Of Glass and Glamour

by Chanda Hahn

  “This isn’t funny!” I growled.

  Dorian was full-on laughing. “It kind of is. I can’t believe that the king thinks you are a threat to his throne.”

  “Hey!” I yelled back and was about to send out another retort when Dorian stumbled. He was fighting two men, and blocked an overhead strike, which left his side open. I saw the glint of a knife and could do nothing as the second attacker took the opening and stabbed him in the side.

  “Dorian!” I screamed.

  Dorian grunted and crumbled. He hunched over as he tried to protect his injured side. The sword was sliding from his grasp. The smaller man took out a second knife and raised it in the air. The knife never dropped a second time.

  I flung a decimated crossbeam with perfect precision, knocking him into and through the wall of the building. My head pounded at the use of power, but I didn’t care. I screamed and flung out my hand, knocking the swordsman who Dorian was still in a deadlock with into the street in the path of an oncoming carriage. His screams fell on deaf ears.

  The arrow, I heard too late, as it grazed my arm. I hissed as the pain radiated through my body. Dorian had crumpled on the ground in front of me and stopped moving. I needed to do something. I closed my eyes and did what I did best. I weaved a glamour over us, hiding us from the attackers, making us blend into the surroundings.

  “Where did they go?” one of the men called out and walked forward. If he took a few more steps, he would step right on Dorian’s prone form. Even a glamour couldn’t hide that. I cast a glamour over one of the assassins to his right, making the shorter man look like me.

  “There they are!” The leader pointed his raised crossbow.

  “No, no, Reslin. It’s me!” The glamoured assassin shook his head, and I heard the thud as the arrow sank into his chest.

  I grabbed Dorian and tried to drag him back toward the rubble.

  “Leave me,” he moaned, blood trickling out of the side of his mouth.

  “Hush,” I muttered, “or they’ll hear us.” I found a burning ember and hissed as it burned my fingers. Quickly, I drew out the spell circle. It was funny how I was becoming faster at doing this.

  “No, no! What are you doing?” The second glamoured man, who looked like me but sounded older, was now running for his life as they chased him down the alley.

  I rubbed out the incorrect symbol as I heard them catch him and he pleaded for his life. Seconds later, I heard his cry as they killed him. I tried to not let his death affect me. Afterall, they were trying to kill us. It was them or me.

  The spell was complete. Now I just needed to drag Dorian into the ashes, but the fire wasn’t big enough. “C’mon,” I muttered as I tried to find any wood that wasn’t burned through to add to the embers. But as I tossed more wood on, the ash kicked up and covered me, making my form visible.

  “Hey, that’s not a witch?” the leader yelled. “It’s a trick. It’s Pasten. Then where is she?”

  They were coming back, and I was working against a dying fire and a dying Dorian.

  “There’s something moving by the burned tavern. It’s a shadow,” a third man called.

  “Kill it. Kill anything that moves.”

  Another arrow came shooting my way and lodged near my fire.

  “Thanks,” I muttered and tossed it into the flames. The fire sputtered to life, and I grabbed Dorian under the arms. “Hope this works.” I looked up as three men squinted their eyes and began to swing their blades at the shadows. I felt the nick of a blade on my skirt.

  It was now or never. I gathered Dorian close, closed my eyes, and with all the strength I possessed, I yanked him backward with me as I fell into the fire. The heat burned my skin, and I screamed.

  Chapter Twenty

  A plume of smoke billowed out of the fireplace as I fell into the bedroom holding Dorian in my arms. My sudden entrance coated everything within five feet in a cloud of black dust. I coughed and heard Dorian moan.

  “By the stars!” I heard the high-pitched cry and looked into the startled face of Harmony. “Eden? What are you doing? How did you get in my fireplace?”

  “Harmony, I don’t have time to answer, but please help me get him to my room.”

  “A man? You’re going to sneak a man into your room?” Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her copper bangs.

  “He’s injured. I need to help him,” I hissed.

  “Oh!” She calmed down. “You mean like you helped Elise. I got it.” She ran to the door and looked for anyone coming.

  I glanced around her room.

  “The coast is clear.” Harmony rushed over to my side and didn’t hesitate to burden herself with Dorian’s weight as she slung his arm over her shoulders. Blood and soot covered her beautiful dress.

  We quickly carried him across the hall into my room and placed him on my bed. I turned to assess the damage behind us. We left a trail of ash from one room to the other.

  I was trying to figure out how to clean up the trail when I saw the fire salamander scurrying across the floor in a trail of fire. Everywhere he went, he burned up the ash until nothing was left of our trail. When he was done, he ran up the hem of my dress and then across Harmony’s before jumping to Dorian, erasing all evidence of the soot and ash before he jumped into my own fireplace and curled up in the logs. With a fiery burp, he started my fire and settled down into a cozy slumber.

  “What else do you need?” Harmony asked.

  “I need to make sure that no one bothers me while I work.”

  “Got it.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Good luck.” She cracked my door open and slipped out.

  I turned to give all of my focus to Dorian. He hadn’t made any snide comments in a few minutes, and I was becoming increasingly worried about him. The dark clothes he tended to favor hid the amount of blood he had lost. Only when I unbuttoned his vest and pulled up his shirt did I see the damage. It was deep and didn’t seem to have hit any vital organs, but it was taking on an ugly green tint.

  His shirt was ruined, so I removed it and tossed it into the fire. Then, using a spell, I warmed the basin of water and used a cloth to clean up the remaining blood from his body, trying carefully to not stare at his muscled chest. His skin was warm to the touch, and as I cleaned around his abdomen, I could see the slight trail of silvery scars that were years old. His whole upper body was covered with the marks.

  “What happened to you?” I spoke aloud.

  As the water droplets ran across his skin, goose bumps followed.

  Feeling confident that I cleaned the area to prevent infection, I reached deep and tried to heal him. I could feel it restoring his energy, giving him strength, slowing the blood flow, but I couldn’t close the open wound.

  I tried again, but it was no use. My magic was resisting. I could feel it avoid the area.

  “I don’t understand.” I began to panic.

  “The dagger was made of iron,” Dorian sighed. He opened his eyes, and I was pulled into those deep, light blue pools.

  “Iron? But that would mean you’re—”

  “Fae,” he groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow and passed out.

  “Fae,” I uttered at the same time. No wonder he had such an alluring aura. He was fae, and I wanted to ask him more. Was he part elven like Lorn? Where did he come from? But then I remembered, iron was poison to the fae and was hard to heal.

  My fingers strayed to his ears where his dark hair always covered them and pushed the strands away. I sucked in my breath. They were clipped. Someone had clipped his once pointed ears, and now they were round like a human. Only because I knew what to look for and because I was so close to him could I see the silver scars on the backs of his ears.

  Who would do such a thing as to maim and hide his heritage? The elves were beautiful and elusive and lived in the northern woods and hardly ever dealt in the ways of man—not since the great war that formed the seven kingdoms. Granted, the only elf we knew was Lorn, and that was because the elves tutored my mother
and he was now helping tutor us. This explained so much. How he was able to get passed my warded room at the Broken Heart tavern. How he placed a ward on my room to keep me from escaping. But it caused a more complicated problem.

  I stood up and paced the room, biting my thumbnail as I tried to think. What to do? I needed supplies, salves and herbs that were readily available from my mother’s storage room or a hedge witch, but I had nothing. I needed help. The fireplace blinked at me, and I kneeled in front of the salamander. “Can you find Pinky and tell her I need help? It’s iron poisoning. She should know what to do.”

  The eyes blinked, and he spun in the fireplace three times before disappearing in a puff of smoke. While I waited for help, I continued to clean and care for him. Taking his hand, I held it carefully as I scrubbed the dirt and blood from around his knuckles and fingers, and I couldn’t help but ask myself whose blood it was. Whose blood was I cleaning up? His or the assassins?

  I poured Dorian a cup of water, coaxed him awake, and pressed it to his lips.

  “Here, you must drink to replace the blood you lost.”

  He took a few sips and groaned. “Do you have anything stronger, like whiskey?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  Knowing what to listen for, I heard the faint creak of a dumbwaiter.

  I rushed over to the frame and felt along the edges for the hinge and swung it open and surprised Pinky. She jumped but quickly calmed down and handed me her supplies—bandages and brown packets of herbs and salves. She scuttled out of the cubby, and I closed the frame, and we went to tend Dorian.

  She quickly began to mix thistle and a few other herbs in a mortar and pestle. She handed it to me, and I took a quick sniff, nodding in approval before adding a few drops of water to make a thick paste. I carefully packed the wound with the paste and waited for it to draw the poison out so we could seal his wound.

  Pinky crawled up onto the bed and put her long nose next to the wound and took a sniff before nodding at me. I wiped up the excess and then turned to the fire, hoping that I would have the stomach for what was about to come next. I could feel my body waver as I tried to steel my nerves. I took the brass fire poker and shoved it into the hot coals, waiting for it to turn white. I was going to have to cauterize the wound and hoped I didn’t pass out while doing it.

  Dorian hadn’t made a sound. He had already passed out some time ago, and I was praying that he would stay that way. I lifted the poker and turned toward his bare chest. Pinky was waving me closer, and I brought the blazing white poker over, imagining it searing into his perfect skin and the inevitable smell that would follow. The floor pulled at my feet like quicksand. The room began to spin, and the poker slid from my hands.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When I slowly came to, I was snuggled into a blanket of warmth. I was so comfortable; I didn’t want to move. Then my blanket moved and my eyes blinked open, and I realized I was pressed against Dorian’s bare chest. He was on his side facing me, his chin resting against the top of my head. His arm was draped over my waist. His muscled chest pressed against my cheek with each of his deep breaths. I was thankful he was still breathing.

  I stilled, too scared to breathe or move. I was on my bed. Somehow Pinky must have put me on the bed after I passed out. But I never cauterized the wound. Dorian could still be bleeding. I tried to glance down without moving and could see the white bandage, and there wasn’t any blood leaking. She must have cauterized it for me.

  Not only was I a terrible sorceress, but I was a terrible nurse as well. I inwardly groaned. I tried not to move or wake Dorian as I plotted my escape from his side. I was trapped beneath his right arm, and he had thrown his right leg over my left one and hooked it behind my knee—all extremely improper and too close for comfort, especially since he still had his shirt off.

  I carefully lifted his arm off of me and tucked it against his side while listening to his breathing. It hadn’t changed. He was still in a deep sleep. Hopefully, Pinky had given him something for the pain and it would keep him knocked out for a while.

  Out of curiosity, I ran my fingertips up the long scar on his right arm and couldn’t imagine how he had gotten it. Another long scar ran diagonal down his chest. I began to analyze the scars and read the story that was written across his body. Years of abuse, but at the hands of who?

  My fingers traced over his now nonexistent wound and heard an intake of breath. Dorian’s hand trapped mine against his chest, and I jumped, looking up into his very aware gray-blue eyes.

  I sat up and tried to scoot away, but he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me back against his chest so we were eye to eye.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.

  “To get you some water.”

  “Lie.” He grinned.

  “I need to check your bandage and wound.”

  “Lie. After you so nobly fainted in your attempt to cauterize my wound—I appreciate the attempt by the way—the fire elemental did the job for you. He did an excellent job and didn’t burn the palace down while he was at it.”

  “I did what?” I screeched and sat up to look at the carpet where there was a very distinct burn from the fire poker.

  Dorian chuckled. “The house elf and salamander took care of it and your own injury.”

  I glanced down at my arm to see that the arrow graze had been bandaged and a salve had been reapplied to my palm. It was weird; I had been so preoccupied that I had ignored my burn.

  “As you can see, my wound is fine. You have no reason to leave.” His arm wrapped around me possessively again and pulled me back down on the pillow. His eyes twinkled mischievously. “I need you close by me.”

  Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Lie,” I said.

  The smile fell from his face, and he became serious. “No, I’m not. Your presence makes me feel better. I will heal faster if you don’t leave my side.” He reached up and brushed his knuckles across my cheek. I was as mesmerized by his eyes as his warm breath that caressed my cheek. His eyes dropped to my lips, and he leaned forward.

  I knew what was coming but didn’t turn away. He lips brushed across mine in the gentlest of kisses as he waited to see if I would pull away. When I didn’t, he kissed me again, teasing my lips with his own. Waiting, asking for permission. My breath caught in surprise at the feeling he stirred within me. He moaned and pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. I could feel his desire, and it matched my own, and soon I was drowning, spiraling down into passion that could burn for hours. He broke the kiss, and his lips brushed against my jaw, my neck, leaving a trail of kisses that left me aching for more.

  I couldn’t catch my breath, and I knew then how powerful his kisses were, knew that this was how he trapped women, ensnared them within his web to get his secrets. Like Adelle.

  The image of him flirting with her and kissing her in the moonlight burned in my mind. I remembered the wager he placed on whether he would kiss me again, and then I remembered he had a fiancée. All of a sudden, the desire left and was replaced by mortification.

  “Oh, sparrow.” His voice was husky as he leaned forward to claim my lips again, his hand cradling my neck. It was painful to turn away as his lips brushed my ear.

  “Stop,” I breathed, feeling the tears of pain pool in the corner of my eyes. I did not want to stop. I wanted to continue to feel his lips on mine, but I couldn’t, not when I knew it wasn’t real.

  “What?” He blinked in confusion, but he released me, and I sat up and moved away. “What’s wrong?”

  I moved to stand in front of the fireplace, my arms wrapping around myself, feeling lost and lonely without him.

  “Everything,” I snapped and turned to look into the flames, refusing to let him see me cry. “I do not want to play your games, Dorian.”

  “Games? I don’t understand.”

  I spun on my heel and lashed out at him, letting all the rage and hurt flow. “You can’t play with my feelings to win a bet.”

  He lo
oked hurt. “I would never play with your feelings.” He struggled from the bed, clutching his side. I saw a flicker of pain flash across his face, but he hid it quickly, the mask that hid his true emotions back in place. The one that elves wore all the time. Then I understood. Every time he dropped the mask, he was playing at human emotions, to tease and be carefree, to seduce. That was human. Whereas most elves were stoic in nature, cold and only showed their true faces to family and friends.

  My breathing was becoming erratic, and I struggled to regain composure.

  “I will not be one of the women you seduce to get secrets from.”

  He took two steps toward me then stopped. “Is that what you think is happening here?”

  “Isn’t it?” I asked. “I saw you with Adelle, one of the prince’s intendeds, and now me. Are you just trying to destroy us one by one? Ruining any chance we have of becoming his betrothed.”

  The muscles in his jaw ticked, and I knew he was furious. “So that’s what you want? The prince? You would marry him and you barely know him.”

  “I barely know you,” I whispered back, trying to hurt him. He stood there glaring at me.

  “You don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish here. There are things at play that can either divide our nation or save it.”

  “Which one are you in favor for?” I asked angrily.

  He became really quiet, and I had my answer. “I see. You are not a friend of Candor then.”

  “Not in its current state. Candor will not survive what is coming if Evander sits on the throne. He hates all things fae.”

  “You’re talking treason.”

  “I’m talking saving the nation from the threat of war. I made a mistake a long time ago, and now I’m trying to right it.”

  “What threat? What war?”

  He took two steps and towered over me. He lowered his voice, and it became even more threatening. “They are tired of being persecuted, mistreated, abused, and treated as slaves by the crown. They want equality.”