Page 2 of Heir of Illusion

Only a second passes before my blade is at his throat. His hand, still holding his own dagger, comes up on instinct, but I quickly grab his wrist and pin it to the counter next to us. Though his body is tense, his expression is one of boredom, as if his current predicament is of no concern to him.

I tsk, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “Now, is that any way to speak to His Majesty’swraith?”

People call mepetso often they forget what my owner trained me for.

He maintains his calm expression, but his face pales slightly as he takes in my appearance. When at court, I am dressed for seduction, wrapped in revealing gowns made of silks and satins. But tonight, my trousers and long-sleeved shirt are made from durable leather, and my long red hair is pulled into a simple braid that hangs down my back. Underneath the dark cloak, he can easily make out the gleam from the weapons strapped to my stomach and thighs. And the blood under my fingernails certainly adds a nice effect.

He swallows roughly as his gaze dips to the ruby collar around my throat.

“Did he send you here for me?” Darrow asks softly.

It’s a fair question. The king often sends me to kill his enemies. It’s what I was doing before I arrived. I shake my head, dispelling the echo of the desperate pleas from the man I murdered tonight. Shutting down my emotions, I force myself to focus on the present.

“Should he have?” I ask. “You aren’t doing anything illegal here, are you, Darrow?”

“Come now, Lady Iverson.” His flirty grin is back, though it’s slightly less convincing. “I would never disrespect His Majesty.”

My brows raise. “Really? You were happy enough to disrespectme. Did you forget I speak with the king’s authority?”

He hisses as I lightly nick his throat with my blade. A drop of blood bubbles up, carving a path down his neck. The faint tease of its copper tang hangs in the air, tempting me to widen the cut, to fill the shop with his blood and send his soul through Death’s veil.

Being only half fae, Darrow is more resilient than a mortal, but it’s unlikely he would survive a deep cut to his carotid artery. Fractures form in his calm facade as his eyes shoot to the dagger still clutched in his restrained hand. I roll my eyes in exasperation as I release his wrist and lower my blade.

“Come now, Darrow. Do you honestly think I’d kill you?” I laugh as I step back, but we both know if the king ordered me to, I wouldn’t have a choice.

He pushes himself away from the display table as his free hand massages his neck, smearing a few drops of blood against his skin.

“Of course not.” His lips pull back in some semblance of a smile as he tosses a wayward curl over his shoulder. “I’m too beautiful to be murdered.”

I nod to his little jeweled dagger. “Did you truly think that would be enough to stop me?”

“Wouldn’t it be enough to stop most?” He chuckles, but it comes off forced.

Darrow has always been far too intrigued by the rumors about me. He often drops veiled comments, hoping to trip me up or trick me into confessing information very few are privy to. There are whispers, of course, rumors that circulate and get written off as conspiracy. But men such as Darrow make it their business to trade in secrets and chase down rumors.

I’ve no doubt my story fascinates him more than he would prefer.

Forcing myself to relax, I tuck my blade away as I move to the other side of Darrow’s display counter, giving him some space. When my foot lands on something hard, I glance down to find the scattered remnants of the king’s bust. One side of his face is completely shattered, but the other half held up well. I crush it under my boot, enjoying the way it crumbles.

“His Majesty requires information,” I announce.

He tucks his hands behind his back. “On what topic?”

“Your specialty,” I say, unable to hide the bitterness creeping into my tone. “Enchantments.”

Most fae are not capable of complex magic, typically only gifted long life and rapid healing. But some of us have been granted much more, the nature of it depending on which of the Verran Isles we’re from. Someone from the Eighth Isle might be skilled at predicting the future, whereas a person from the First could find themselves able to communicate with all living creatures. But those of us from the Seventh Isle are far trickier.

We specialize in illusion magic. While I’m known as awraith, Darrow is what we call anenchanter. They’re some of the most feared magic users, with the ability to craft powerful objects and spells. Which is probably why all of Darrow’s enemies meet their ruin under mysterious circumstances that can never be traced back to him.

“The king is wondering if you’re familiar with any enchantments that bind one person to another?” I ask, sounding bored as I feign interest in his so-called healing gems.

“I would need more to go on. There are many ways to bind two people together. Some temporary and others more permanent.” His voice is tense. I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t enjoy me riffling through his things?

Oh well.

I pick up a pair of emerald earrings from the display and hold them up to my ears.

“Wouldn’t these look pretty on me?” I bat my eyelashes at him.

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