Illusions: Faction 4: The Isa Fae Collection Read online

  Five of the fae lords seated around the table kept silent. The sixth, Tristan Merodes, scowled at Baudin. “Choose your words with care and respect. You’re speaking to our prince.”

  Baudin scoffed, dismissing Tristan’s objection with a wave of his hand. He glared at Varian. “I knew you when you were a toothless babe.”

  That was part of the problem. The council included the most noble fae families in La Condamine. With the exception of the seventh and newest member of the council, Tristan, who was Varian’s peer, all of the council members had been present at Varian’s christening. The six noblemen were—or should have been—like second fathers to him.

  And that was the other half of the problem. If his father had been murdered, as Varian’s suspected, then the list of suspects narrowed to his father’s council. Only they had known of his father’s predisposition to the illness that carried through the Delacroix bloodline. The prince’s food and drink could have been infused with herbs and potions that would have aggravated his father’s long dormant sickness into fatality. Had Prince Rainier been poisoned—murdered—by one of the men he trusted most, men who now sat around the table advising Varian on affairs of state?

  Varian’s steady gaze traveled over each of the council members. Surely not Baudin. He and Prince Rainier had vehemently disagreed on everything. The volume of their shouting matches regularly reached the other wings of the palace. Surely someone who lacked tact and abounded in bluster could not possibly have had the shrewd wit to poison his father and then lie about it.

  Lord Sauvageau? As lean as a cadaver, he possessed a ruthless edge no amount of glamour could conceal. But he was a businessman, shrewd and practical, and his many entrepreneurial ventures had thrived beneath Prince Rainier’s long, benevolent rule.

  Across from Sauvageau sat Lord Lecuyer. Unlike the other five lords whose noble bloodlines extended back into antiquity, Lecuyer had been ennobled by Prince Rainier. He was a decade younger than the other lords were, ambitious, and eager to prove himself.

  Next to Lecuyer, Lord Pelletier cast a brooding gloom over the table. His large bulk slouched in a chair, his excess weight spilling over the sides. As far as Varian could tell, Pelletier wore not a shred of glamour, and Varian respected and admired him for it. Someone who demonstrated so much courage would disagree openly with his father, not resort to murder.

  A motion out of the corner of his eye drew Varian’s attention to Lord Montagne. The old man—he was, in fact, eighty—looked no more than thirty. His layers of glamour included long golden curls and a rakish goatee. His wife had died many years earlier, and none of his mistresses had the good taste or sense to tell him that he looked like a caricature. Yet for all his frippery, he was a military genius and had been one of the prince’s most trusted advisers, second only to Lord Grimaldi.

  The silver-haired Grimaldi, the lord of La Condamine’s most noble family, commanded respect as the head of the Royal Council. He and Rainier had once been the closest of friends, but their relationship had struck troubled waters over Rainier’s ambitious plan to shatter the barrier. Grimaldi, like most of the members of the council, held to the belief that the icy shroud over La Condamine, and indeed, over the entire world of Isa Fae, could not be shattered.

  Prince Rainier chose to believe otherwise.

  The debate over the barrier had been the biggest source of dissension in the council, far larger than his father’s decision to offer citizenship to witches.

  Had his father been murdered over the same debate that Varian was now fighting out with the council?

  Grimaldi’s thick brows furrowed around a frown as he stroked his neatly trimmed beard. Varian mentally stifled a sigh and braced for a lecture.

  “We have had this discussion before, your highness,” Grimaldi said. “You weren’t officially a member of the council then, but you’d listened in on our meetings. I thought we’d successfully convinced your father that his plan could not possibly work.”

  Varian straightened in his seat. “Lord Grimaldi, our world is dying. The winter has lasted for centuries, and with each year, the magical drought worsens. The barrier is leeching life from the air. Our entire planet is slowly freezing and suffocating to death.”

  “My dear boy, even if you’re right about the barrier, you cannot possibly hope to singlehandedly undo a worldwide environmental catastrophe. There isn’t enough magic in one person to crack, let alone break through that icy shroud.”

  “The barrier will be at its weakest in a month, when a blood moon coincides with the winter solstice. We may never have a chance like this again. We cannot waste it.”

  “Waste it?” Grimaldi’s eyes narrowed. “Your duty is to rule La Condamine; not throw your power and life away on a foolhardy quest to save the world. Isa Fae will not vanish within my lifetime, or even yours. There is time to decide what to do about the barrier, but it is not your task.”

  “Then whose it is?”

  Grimaldi shook his head. “You are young and full of great visions for the future, but we must be practical. We are the smallest of the factions on Isa Fae. Let the others with more resources strive for the impossible. It is not your place to do so.”

  Only willpower kept Varian from wincing like a mortified child told that he had no understanding of the world.

  Grimaldi paused for a moment to let his words sink in before officially calling the end of meeting. “I believe we have concluded our business today.” Grimaldi inclined his head to Varian before walking out of the council chamber. One after another, the others departed after paying their respects to Varian.

  Within moments, the oak-paneled room was empty, except for Varian and Tristan. Varian’s breath whispered out in a sigh. The council chamber was as much his room as it had been his father’s. As a toddler, he had crawled under the table while the council debated. As a boy, he had curled up in a chair by the blazing fireplace, reading a book, while the council members shouted at each other. As a teenager, he had pretended interest in the debates while counting down the minutes when he could escape back to his life.

  If only he had realized then that the council meetings, where the real issues seemed secondary to the subtle maneuvering for power and influence, would eventually be his life.

  A year earlier, he had faced the council members. His voice breaking, he officially delivered the news of his father’s death. Immediately, the council members swore their loyalty to him, their new prince. The mood in the council that day had been somber, quiet, and respectful.

  Of course, the conversations quickly deteriorated into endless debates over the barrier. That he could deal with. The fact that there was likely a traitor and murderer among them, he could not.

  Yet unless he had evidence, that secret was his alone to bear.

  “They don’t believe you can do it,” Tristan broke the silence.

  Varian’s sigh deepened. “Alone, I can’t, and they know it.”

  “You must get the witches and fae in on your plan. You need their magic. This is their world, too. You’re the prince. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your magic, or worse, your life.”

  “I won’t demand from my people what I’m not willing to give, but first, I must convince the council.” Varian shook his head. “I don’t know what else to say to them. I’ve tried every argument I can think of.”

  “You haven’t tried shouting or curse words.”

  Varian laughed. “I’ve never seen an argument won through either.”

  “How can you stay calm in the face of their insulting behavior? I know they resent taking orders from someone younger than their sons, but they’re treating you like a child.”

  I bite my tongue frequently. “I won’t let insults drag the conversation off-track. I have enough trouble convincing them with facts.”

  Tristan growled. “I can’t believe they would rather sit, do nothing, and die slowly, and while they’re at it, have the audacity to attribute our vision and plan to the rashness of youth.”

>   Varian chuckled as he glanced at his friend. “We are like young pups to them. It seems like yesterday when we were running around the courtyard together.”

  “Do you remember the time we slid down the bannisters into a heap of pillows?” Tristan laughed. “We had a grand time, until you popped one of the pillows.”

  “I popped the pillows? I thought you did.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The feathers weren’t too selective about who they settled on. Of course, our mothers would pick just that moment to look in on us.”

  “Yours was properly appalled,” Varian recalled.

  “And yours merely laughed; I felt cheated out of a good scolding.”

  The memory eased another chuckle out of Varian. “Those were good times—simpler days.” He looked up at Tristan. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad someone on the council’s on my side.”

  Tristan rose and settled his hand on Varian’s shoulder as he passed behind Varian’s chair. “I’m always here for you.”

  His friend was almost out the door when Varian called him back. “It’s my mother’s birthday next month, her first since my father passed away. I want to give her something special. Any recommendations?”

  “You can’t go wrong with jewelry.”

  “My mother has more jewelry than she can wear.”

  “All those stuffy pieces that have belonged to the Delacroix family for centuries? They’re clunky and ugly, if you pardon my saying so. They don’t count. There’s a jewelry store in the city—Illusions. The owner, Nithya, does amazing custom designs.”

  “Do you think she can rush an order?”

  “It would probably depend on what she has in stock.”

  Varian thanked Tristan with a nod and waved him away, before walking over to the fireplace to warm his hands. His gaze fell on the metallic clasp he wore over his atern bracelet. It was, at best, a feeble but necessary attempt at privacy. He removed the clasp, squinting against the near-blinding radiance of his bracelet. All this power…and it’s not enough to crack the barrier.

  He drew a deep breath, but the tightness around his chest did not ease.

  I need to find the perfect gift for my mother.

  It may be the last birthday I celebrate with her.

  Chapter 3

  The chime of the doorbell yanked Nithya’s attention away from her nightly wrestle with the account books. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes. She had been so close to getting away. Nevertheless, she fixed a smile on her face as she turned to her newest customer. “Welcome to Illusions. What is your pleasure this evening?”

  He carefully stomped the snow off his boots before entering her store, and pushed back his furred hood to reveal a mop of blond hair and pointed ears. “I’m looking for a gift.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “I’ll browse for a few minutes, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Please, go ahead. I’m right here if you have any questions.”

  Nithya nibbled on her pencil and watched him out of the corner of her eye. With the uncanny instinct of a businesswoman accustomed to sizing up her customers, she assessed his appearance, for whatever good it did in a world saturated with illusions of beauty. This fae, however, was different. His clothes, tailored from fine linen, did not display decorative trims or laces. If not for the material and the exquisite cut, he might have hailed from the working class. His aura shimmered with a layer of glamour, but his features could not have been any more unexceptional.

  Nithya concealed a smile. Vanity was practically a religion for the fae of La Condamine. The last time she had seen a fae this homely, he had been the married lord of an illustrious and supposedly virtuous noble family, buying a gift for his pregnant mistress. For a fae to so deeply suppress his vanity, his need for secrecy must be great.

  He walked past the display cabinets, pausing several times to take a closer look at various pieces. He did not check the price tags discreetly tucked beneath the items.

  An excellent sign. He was more interested in beauty than in its price.

  Nithya’s heartbeat accelerated in anticipation of a hefty sale, and just in time, too. The eternal winter was exceptionally brutal this year, and her family would need fresh supplies of coal and wood. The smugglers demanded the lion’s share of anything she sent her family, but it was the only way to get the goods out of La Condamine and across the mountain range.

  Her customer circled back around to her, and for the first time, their eyes met.

  Nithya sucked in her breath. For several moments, she forgot to exhale. Fae glamour could accomplish all manner of wonders, but it could not change one’s eyes. Nothing could alter the windows into the soul.

  His dark eyes glittered with intense power, perfectly reined, utterly controlled.

  She did not realize she was staring until he turned his face away. Nithya blinked hard to clear her mind of that unexpected jolt. “I’m sorry; it was terribly rude of me.” Her gaze flicked down to an iron clasp he wore around his atern bracelet—a crude but effective way of concealing his power from curious eyes. She flashed him a dimpled smile. “I can design you something far more elegant.”

  He chuckled; the warm sound gentled the lethal edge of his power. The amused curve of his lips made him appear almost handsome. “I don’t need anything for myself.” He turned the pages of the album containing her designs.

  “Anything catch your eye?”

  He raised his gaze to hers. This time, however, she knew to brace for its impact. His words were quiet. “Yes, but I don’t think it’s for sale.”

  The knot in her stomach twisted into a tangle. Was he flirting with her? His matter-of-fact tone suggested not, but he did not take his eyes off her face. The intensity of his scrutiny sent her stomach into a lovely, liquid pull. Oh, damn. She straightened. Experience and willpower pasted a professional, if slightly cool, smile on her face. “I can show you some designs that might interest you.” She stepped out from behind the counter. In that instant, he turned. Their shoulders brushed.

  Nithya inhaled sharply. She had definitely not imagined that sudden jolt of desire.

  From the startled expression on his face, neither had he.

  He gave her a long, steady look before gesturing to the album. “Are these your drawings?”

  Nithya nodded. “Designs I’ve created for my clients. I usually confer with the person who is wearing the jewelry, but if it’s intended as a surprise, I can work with you.” She offered him a smile. “We’ll have to trust your taste.”

  “I think I know her well enough to do her justice.”

  He was almost certainly shopping for his mistress. Nothing else warranted both the secrecy and the familiarity. Nithya’s guilty conscience eased. Flirting was, after all, just a game. “What’s the special occasion?”

  “Her birthday. I want the gift to be unique and memorable, something she can look back on with love.” He drew a deep breath. For a moment, he seemed uncertain of himself. He uttered the next words softly. “Something that will stem the grief, and remind her of happier times.”

  Nithya’s throat tightened. The quiet ache in his voice resonated through her.

  He was pledged in marriage; he loved his mistress but was leaving her. Yet the pieces of the puzzle did not fit. She knew of many recently engaged La Condamine nobles, but none on the list possessed a reputation for great power. The list of nobles with secret mistresses was even shorter. Blatant infidelity was second only to vanity on a list of the fae’s greatest vices. Hah, the mystery deepens. “Can you describe her?”

  “She’s gracious. Kind.” His smile and voice warmed with love. “Duty is tempered by affection. She’s quick to laugh, and even quicker to forgive. She loves fiercely, with absolute loyalty. There’s no one like her.”

  The reverence in his voice stole Nithya’s breath. How would it feel to be so deeply cherished? How could he let go of so amazing a woman?

  To smooth over her suddenly awkward silence, Nithya unlocke
d a drawer. “We’ll find the perfect design for her. I have many gems in stock. Come. Take a look.”

  He took a step closer to her, so close she could feel the warmth of his presence. His proximity sizzled the nerves at the base of her spine. Nithya squeezed her eyes shut, but her pounding heart and racing pulse were not easily governed. Damn. Her attraction to a soon-to-be-married fae who already had a mistress was dreadfully inconvenient. Her fingertips were cold as she reached for a brilliant green gem. “This is diopside. It heals trauma by bringing forth cleansing tears.”

  He winced. “Not excited about tears, especially female tears.”

  Nithya laughed. “How about amazonite?” She pointed to another stone, its polished surface speckled with varying shades of green. “It dispels negative energy, allowing the wearer to release her sadness and grief.”

  He inhaled deeply. “Yes, that’s the one.” He touched the precious stone with the gentleness of a kiss.

  The air sizzled with the frisson of power.

  The core of the gem glowed. Nithya did not have to hold it to feel its sudden warmth. He had transferred something of himself into that gem and given life to inanimate stone.

  “The gem was beautiful,” she murmured. “It’s perfect now.”

  “It’s perfect for her.”

  Nithya was staring at him when he slowly raised his gaze from the precious stone to meet her eyes. She swallowed through the tightness in her throat and had to look away. How could his eyes be so—shattering?

  “Can the design include other gems?” he asked. “Something, perhaps, to celebrate life and love?”

  His words yanked her back into the here and now. How could he be so absurdly matter-of-fact? Didn’t he have a clue of what he was doing to her?

  She had to get a grip. She could not let an ugly fae with gorgeous eyes rattle her wits. The least she could do was to return the favor and rattle his wits. Nithya reached across the drawer, her hand deliberately brushing against his arm. “A garnet symbolizes passionate devotion to family and friends, to self, and also to one’s purpose in life.” She picked up the blood red gem and held it up against the flame of the candle. It seized the rays of light, refracted them, and flung them back out, effortlessly giving far more than it received.