in her stomach loosened a little. She passed under the snowy white arch and entered the city.
She was immediately lost. The clamor of noise was deafening. Hawkers cried their wares, housewives gossiped in the streets, farmers led their oxen and carts down the streets … she even saw a small girl herding a gaggle of geese.
There was color everywhere. The cobblestones were every shade of brown, gray, beige, even purple and blue. The houses were painted in bright whites, pale yellows, and greens. Most of the roofs were a bright white tile.
There was something different about this city, but Isabelle couldn’t quite put her finger on it. A herd of children ran by giggling. A horse drawn carriage rattled by, the driver whistling. Staring in open-mouthed wonder at it all, Isabelle bumped into a man selling turnips.
“Steady now,” he laughed.
Then Isabelle knew what it was. Everyone was happy. Mother’s sang to their babes, men talked over ale, and children ran without fear.
Illyminatym.
Isabelle wandered aimlessly for nearly an hour, soaking in the city. It wasn’t until her stom
ach growled in hunger that she suddenly remembered why she was here. She asked for directions from several different people, and eventually found herself on a broad, straight street. It was larger than the other winding paths she strolled down earlier, and the traffic on this road was so thick her progression was considerably slowed. On foot, she was able to move more quickly than riders on horses and farmers with livestock.
Less than an hour later the king’s palace stood before her. It was even more impressive up close. The white stone it was made of sparkled and shone in the sunlight. The roofs looked like they were made of glass. The door and window frames gilded with gold.
There were more guards standing at attention here, and she swallowed, pretending to be confident as she walked up to them. Giving them her name and reason for coming, the guards exchanged looks, but allowed her to pass.
A young servant in pale blue and white livery stood at the top of the steps leading inside the palace.
“You’re here to participate in the competition? This way, please.”
The boy’s hair was blond and clipped just above the shoulders, bouncing when he walked. Isabelle watched it as she followed him, pressing her hands to her stomach. She felt awful. What if the king wouldn’t see her? She’d pulled Lord Girild’s letter out of her rucksack, and clutched it like a lifeline. What if it wasn’t enough? What if the king didn’t believe her?
She was so preoccupied with her thoughts she barely noticed the riches and finery around her. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the king allow her to compete. She had to prove to herself that she was capable of this. She could be a Fabled Hunter.
At last, they came to an immense pair of oaken doors. The servant bid her to wait and entered, leaving her standing alone with two guards at the entrance. Several minutes later he returned, swinging an arm formally toward the door with a bow. “Please enter. The king will see you now.”
