Illusions: Faction 4: The Isa Fae Collection Read online

  All in all, a perfect day, she decided as she sat in front of the fireplace, enjoying the quiet of the night. The shopkeepers on Rue Vanités were drawing the blinds across their storefronts. Soon, she would too, but for the moment, she enjoyed the slow drifting of snow in front of her window. The lyrical movement calmed her frenetic thoughts and allowed the doodles on paper to come alive.

  The light from the fireplace flickered against the green speckled amazonite and refracted through the facets of the garnet.

  A rose.

  A red rose cradled on a bed of green leaves.

  The quick slashes of her pencil on paper became bolder, more purposeful.

  The amazonite leaves centered the attention on the garnet rose. No stem. Nothing could be allowed to draw attention away from the blood-red flower.

  Nithya paused to study the drawing with the critical eye of an artist.

  It was exquisite, but something was missing. Beauty wasn’t enough, not for a gift with so profound a purpose. Something more…

  She sketched a graceful curve, and then another. They suspended from a petal, part of the rose, yet not a part of it—trembling, as if a single breath would blow it away.

  Healing tears.

  For grief. For love. For life. For joy.

  “It’s complete now,” Nithya murmured. She unlocked her drawer of uncut gems, and selected a large sapphire. She set it between the garnet and the amazonite, and tilted her head to evaluate the combined effect.

  The brilliant sapphire, on its own, would have been the centerpiece of another design. Yet, as part of a set, it was too large and gaudy. It overwhelmed the other two gems. Sorrow is never larger than love or life. Something else, something more textured and nuanced.

  Like her favorite stone.

  She pressed a tiny latch in the drawer, and a secret compartment popped out. Wrapped in layers of black silk was a glittering blue-violet stone. Nithya picked it up and held it to the light. It had but a single flaw—an inclusion in its heart that captured light and scattered it into a six-pointed star.

  Light and hope, even in deepest sorrow.

  But how could she give up her most precious stone? It had been in her family for generations, given to her by her mother when she left to take up the trade of gemstone cutting and jewelry design. Her family had held on to the tanzanite through the coldest winters, even though bartering it would have paid for coal and wood.

  “It’s about hope, Nithya,” her mother had explained as she wrapped another blanket around Nithya’s shivering shoulders. “It’s about holding on to hope, even when it doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

  “But why?” Nithya had scowled at the brilliant gem. What did that stone do to warm the house or fill her stomach?

  “Because hope is stronger than fear. It gives courage to passion. It is the first breath of a newborn and the last breath of the dying.”

  Ten years later and as the proprietor of La Condamine’s most exclusive jeweler, Nithya was finally beginning to understand what her mother had meant by hope. She ran a finger across the faceted surface of the tanzanite. Hope was exactly what her mysterious customer needed—

  But it was hers. She slid the tanzanite back into its secret compartment and closed the drawer as the front door opened to let him in.

  He pushed his hood back. “Good evening.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re just the person I was thinking of.”

  “Really?” His smile broadened. “I hope the thoughts were pleasant, perhaps of the large invoice you’ll be writing up for my order?”

  Nithya laughed. Not the prince, she decided. The prince’s eyes were not as compelling as this fae’s. Besides, Prince Doom-and-Gloom had no sense of humor. “Come see what I’ve designed for you.”

  He stepped around the corner to look over her shoulder. “You’ve picked out the third gem.” He picked up the sapphire and held it up to the light. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you think so. It completes the design.” She slid the paper along the counter to him and studied the play of emotions across his face as he looked at her drawing.

  “Magnificent,” he murmured.

  “But…” she gave voice to the furrow between his eyes.

  “The green amazonite is delicate and subtle. The red garnet glows with its own light. The sapphire is a beautiful stone, but it’s too powerful. It challenges the garnet for attention. As a teardrop, it demands that that grief be the focus rather than the garnish.”

  He had, somehow, instinctively seized on the same design flaw, but the tanzanite was hers, even if it would perfectly complement the design. To stifle the guilty twitch that she was doing less than her best work, she asked, “Do you really think of grief as garnish?”

  “It sits on the edge of the platter of life, and we have a choice whether to consume it or let it remain where it is—always present, but not impairing the flavor of the meal.”

  She tilted her head. “Do you spend a lot of time thinking about food?”

  He laughed. “A fine meal is one of life’s few reliable pleasures.”

  “You have obviously never eaten at Darken Tavern.”

  “No, I haven’t. Where is it?”

  “Grenth’s Cove, near the waterfront.”

  “I’ve been there once. My parents strenuously objected, so I didn’t tell them.”

  “It does have a dangerous reputation. Lots of witches, smugglers, pirates—”

  “I always wanted to be a pirate, but I could never figure out how to make ships sail on frozen seas.”

  “I hear it’s not frozen farther out, where the water is deeper.”

  “It’s not, but there’s a lot of ice to cross between the ship and land. Not an activity for the weak-hearted.”

  “You don’t appear weak-hearted to me, and it’s never too late to launch your career as a pirate. Perhaps you can begin your journey with a visit to Darken Tavern. I guarantee a culinary experience you won’t forget.”

  “It will be that horrific?”

  Nithya laughed. “Oh, most certainly. At the very least, you’ll catch up on all the latest gossip.”

  “Gossip of what kind?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The prince has called a public assembly. Rumor has it he’ll ask for volunteers to join him in shattering the barrier.”

  “I’d heard.”

  Nithya returned the three gems and the design to the safe. “It’s not going down well.”

  “It’s not as if he’s conscripting slave labor. He’s asking for volunteers.”

  “Who does he think is going to volunteer? The fae, who horde magic like it’s the breath of life, or the witches, who are just waiting for the axe to fall.”

  “What axe?”

  “The one that will cut off the privileges they’ve enjoyed in La Condamine these few decades.”

  “Why would they think those privileges would disappear?”

  “Because Prince Rainier is dead.”

  “Why would his son backtrack on his policies? He’s said nothing to that effect.”

  “Exactly.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What?”

  “No one knows what Prince Varian’s thinking or planning on doing. The witches have been blamed for everything from the beginning of time, from the souring of milk to the barrier.”

  “No one blames the witches for the barrier. It was in place long before your people came to Isa Fae.”

  Nithya shrugged. “You don’t know half of what goes on in La Condamine. Prince Rainier may have made witches equal in the eyes of the law, but a proclamation does not change hearts. Forty years is too little time to grind away centuries of ingrained resentment and discrimination. Just look at the royal council. Despite all that grand talk of equality, the council members are all fae. Where are the witches on that council?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Maybe they didn’t want to join.”

  “Maybe he didn’t ask them,” Nithya retorted.

  He closed th
e distance to stand directly in front of her. Nithya’s stubborn streak, which often masqueraded as courage, allowed her to hold her ground. She stared up at him, perfectly aware of the challenging lift of her chin and the cynical arch of her brow.

  What she was grateful he could not see was the swirl of desire wreaking havoc in her body.

  A faint smile touched his lips. The gleam in his eyes was amused. “Do you always go around with a chip on your shoulder?”

  Before she could answer, he slid the strap of her gown off her shoulder, baring a smooth expanse of skin. “Can I kiss it away?”

  Her immediate instinct to jerk away from any unexpected and uninvited physical contact, especially from the fae, was suppressed only by the delicious, slow tilting of her stomach.

  His touch was unexpected but not uninvited, and certainly not unwelcomed.

  Nithya’s breath trembled in her throat. “You can try.” Her lips shaped the words, the sound scarcely audible.

  Anticipation slithered through her as he lowered his head. His breath warmed her skin—how could she be shivering?

  His kiss was as gentle as the flutter of butterfly wings. It lit all her nerve endings until they tingled in anticipation of being caressed by his lips. She tilted her head, giving him greater access to more of her. Her breath quickened as his lips trailed heat toward the curve of her breasts.

  Please.

  More.

  His kisses glided over her breasts. Surely he could feel her pulse thudding erratically as his breath warmed the tender skin of her neck and lingered at the sensitive juncture where her jawbone met her neck.

  Not enough.

  I want so much more.

  Nithya turned her head into his kiss.

  On some level, she knew it would be jolting.

  She was not prepared, however, for jarring. The world behind her eyes spun, the ground dropping away. She clung to him and pressed herself against his hard body. He anchored her, with his arm locked around her back and the fingers of his other hand wound through her hair.

  She couldn’t get away.

  She didn’t want to get away.

  The shop, its demands…her life, its secrets…wafted away like mist before the rising sun.

  Everything she had never thought she needed, never known she had wanted, she was holding right then.

  How could it be so simple?

  It wasn’t, Nithya realized, when he broke the kiss. He did not step back, but he stared at her through narrowed eyes. The flicker of surprise in his expression was gratifying. The glitter of suspicion, however, hurt.

  Did he think she had put a spell on him?

  Why would she? Why not the other way around, when he, obviously, had magic to burn?

  She stiffened, and he immediately let go of her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “Of course.” Her answer was less gracious. With a wife on the way and a mistress already on the side, he had damn well be sorry for kissing the thoughts out of her head.

  He turned toward the door. The chill wind swept in as he stood on the threshold. An unuttered sigh rippled across his shoulders, and he looked back at her.

  More than power and pain—she saw desire and a great deal of caution.

  Perhaps it was why his next words took her by surprise. A faint smile touched his lips. “Would you like to join me for a drink?”

  Chapter 6

  Varian waited outside Illusions, heedless of the drifting snowflakes brushing past his cheeks. There was no need to conceal his face in the hood of his cloak. Glamour disguised him completely. Even Nithya, thank the gods, had not seen through his facade.

  She locked the oak door of her store and turned to him. Her smile was cool, and the slant of her eyebrows was arch. She was angry—if not a great deal, then at least enough to be wary of him

  Good. For her, and for him.

  No complications, he had told himself, but when he stood at the threshold of her door and looked back at her, he had not been prepared for the sharp, wrenching pain in his chest.

  Losing her—

  No.

  He didn’t have her. He couldn’t lose someone he didn’t have.

  The fear of losing the promise of her. It was too much to take. In that moment, sick with loneliness and dreading the unknown that lay ahead of him, he needed her.

  Damn the consequences. Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it.

  She slipped her arm through his. “Where are we going?”

  He hesitated. The best dining establishments in the city would not let him in at this late hour without his revealing his identity. Somehow, he did not think it would go down well with Nithya. “What about Darken Tavern, down by Grenth’s Cove?” he suggested.

  “Will you be signing up with some pirates?”

  “I’m sure it would please my mother.”

  Nithya’s laughter rang like silver bells. “The lure of seeing the world is hard to resist.”

  “Have you seen it?” he asked.

  “Not everyone is born within the hallowed borders of La Condamine.”

  “Is that sarcasm or bitterness?”

  “Gratitude, actually.”

  He stopped to stare at her. “Really?”

  “For a while, I lived in the outlands.”

  He frowned. The outlands were a no-man’s-land between factions, sparsely occupied by witches fleeing oppression and by fae with bounties on their heads. “And your family?”

  “They’re still out there—my parents, my brother, and my two sisters. I am the eldest of their children who survived past infancy. We were poor, but my parents bartered their magic to buy me an apprenticeship with a jeweler in La Condamine. I spent five years under his tutelage until my student status expired. I would have been expelled from La Condamine, but Ariel Grimaldi liked my designs, and sponsored my citizenship. She invested in my business; in fact, she named it Illusions.”

  Together, Varian and Nithya walked down the cobblestone streets. Snow stacked on the sidewalks, the pavements kept clear by armies of workers who labored day and night, removing snow by the wagonloads to dump onto the ice-covered ocean.

  In fact—Varian frowned as he looked out to what had once been the coastline of La Condamine. Snow piled high, almost taller than mountains that defined La Condamine’s northern border. The winter has closed us off—not just Isa Fae from the universe, but factions from each other. He turned to Nithya. “Why isn’t your family with you in La Condamine?”

  She shrugged, the gesture graceful and nonchalant, but her voice cracked. “They have no skills valued by the citizens of La Condamine, which means there is no space for them here. I’m told it’s not personal, it’s policy, but it’s hard not to take it personally when the fae who spend absurd amounts of supplies or magic on my jewelry appear to have no valuable skills either.”

  “La Condamine is the smallest of the factions.”

  “Oh, don’t you think I know that? It’s all I hear every time I make a petition at the Immigration Department. ‘La Condamine has the highest population density of all the factions. We must be selective of those we admit.’” She mimicked the prissy accents of an immigration official, before resuming her normal tone. “The policy carefully manages the population of witches in the faction so that they never become a majority, never gain a voice.”

  He did not think the Immigration Department, headed by a sweet but dimwitted fae lord, was anywhere near as strategic or tactical in its intent or actions as she imagined. “Is that what you think it is?”

  “Isn’t it? Prince Rainier welcomed witches as glorified migrant workers and contributors to the economy, but not as equal citizens, or he would have given us an equal voice in his government and on the council.”

  “Is that why you’re worried the pendulum might swing the other way?”

  “Shouldn’t we? Prince Varian has shown no interest in social justice. His attention is fixed on more ambitious goals, like shattering the barrier in the sky instead of the one down here suffocatin
g the witches.”

  “Suffocating?” He released her arm so that he could fully face her. “Is that how you see your life here in La Condamine?”

  She shrugged. “The noble fae lead sheltered lives. Welcome to the other side of La Condamine.”

  The streets narrowed as they walked from the wealthy residential neighborhoods and high-end shopping districts toward the southern docks. The wooden piers that once extended welcome to ships had long since rotted away, but the stone quay remained. On fine days, when the chill was gentle, vendors hawked their wares beside the frozen ocean, but at night, quiet settled over the quay as the people gathered indoors.

  Varian raised his face to the biting wind. Try as he might, he could not smell the salt of the ocean. The winter had stolen it too.

  “This way.” Nithya tugged gently on his arm.

  From the outside, Darken Tavern was an abandoned husk of a building, with one wall so sharply slanted that Varian marveled it had not fallen down. The door, however, swung open into a room cloudy with peat smoke.

  His eyes stung. The smoke surged into his lungs, which tightened in panic, further closing his throat and airways. He coughed into his fist, but his lungs would not clear. His vision blurred into ochre-tinged gray, and he sagged back against a wall.

  Nithya’s voice seemed far away. “Are you all right?”

  Alarm tinged her voice, but he could not find enough breath to assuage her. His chest heaved. Damn it. Of all the times for his lungs to give way—here, where he knew no one, where he was most vulnerable—

  Nithya’s slight weight held him up against the wall. “Thane! Come here. Give me a hand.”

  “Clear ‘orf!” a voice bellowed. “Give ‘im some air.” Strong arms grabbed him around the waist and hauled him into the tavern. “Yer there, clear out. Give ‘im space to lie down.”

  Movement bustled around him; bodies brushed past him. He was set down gently on a flat surface. The air was not as clogged with smoke, and the constricting grip around his lungs eased slightly.