by Kara Jaynes
Isabelle grimaced. “Working through my suspension. Trying to, anyway.”
Aviina took an unladylike swig of her drink and made a face. “I hate parties,” she grumbled. “What a stupid waste of time.”
“Then why did you come?” Isabelle asked, keeping her voice low. She refilled Aviina’s partially full cup as a way to stay put a little longer.
“Because the princess invited us.” Aviina shot the princess a furtive glare. “Why have guards stationed around a fool-party when you can have Hunters?” She sighed, clearly annoyed. “I hope I get an assignment soon. I hate feeling useless.”
“I know what you mean,” Isabelle said, and turned her back before Aviina could respond, filling Tyro’s glass.
“How are you faring?” the tall Hunter asked softly. His eyes roved the room as if he expected an ogre to burst through the wall.
“I would fare better as a Hunter,” Isabelle said meaningfully, and Tyro shook his head, his expression a mix of sternness and pity.
“The reports we’ve received from Lady Ilysa have been a little . . . lackluster,” he said. “You need to do better, Isabelle.”
Isabelle stared at him in shock She had no idea Lady Ilysa had been conversing with the Fabled Hunters. Tyro’s glass overfilled and spilled onto the tablecloth, snapping her out of her thoughts. She stammered an apology as she quickly wiped up the mess.
“Don’t worry about it.” Tyro smiled in what he probably thought was a comforting manner. “No task too great,” he said, and Isabelle knew he wasn’t talking about the spilled drink.
Isabelle curtsied to hide the frustration she knew must be all over her face. Spirits take it, how long did they expect her to put up with all of this?
“Another drink, if you please,” Jack drawled from across the table. When their eyes met he winked and nudged his glass.
Isabelle refrained from rolling her eyes and walked around the table.
“I’m going to ask Jillian to the dance,” Jack said quietly. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Isabelle shook her head, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m not going.” She turned away.
“Are you going to tell me who Silvan is yet?”
Isabelle stumbled and fell, the pitcher flying from her hand to land with a dull thud, punch soaking into the carpet.
Isabelle was just barely registering the fact that she had fallen when an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her up. “Are you okay?”
Blinking, she looked up into green eyes, creased at the corners in concern. Jack still held onto her waist. “Are you hurt?”
All talk had ceased, as everyone, noble and servant alike, turned to stare at the couple.
“I-I’m fine,” Isabelle said, her voice a breathy whisper. She could feel the cold radiating from his arm, seeping through her clothing, into her skin. She placed a hand on his chest to steady herself, and froze, startled. His heartbeat raced under her fingertips. Jack swallowed and clenched his jaw, his arm tightening around her.
Isabelle sighed and stepped away, ignoring the pang of disappointment when Jack released his hold. Her stomach did a little flip. “Thank you for your concern, Ja-Sir Reginald, but I’m all right.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, catching her almost slip-up in his name. “Very well, then.” He immediately turned back to his seat, engaging Jillian in conversation.
Isabelle was sent back to the small serving table after that, where she was assigned to putting small, triangle-shaped sandwiches on plates. Glancing up, she caught Aviina watching her, a speculative frown on her face. What she was thinking, Isabelle couldn’t guess, but she was immensely relieved when the meal was over, and she and Jillian left.
32
“I’m in heaven,” Jillian said, her expression one of pure elation. “Heaven, Isabelle.”
They had just left the princess’ luncheon and were now in a shop, the walls lined with several dresses, each one more expensive than the last. But of course, Jillian wasn’t talking about the dresses. From the look on her face, Jillian was barely aware of her current surroundings.
“I can hardly believe it.” She smiled widely, and Isabelle couldn’t help but smile back. Jillian’s happiness was contagious. “Sir Reginald has asked me—me—to attend the ball, with him.” She took a shuddering breath, still clearly overwhelmed by the honor.
“I don’t understand it,” Jillian continued, leaning forward to examine a cream colored dress covered in lace. “I know I’m pretty, I guess, but there are plenty of other ladies in court. Why none of them?”
Isabelle tilted her head, regarding the younger woman. She was surprised by this admission. Lady Ilysa was constantly telling Jillian how beautiful she was. Isabelle had assumed that it’d gone to the girl’s head, but apparently not. She shrugged. “Maybe he likes you for who you are, not just your looks.”
Jillian paused, contemplating her words. She brightened. “Sir Reginald likes to read, maybe he approves of my going to the library.” Her smile grew wider. “I haven’t seen any of the other ladies there.”
Isabelle stayed silent. No one had to know Jack had asked Isabelle first. Maybe this would be the beginning of something more. The thought made Isabelle’s stomach twist painfully.
Jillian moved on to another dress, this one a light purple. She tapped her chin, frowning at it. “None of these are the right color,” she complained. “And anyway, we need to get back. Sir Reginald is coming over to play Knights and Kings.”
Isabelle followed her out of the shop, holding several bags filled with items that Jillian had already acquired that day. Strangely, Lady Ilysa didn’t go with them. She said she was feeling out of sorts today. A headache. Jillian said her mother seemed to get them more often of late. “Perhaps she needs Seabound’s salty air,” the young woman confided. “She seemed happier and healthier there, really. I should ask her to go back. She might, for me.” They were in the carriage now, on their way back to the palace, and Jillian sighed, looking out the window. “I would miss Sir Reginald very much, though.”
Isabelle mulled over her words. “My parents met your mother once, years ago.”
“Oh?” Jillian said, but she was clearly only paying half attention, gazing out of the window now as the carriage clattered over uneven cobblestones. “Mother never mentioned them to me.”
She wouldn’t have, Isabelle thought sourly, but instead said, “Yes. They said she was very kind.”
“She is,” Jillian agreed. “Though she has been more irritable of late. I wonder why. Ah! Here we are.” When the carriage rolled to a stop she got out of the carriage with footman’s assistance, leaving Isabelle to gather the parcels.
Jack didn’t show up that evening until well after dinner. Isabelle stifled a yawn as she cleared away the leftover meal. Lady Ilysa lay on one of the sofas, flat on her back, with a damp washcloth over her eyes. A strange odor rose from it, probably some sort of herb to help with her headache. Isabelle had never been one to study much herblore, but after the scrape with Alinor, she wondered if that was a mistake.
When a knock sounded on the door, Jillian jumped in startled excitement, flashing Isabelle a grin. “Please get the door.”
“One doesn’t say ‘please’ to a servant, dear,” Lady Ilysa murmured, but she sounded distracted. She pulled the cloth from her head and sat up, plastering a weary smile on her face.
When Isabelle opened the door, Jack stood there, leaning against the wall opposite in the hallway. He smiled hesitantly at her. “I’ve been playing that whistle all day. I think my neighbors hate me.”
Isabelle bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. She could picture it: Jack in his shirtsleeves, playing by the wall, the nobles in the next apartment appalled by the noise of such a simple instrument. She opened the door wider. “Jillian said you’d come.” Mentioning Jillian put a bad taste in her mouth.
Jack nodded and walked past her, their shoulders brushing. He held a thin box under one arm, the surface gilded in intric
ate designs.
Jillian curtsied when he came in. “Knights and Kings,” she said, blushing. “I should warn you in advance that I’m not very good at the game.”
“I’ll go easy on you,” Jack said with a wink. He opened the box and removed a checkered board and several game pieces.
Despite Jack’s assurances, Jillian proved true to her word. It was painful to watch, so Isabelle didn’t, busying herself with dusting that wasn’t needed.
“I’m sorry,” Jillian said meekly after losing her third game in less than ten minutes.
“You’ll get it,” Jack said. He smiled encouragingly but Isabelle could see the creases around his eyes that said he was in mental anguish playing against such a weak opponent.
“I suppose I could try again,” Jillian said uncertainly. She eyed Isabelle. “Have you played before, Isabelle? Perhaps you could try and win for me.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Most commoners have a difficult time grasping the complexity of this game.”
Good thing you’re a commoner. Isabelle and Jack looked at each other for a moment, gazes locked. A faint flush rose to his face, as if he heard her thoughts.
“I think I could win a game for you, Miss Jillian,” Isabelle said.
Lady Ilysa stirred, lifting a tired hand. “You should raise the white flag, Jillian,” she tittered. “I don’t think your reinforcements are up to the task.”
“I tend to agree,” Jack said with a crooked smile. “Yet it hardly seems fair to rob her of the opportunity to experience that firsthand.”
“I think Sir Reginald’s going to be disappointed.” Isabelle lifted her chin as she settled down beside Jillian. “I’m considered a fair hand at this game.” She’d played it often enough with her father.
“That’s because you’ve never played against me,” Jack remarked, watching her closely. “I never lose at games.”
“Except tournaments, I suppose.” Isabelle regretted the words as soon as she’d said them, but Jack merely shrugged as if the words didn’t sting.
“Only when my opponents don’t play fair,” he amended. “Perhaps I should be less honest.” He moved a game piece, a pawn.
“You might get farther ahead,” Isabelle admitted. She copied his movement. The placement of one’s pawns were some of the most critical in the game, and some of the most challenging, especially at the start of the game.
“Or not,” Jack suggested slyly. He moved another pawn.
Isabelle grimaced at his words. He was referring to her suspension. “Setbacks are a natural part of life,” she said. She moved a knight, a bold move that she hoped she wouldn’t regret later. “And one might say in light of recent events, a certain noble is making great strides in the realm of deceptions and dishonesty.”
Jack moved another game piece. “One might say deceptions are a natural part of life.”
Deceptions? Isabelle glanced suspiciously at the board. What did he mean? “Only if you have something to hide.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Jack moved a pawn forward, taking out her knight.
“Yes.” Isabelle agreed, frowning as she considered her options. “Though I would say some—” she glanced meaningfully at him, “—take it further than necessary.”
“I never do anything unless it’s necessary,” Jack drawled, moving another piece. What was he planning? “I conserve my energy that way.”
There! Isabelle saw an opening and took it. Moving a pawn, she swiped one of his. She smiled smugly at him. “You do realize you mentioned necessity while playing a game.”
“Games are necessary,” Jack protested with a raised eyebrow. He motioned toward the board. “It’s a reflection of life. They can teach us about ourselves.”
Hmm. “You sound like a doddering old professor.” But she’d never considered his points, and looked down, hoping he didn’t see the agreement in her face. Now that she thought of it, he was right. In Knights and Kings, the strategy, trickery, war, maneuvering, were all facets of what people faced in reality. Chewing her lower lip, she made another move.
Talk ceased momentarily as the two focused on the game, each taking turns as the board slowly emptied of pieces. They were evenly matched, Jack having the slight upper hand. Isabelle felt a grudging surge of respect. She knew how unlikely it was for him to have played the game before coming to Illyminatym. He was a quick learner. She lost another game piece.
“You could just admit defeat,” Jack said softly.
Isabelle looked sharply at him. Was he talking about the game, or something else?
“Never.” She counter-attacked, seizing control of her side of the board.
“Not even when the odds are stacked against you?”
“Even a commoner can make a difference.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Isabelle continued to shift her pieces, making a bold move. She’d lost one of her bishops, but she took one of his rooks. She bit her lip, hiding a smile when he mumbled a curse under his breath, his red head leaning over the board as he studied it.
The game progressed until there were only three more pieces on the board. Her king was backed into a corner by Jack’s king and a bishop.
“Stalemate,” Jack muttered, rubbing his chin with a disgruntled air. “You play well, Isabelle.”
“So do you.” Isabelle met his gaze and trailed off, her heart fluttering under his intensity. Green and gold, his eyes were stunning, to say the least. Not even Silvan’s eyes were as—
“It would seem your ill-found faith in your servant didn’t pay off, dear Jillian,” Lady Ilysa said softly, and Isabelle jumped, her face flushing in embarrassment. Jack cast a bewildered glance at the two noblewomen before returning his gaze to Isabelle, a secretive smile on his lips, and Isabelle knew he shared the same thought. They’d forgotten that anyone else was in the room.
“Er, thanks for trying anyway.” Jillian cast a worried smile at Isabelle. “A stalemate is better than a loss.” She looked at Jack, the concern in her face growing. “I will take lessons. I’m sure I could become a better player if I studied it.”
“I agree,” Lady Ilysa said. Her words dripped venom. “It’s clear one can’t rely on reinforcements for assistance, be it a game . . . or weightier matters.”
Jack’s eyes flashed and he started putting the board away. “It’s just a game,” he said curtly. “Don’t trouble your pretty little head over it, Lady Jillian. For you, ruffled dresses and fairy tales are much more becoming.”
Jillian smiled hesitantly, unsure whether or not it was a compliment.
“For any woman, that should be enough,” Lady Ilysa said. She was watching Isabelle and Jack as if seeing them for the first time and didn’t like what she saw. “Women live in one sphere, men in another. It’s quite repulsive when one ventures over that line.”
“I must go.” Jack’s fingers shook as he crammed the pieces into the narrow box. He grinned, but it looked forced. “I have things to do. Men’s sphere and all that.”
He turned and bowed stiffly to Jillian. He turned to leave, but then nodded his head at Isabelle. “Hunter.” He left, the air thick with tension in his wake.
Isabelle felt like she was standing on air. Hunter. He’d called her Hunter. It was his way of trying to mend things between them, she was sure of it.
“Cinder-elle,” Lady Ilya snapped, her sharp tone yanking Isabelle from her thoughts. “The fire needs tending to. After that, you’re to draw water for my bath.”
Isabelle kept her face impassive as she hastened to do Lady Ilysa’s bidding, all the while wondering if Jack knew what it took to break his animal-rage curse, and if he did, if he thought Isabelle was the one to break it. She felt a tremor of guilt as she thought of Jillian. Despite Isabelle’s half-hearted efforts to pair the two of them, it hadn’t worked at all. Jack was polite to Jillian, but he didn’t appear to be very interested.
Jillian was quiet the remainder of the evening and wouldn’t look at Isabelle.
Isabelle didn
’t know why. Couldn’t the silly girl see they were on the same team? They were . . . weren’t they?
33
Isabelle awoke with a start. Someone was in her room.
She sat up, peering into the gloom. A lean form stood in the far corner. She couldn’t see his face, but from the way he stood, leaning slightly against the wall, she knew who it was.
“What are you doing?”
Jack shifted slightly. “Watching you.”
Isabelle frowned at him. “That’s not creepy at all.”
Jack chuckled. “I am Sir Reginald. I’m allowed to be creepy.”
Isabelle sighed, pushing back the covers. Sleep was out of the question. It felt weird to be in bed with Jack so near. She wouldn’t have thought much of it before she knew about his curse, but after they’d argued so many times, it felt kind of inappropriate. She swung her legs out of bed, shivering when her bare feet touched the floor. Too late she remembered she was wearing her nightgown, but hiding under the covers now would have felt too much like she was afraid.
Ignoring the feeling of his eyes on her, Isabelle walked over to the window. She paused, staring at the glass panes. The frost that covered it was in the shapes of roses and thorns, curling together in an intricate pattern. She’d never seen frost so pretty. She smiled and opened the window, allowing the cold air to enter her room. She shivered, looking at the icy scene before her.
It was snowing, thick, soft flakes falling gently, silently. The torches were lit, casting the courtyard below her in an ethereal light. A dusting of snow frosted the roofs, walkways, and cobblestones below her. So beautiful.
She heard soft footsteps as Jack approached. He stood at her side, a little behind her shoulder. They both remained motionless, neither breaking the silence as they watched the snow fall.
Isabelle trembled in the cold, goosebumps running up her arms. She stiffened as Jack carefully draped her blanket over her shoulders, protecting her from the frosty air. Isabelle’s stomach fluttered at the gesture.