Illusions: Faction 4: The Isa Fae Collection Read online

  Illusions

  Isa Fae #4

  Jade Kerrion

  Contents

  Copyright

  Illusions

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Exclusive Preview: WARP by K. de Long

  Urban Fantasy and Science Fiction entwine in the world of the DOUBLE HELIX

  Aeternae Noctis

  Other Science Fiction and Fantasy novels by Jade Kerrion

  Life Shocks Romances Collection 1

  Life Shocks Romances Collection 2

  Life Shocks Romances Collection 3

  About the Author

  Other Books By Jade Kerrion

  Copyright © 2017 by Jade Kerrion

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Jade Kerrion http://www.jadekerrion.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Illusions / Jade Kerrion — 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1544196343

  Illusions

  Sometimes, the truth begins with a lie…

  Desperate to break the suffocating grip of eternal winter, the fae prince Varian summons the most powerful witches and fae to shatter the icy shroud around La Condamine, but no one wants to die for the prince’s cause. When he conscripts by force, they flock to Nithya, begging her to wrap her flawless illusions around their magic bracelets.

  Nithya undermines Varian’s tyranny until she realizes there is more to him than the façade of a merciless dictator. Even so, she’s not the biggest traitor in the realm. The conspiracy that murdered Varian’s father now turns its malice and hatred against him. Nithya finds herself entangled in treachery, betrayal, and illusions far more entrapping than anything she can conjure.

  The prize is the soul of a nation, and the price is everything she cherishes—including Varian’s love.

  Chapter 1

  “Do you like what you see?” Nithya smiled over the rim of the silver mirror.

  Lady Marguerite Laurent’s crimson-painted lips parted in a breathy sigh then curved into a sleek, satisfied smile. “You are perfect, Nithya. Once more, you have outdone yourself.” She stroked the cascade of emerald teardrops around her throat and angled her face until light glinted off the gold filigree necklace. Her reflection, subtly sheened with glamour, preened back at her. “I’ll be the talk of La Condamine.” Without taking her gaze off the mirror, the fae noblewoman extended her hand to Nithya, her atern bracelet pulsing with luminous brilliance.

  Nithya ran her fingertip over the bracelet, her skin tingling as magic transferred from fae to witch. The account settled, Nithya walked her loyal customer to the door. A dimple danced in her cheek. “Come back soon, won’t you?”

  “Oh, you’re the devil.” Marguerite laughed. The musical sound carried through the cold air, drawing the attention of passersby to Illusions. The jewelry store, the most exclusive in La Condamine, fueled delusions of grandeur in a city that thrived on glamour and pretensions of wealth.

  Still smiling, Nithya closed the door and turned her attention to the flickering glow emanating from the cast-iron stove that warmed her store. She maneuvered around the dancing flames. Eyes narrowed, Nithya hefted a small piece of wood like a weapon, her slender fingers twitching against the coarse bark. Three. Two. One.

  She closed her eyes and flung the wood into the stove.

  Flames leaped, pulling the wood from her hands. Sparks sprayed red and gold over her polished oak floor.

  Nithya yelped. She hastily stamped out the sparks and used a poker to close the door of the stove. The flames glowered at her from behind the glass, but she was safe. Hah!

  The doorbell chimed as two customers entered her store. The shorter of the two pushed back the furred hood of her cloak. Ariel Grimaldi, Nithya’s closest friend and her best customer, laughed softly. “Really, Nithya, it’s just fire. One day, you will actually hurt yourself with your crazy antics. If you’re that afraid of fire, levitate the wood into the stove.”

  “And spend my lavish stores of magic?” Nithya shook back her sleeve. Her atern bracelet, studded with precious stones, was dull gray. She turned her attention to Ariel’s companion as he hacked out a wet-sounding cough. “I’m so sorry, Tristan; that wretched stove belches smoke like its life depends on it.” She smiled at the fae nobleman. “Are you here to buy a trinket for Ariel?”

  He thumped his chest to clear his cough and grinned at her. “Not today, although I could be prevailed upon to purchase something for you.”

  Nithya arched her eyebrows as she swept her hand over her merchandise. “At these markups?”

  Tristan Merodes laughed. “I’m sure you see something that catches your eye.” His smile took on a flirtatious edge. “Would you fancy a ride through the countryside this weekend? Chateau Merodes is less than an hour from the city. It’s especially charming now that the restoration of the chapel is complete.”

  “I’m sorry, but my assistants don’t work on weekends. I have to keep the store open. Perhaps another time?”

  “Certainly.” Tristan did not sound deterred nor any less cheerful even though they had exchanged several variants of that conversation over the past two years. “I must beg your leave; I’ve been summoned to a council meeting at the palace. Ladies…” He inclined his head to Ariel and then to Nithya, before striding out the door.

  Ariel flashed Nithya a sly half-smile. “He was visiting with my father and insisted on escorting me here when I said I would be calling on you. All he’s waiting for is a crook of your finger.”

  Tristan? Not by the blood of the thirteen witches. Nithya resisted the compulsion to roll her eyes. He was too…golden. What was it with the fae and their current obsession with blond hair? Ariel, too—sensible, practical Ariel—wore hers in a gleaming sheen past her waist. Thank heavens the witches resisted such frivolous vanity. As far as Nithya was concerned, the blond trend could not go out of style quickly enough. She shrugged. “Tristan’s too pretty for my taste.”

  Ariel waved away the excuse. “It’s just glamour. It’s easy enough to fix if you don’t want a husband prettier than you. No female ego could abide it anyway.”

  “What about that law against witches marrying fae?”

  “Tristan is especially close to Prince Varian. Exceptions are always extended to the ruling houses.”

  A gust of chill wind entered with another customer. The fae nobleman, Byron Dadiani, darted a wary glance at Ariel. “I have an appointment with Nithya about a custom design.”

  Ariel made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Go on and talk design. I love playing shopkeeper.” With a delighted smile, Ariel—the heir of the noble house of Grimaldi—darted behind the glass shelves.

  “Stick to the listed prices,” Nithya warned Ariel as she led Byron toward the
narrow staircase.

  Her friend looked aghast. “But what about my outrageous commission?”

  Laughing, Nithya walked down the spiral staircase and opened the oak door at the end of a narrow corridor. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to a cushioned chair before circling around her desk to sit across from Byron.

  The fae sat, his back stiff and his lips pressed into a straight line. “I…” He expelled his breath in a rush. “I’m not really here for a custom design.” He extended his right arm across the table. His atern bracelet peeked out from beneath his frilly lace cuff. “I need help. Do you know Lady Joanna Chiffres?”

  “Yes, I do. She’s a lovely fae.” And blond, Nithya added silently.

  “She has her eye on me, I’m certain of it, but her father won’t entertain me as a suitor. I’m not good enough for his precious daughter.” He tugged back his cuff. The glow of his bracelet was dim, although brighter than Nithya’s. “I heard that you can help me brighten it.”

  “Yes, I can weave an illusion around it. You realize, of course, it’s not real. Your magic level isn’t any higher; it will however, appear so to others who look at your bracelet.”

  “That’s all I need—a chance. My Joanna doesn’t care, but others do. It’s an absurd game we play,” he added, “as if our magic levels are tied to our worth as people.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Nithya offered the polite response, but they both knew better. In a world starved of fresh infusions of magic, the worth of a person condensed into the glow of an atern bracelet. “Are you ready?”

  Byron chewed on his lower lip. “Will it hurt?”

  She laughed. “Illusions don’t hurt. Do you agree to the price?”

  “A tenth of the illusion. Yes, of course I do.”

  Their fingers entwined, and with her free hand, she wove intricate gestures over his atern bracelet. It brightened until it glowed. Byron’s expression was as radiant as his bracelet. “It’s amazing. It’s absolutely perfect.”

  “Well, then; we’re almost done.” Nithya braced herself for the rush of power—the price of the illusion. Her fingertips tingled, and her atern bracelet flared for an instant before fading into its usual dull hue. “Congratulations and good luck with Joanna.”

  Byron bounced up the steps ahead of her and out the door after a cheerful goodbye to Ariel.

  Ariel watched his departure with arched brows. “Well, there goes a happy fae. He must have really liked your design.”

  “Yes, he did.” Nithya suppressed the guilty twinge. She did not have any secrets from Ariel, except this one. Somehow, she suspected that Ariel would feel duty-bound to report her to the authorities or at least attempt to talk her out of her highly lucrative side venture. The noble types were all rather tiresome in their unshakeable, if obscure, sense of duty.

  The door opened again, and a male witch walked in. He gave Ariel a suspicious look before he turned to Nithya. “I’ve come to ask about a custom design.”

  “Of course.” Nithya smiled. “This way.” She shook her head as she walked down the stairs to her private office. The witches weren’t any more accomplished liars than the fae; how could acting normally be so far beyond their capabilities? Her only saving grace, really, was that their sense of suspicion wasn’t particularly attuned either. She took her seat at her desk across from the witch. “How may I help you?”

  He growled under his breath. “I was challenged to a duel—a damned ass of a fae. He thinks his privilege can save him, but he’s wrong, and he’s going to get what’s coming to him. You see…”

  Nithya listened to the witch’s rambling story with an expression of intent concentration. Her mind, however, wandered. Perhaps I should charge extra for enduring all these confessions. When the witch finally wrapped up his tale of woe, Nithya adopted a look of concern. “So, you want an illusion cast on your bracelet to appear less powerful than you are.”

  “Exactly. He’s already overconfident. That cocky bastard won’t see what’s coming at him.”

  “A brilliant plan.” Nithya reached for the witch’s hand. “The price is ten percent of the perceived atern change.”

  “I heard that you’re willing to barter—food, wood…”

  “I barter for jewelry. The atern illusions can only be paid with magic.”

  “But ten percent?” The man frowned. “That’s more than I can afford.”

  “Can you afford to lose the duel?”

  “No, absolutely not,” the witch answered. He grimaced. “Whatever it costs, do it. I’ll pay anything for the perfect illusion.”

  Chapter 2

  I should have said no.

  Varian Delacroix turned his back on the marble effigy of his father, remote and regal in death as in life. He strode out of the family mausoleum and into the chilly air.

  If only it had been as simple to walk away when his father was alive.

  But how did one say no to the fae who had been both his prince and father? How did one say no to the fae who had lost both his remoteness and regality in the final moments of his life?

  Varian closed his eyes against the year-old memory of the terror in his father’s eyes. Drowning in the blood filling his ruptured lungs, Rainier Delacroix, prince of La Condamine, had clung to his son’s hand. His words were garbled; his mouth leaked crimson.

  Two promises. One easy. The other impossible.

  Varian had said yes to both.

  Prince Rainier’s death and Varian’s ascension as prince of La Condamine had been Varian’s one chance to retake his life, to redirect it, but—

  I couldn’t say no.

  The sunlight glittering on the black marble columns of the Delacroix mausoleum made it appear more temple than crypt, more gateway to heaven than the final resting place of a murdered prince.

  “There’s no evidence of poison,” the royal physician insisted after the autopsy. “The weakness of the lungs has always run in your family.”

  But fae were not mortal beings. They were resilient to sickness and old age—their nearly immortal lives bound to their magic. They did not just die, especially not powerful fae like Rainier Delacroix, and leave their unfought battles and unattained ambitions to their sons.

  But his father had.

  Two deathbed promises…

  Take care of Tristan. That first promise Varian had already fulfilled, and with pleasure. He had restored Tristan Merodes’s birthright.

  The other—

  Lead La Condamine.

  Varian gazed up at the cloudless sky. The setting sun bathed the snow in undulating waves of red and gold. It glinted off icicles hanging like jewels from tree branches.

  Explosions of color. Expressions of life.

  Lies. All lies.

  Beyond the range of the visible eye, almost beyond the reach of magic, an energy barrier bound Isa Fae to its mirror planet, a world that had self-destructed in war.

  Isa Fae, isolated from the life-giving essence of the universe, faded. The summers shortened; autumns turned chilly; springs stayed cold; until in the end, there was only winter—a winter that would not end even after all life on the planet had suffocated to death.

  At that moment, however, life had a fractional lead on death. Nestled between an ice-locked sea and a snow-capped mountain range, the ancient city of La Condamine bustled with activity. Both fae and witches went about their daily lives, trusting their prince—him, damn it—with their future.

  A future dependent on the second deathbed promise—

  The promise I was raised to fulfill… Varian’s cold hands shivered inside his fur-lined leather gloves. It’s impossible, but it must be done.

  I have no choice, and I am almost out of time.

  He did not have enough magic to salvage La Condamine’s future. His people did, but his mind balked at the daunting challenge of seizing their magic. His heart recoiled from the cost. How far could he push his people without losing their trust?

  When was the price too high?

  When
it’s more than just my life.

  Varian grimaced as he mounted his waiting horse. His hands tightened on the reins, and the stallion reared, its dark mane streaming out in the breeze.

  “Easy, Jet.” He steadied his horse with a gentle touch. “You’re ready for the warmth of your stables, aren’t you?”

  Jet snorted, its huff of breath condensing.

  Varian turned his horse toward the walled city of La Condamine. Its citizens had thrived beneath the benevolent rule of the Delacroix family for generations. His father had established the city as a haven of freedom for witches who were frequently oppressed in the other factions of Isa Fae.

  No longer.

  The dread clenching his heart was colder than the chill breath of the wind. I will do what I must.

  Whatever it costs.

  The royal palace of La Condamine was a monument to egos, most of them lacking style. What had begun as a rambling tangle of rooms and hallways built against the side of a mountain had evolved over generations into a towering marble edifice, surrounded by a wall more decorative than functional. Government ministries occupied the squat buildings flanking the expansive outer courtyard, but the interior courtyard provided privacy for the royal family and their most trusted friends and advisers.

  It also kept the council’s heated debates from becoming public knowledge.

  Within the council chamber, glass windows rattled in their wooden frames. Even the flames in the fireplace quivered with sympathy as a stocky fae lord roared. “I told your bullheaded father as much before he died. That plan is absurd!”

  A muscle twitched in Varian’s cheek—his only visible reaction to Lord Baudin’s outburst. He had known the old man for nearly three decades, and had never known the man to take anything calmly. A plan as ambitious as the one Varian proposed was certain to shatter Baudin’s fragile equanimity.

  Baudin, red-faced, thumped his fist on the table. “You are completely out of your mind!”