Page 2 of Heir of Illusion (The Verran Isles #1)

Chapter

Two

T he stranger steps out of the shadows that have concealed his face. For the first time since he arrived, I’m able to get a clear glimpse of him.

He’s beautiful.

So painfully beautiful that for a moment, I want to close my eyes, to look away before I have the chance to commit him to memory. All fae are attractive, but I’ve never seen someone who appears so carefully crafted, so cohesively made. Every feature fits perfectly into the complete image, is if he was designed by hand rather than by nature.

His skin has a slight golden hue to it, suggesting he spends time outside. Unruly dark hair is pushed back from his face, but a few wayward strands fall across his forehead. Sharp pointed ears tell me he’s definitely high fae, but I doubt he’s from the Seventh Isle. Almost all the upper-class residents here are clean shaven, and he has at least a week’s worth of stubble hugging his sharp jawline, giving him an air of danger.

Everything about his appearance is immensely inviting to me.

His pale blue eyes are absolutely piercing as he stares in my direction. My gaze snags on his generous mouth, noticing the smirk forming there. For a moment, I wonder if I unintentionally dropped the illusion hiding me from his sight, but the faint whisper of power tickling my skin tells me it’s still intact.

“Come now,” he croons. “You were so brave just a moment ago. Such impressive aim.”

His gaze never wavers from my corner. Despite the fact that I’m invisible, he seems to know exactly where I am. I recall the strange sensation I had as he approached the shop. I was immediately aware of his presence, like ice on the back of my neck. Can he sense me the same way I sense him? And if he’s aware of my hiding spot, why haven’t his shadow snakes slithered over here and forced me out?

My attention shifts to the black leather gloves covering his hands as he grabs a fistful of Darrow’s long hair. “If you’re not going to join us, I’ll have to use your friend here to entertain myself.”

For the past few minutes the enchanter has been completely silent, still on his knees with a shadow wrapped around his neck. He was probably hoping the stranger would forget about him so he could sneak out.

Summoning all my courage, I decide there’s no point in staying silent

“If you want to play,” I call out, my voice easily carrying over the quiet room, “I can think of a much more diverting game.”

A self-satisfied gleam enters his eyes. “My lady, you speak at last. What sort of game do you suggest?”

Instead of answering, I send another blade flying toward his throat. Just like before, one of his shadows plucks it from the air before it can hit him.

“We could find out how many blades your shadows can handle at once?” I say, slowly edging in the direction of the door, keeping my back against the wall as I move.

His smirk turns predatory as his eyes track my invisible movements. “You know, I don’t usually enjoy playing games.”

“Because you’re a sore loser?” I ask, sending another blade flying.

This time, it isn’t one of his shadows that knocks it off course. Without looking down, his hand catches the weapon less than an inch from his chest. My eyes widen at his speed. That’s going to be a problem.

“Because I’ve never had a worthy opponent,” he clarifies, tossing the knife aside with unnecessary force. It hits one of the display cases, causing me to wince as it shatters. We truly are making a mess of poor Darrow’s shop tonight.

Several red dots stain the broken glass and I realize the blade must have cut his hand when he caught it. Unease festers in the pit of my stomach as the darkness ripples around us. All across the room, the shadow serpents writhe against the floor, hissing in a frenzy. As if they can smell the blood, they pounce on the droplets, lapping them up.

If my face were visible, it would be as pale as the moon. Bile rises in my throat, but I push it down. I’ve seen the depravity of mortals and fae, but this is something else. Every hair on my body stands up at the sight of this waking nightmare, vastly different from the familiar horrors I’ve spent my life learning to fight. A crazed laugh threatens to escape me as my thoughts twist morbidly. How do you battle a wisp of smoke? How can I strike a shadow that has gorged itself on blood?

The city of Solmare fears the invisible wraith ; ironic that the wraith now fears a shadow.

My gaze darts back and forth between Darrow and the door. It’s possible I could sneak out before the shadows stop me, but that would mean abandoning him. Breathing deeply, I try to calm my racing heart as I think through my options. I run my fingers over all four of my sheaths, hating that three are now empty. My only comfort is the knowledge that at least one of my blades drew blood.

“You know, it’s sweet that you feed your shadows,” I tell him, feigning levity I don’t feel as I back around a display table that blocks my path. “It’s like a momma cat nursing her baby kittens. Adorable really.”

He barks out a laugh that sounds rusty, as if he hasn’t made that sound in a while. “Yes, it will be truly adorable when they rip the flesh from your friend’s bones.”

My nose wrinkles. “Who says he’s my friend?”

He tilts his head to the side. “The fact that you didn’t abandon him suggests you might care a little.”

“Maybe I need him for information, and I’m merely trying to spare myself some inconvenience,” I argue.

“Well, I’d hate to put you out.” His hard eyes bore into me, turning my blood to ice. “Give me your word that if I let him go, you will reveal yourself to me.”

“I swear,” I tell him, only half lying.

The second the stranger releases his hold, Darrow is on his feet running for the backdoor. He doesn’t spare a glance in my direction, not that he can see me anyhow. Still, I roll my eyes at his lack of solidarity.

“Some friend,” the shadow wielder scoffs, his gaze narrowing on Darrow’s retreating form.

“Eh.” I shrug. “We’re not that close.”

I spot a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. All his earlier attempts at charm evaporate.

“Now it’s your turn,” he announces, turning to face me again.

I swallow thickly. No two Illusionists are exactly alike, each of us having our own specialties. Some can shift their form, while others can alter what people see. But there’s a reason we’re often referred to as tricksters. Our talents are designed to mislead and deceive.

There’s a little-known type of illusion called an eidolon : a living duplicate sometimes referred to as a shadow-self. It’s a type of apparition, typically created in the image of the Illusionist casting it. As far as I know, I’m the only person currently alive with this ability.

Essentially, I can create a fully corporeal copy of myself. It moves and speaks exactly like me, relying on a mixture of commands and instincts. Creating one is both physically and mentally taxing, but they exist as long as I feed energy into them.

Apprehension pulses in my veins at the thought of how delicate this balance will be. I’ve never tried to create an eidolon while maintaining my invisibility, but right now I can’t think of another way out of this situation. I just need to distract him long enough to slip past his shadows… Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stay silent as the familiar pain rips through me.

My body burns, my muscles twisting and stretching as if I’m splitting myself in half. As if my soul is being ripped apart. Warm blood tickles my upper lip, and I quickly wipe it on my sleeve, careful not to let any drops hit the ground where hungry shadows might be lurking. Unfortunately, nosebleeds always accompany this process.

The pressure in my head reaches its breaking point as the eidolon takes shape, forming directly in front of me, so I’m staring at the back of its head. Finally, the pain begins to ease. My jaw unclenches as I gently massage the aching joint. Fuck, that was brutal. But I got through it without losing my invisibility, which I’ll count as a win.

I peer through my eidolon’s eyes as she takes a few steps toward the stranger, giving me a closer view of him. At the sight of her, his brows momentarily raise, and his lips part slightly before his mask of cold indifference returns.

“Come closer,” he demands.

She obeys him. I know I should be taking advantage of his distraction and continuing my escape, but I find myself strangely frozen. My fingers itch at my sides, desperate to trace the small constellation of freckles dotting his straight nose and sharp cheekbones. And those eyes… They’re mesmerizing. His irises are such a pale shade of blue they almost appear translucent. But when I squint, I can make out silver flakes scattered throughout. As he inspects my apparition, I almost feel as if he’s looking right through her.

“I confess myself disappointed,” he says, startling me.

I blink. As his words register, I’m strangely insulted.

“I let your friend go in good faith because you promised to reveal yourself,” he continues, reaching out to trail a gloved finger down her face. “But you cheated. That’s no way to play the game, my lady.”

Something about his tone sets off alarm bells in my mind, spurring me to action. I move backward again, unable to turn away as I blindly feel for the display cases. The eidolon gazes up at him, a confused expression on her face.

“As lovely as you are” —he whispers, leaning closer to her— “you’re not real.”

Before I can process his words, a scythe materializes in his other hand, and he hooks it into her gut. The echoes of her pain sear through me. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out as I hold back a gasp. I run my hands over my stomach, trying to convince my brain there’s no injury there. Most sensations my eidolon experience are dulled, a whisper that never fully manifests in me. But with this kind of pain, there’s no stopping it. It burns as if the blade has just sunk into my own stomach.

Holy Gods… Only one creature can summon a scythe, and they’re meant to be extinct.

“Reaper,” I whisper, the full weight of my situation hitting me.

The apathy on his face is chilling as he pulls the weapon out of her. He doesn’t bother watching as she falls to the ground. Instead, he lifts his head in my direction.

I run.

Any illusion of control I had over the situation has been shattered. I’m strong, but even I can’t fight a reaper. A fucking soul collector from Death’s Isle. They aren’t supposed to be here anymore.

Ten feet from the door, something cold slips around my ankle, causing me to tumble to the ground—hard. Thankfully, my training doesn’t desert me. I’m able to land on my side and roll onto my back.

Searching for my attacker, I find one of the shadow snakes has wrapped itself around my leg. I don’t bother to stop the scream rising in my throat as I struggle against its hold. It doesn’t matter since the reaper has known exactly where I was since the second he got here.

Using my free leg, I try to kick at the snake, but its punishing grip only clings to me tighter. I dig my nails into the floor, pulling myself toward the door. I only make it a few inches before the snake drags me back, hissing at my attempted escape.

Ice drips down my neck as heavy footsteps make their way to me. I cling to my useless illusion, the only shield I have left.

“Reveal yourself,” he demands from behind me.

“Bite me,” I snarl, my broken fingernails still trying to find purchase in the grooves of the hardwood.

“The time for games is done.”

The snake twists my leg painfully, forcing me to roll onto my back. The reaper stands over me, holding his scythe out toward my invisible form, it’s tip only inches away from my nose. My gaze flits to his face, finding nothing but cold determination.

“And my patience is wearing thin,” he warns.

I watch in disbelief as something moves underneath his heavy cloak. His shoulders roll as he shrugs it off, revealing two black feathered wings unfolding behind him. They’re massive, at least six feet on both sides.

With the cloak gone, I get my first glimpse of the powerful man beneath it. He may be a demon, but he could rival any angel with his beauty. The strong lines of his body are wrapped in clothes similar to mine. Other than his face and neck, every part of him is hidden behind dark, durable materials that cling to his broad form like a second skin. His build reminds me of a panther, strong and lean, but undeniably graceful.

For a moment, I have the foolish instinct to reach out and touch his feathers, to find out if they are as soft as they appear. I squeeze my fists, quickly dispelling the wild notion.

“Reveal. Yourself. Now.” His lips pull back as he bares his teeth, speaking each word like a curse.

At this point, I’m not sure I have any choice but to obey him. And since maintaining my illusion will only drain me, I release it. The whisper of magic fades from my skin as my body becomes visible.

As he takes me in, his full lips part on a silent gasp. His eyes are wide as they scan my features. I can’t tell if the reaper is shocked or horrified by what he’s seeing. He doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s lowered his scythe to his side.

A blush of roses stains my cheeks as they heat under the intensity of his gaze. In my mind, I imagine red petals falling from my face one by one, each marking another moment of this silence.

His wings start to curve inward briefly before he snaps them back, folding them to fit tight against his back. The movement is enough to pull me out of my daze. Capitalizing on his distraction, I snatch the last blade sheathed to my thigh and move to cut his shadow off me. He shouts as he reaches for my hand, but this time, I’m faster.

My blade strikes right through the shadow, as if there’s nothing there, before sinking into my calf.

With the adrenaline coursing through me, there’s no pain, only the cold jab of steel contrasting with the hot, thick blood dripping down my leg. Detachedness settles over me as I stare at the wound. This isn’t my first time being stabbed. Sadly, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened by my own hand.

For a moment, everything goes completely still before the darkness shifts once more. Shadows loom closer, predators scenting their prey. An undercurrent of hisses and growls fill the room, reminding me of the jungles my brother and I used to read about when we were children.

The snake, still wrapped around my leg, goes rigid.

My eyes dart to the reaper’s and I spot a trace of fear in his wintery gaze. His jaw clenches as the blood drains from his face. He holds himself absolutely still.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice clipped as my hand moves toward the blade.

I know the weapon wouldn’t do me any good, but holding it would make me feel less helpless. Still, I listen to him. From the look on his face, I get the sense that even he doesn’t have complete control over these shadows.

The snake slowly uncoils from around my leg until its dark head is pointed directly at my wound. The others are writhing on the floor, desperate to get a taste of my blood. Only a single pool of moonlight shines through the windows now, illuminating me like some sort of unholy offering. The reaper stands over me, his stance protective as he tries to hold them back. He stares intensely at the shadow, willing it to stop, but even his command can’t compete with the lure of blood.

A whimper escapes me as the snake inches closer to the wound. I expect the sharp sting of its teeth, but instead I watch in frozen horror as its wispy tongue laps against my skin.

A deranged laugh bubbles up my throat at the strange sensation, but he silences me with a hard glare.

“It tickles,” I explain.

The shadow pulls back, watching me with its red eyes for several seconds before moving to the wound again. Clenching my eyes shut, I hold my breath as I steel myself against the pain that is sure to follow. I’ve met death before, but this iteration is particularly gruesome. I don’t relish being ripped apart in a feeding frenzy.

I wait for the agony to begin, but it never comes.

Opening my eyes, I find the shadow wrapping itself around the blade and pushing against the wound. I suck in a breath, wincing from the discomfort. The shadow isn’t feeding, instead it looks as if it’s… attempting to apply pressure?

It lays its head down on my thigh and nuzzles against me.

It’s trying to comfort me?

I turn to the reaper for answers, but he appears just as stunned as I am. His eyes are comically round, and his mouth hangs open in confusion. Glancing around, I find that the other shadows have begun to calm down too, as if their blood frenzy has been sated.

“What are you?” he whispers, his tone a mix of awe and horror.

The question stirs an ugly feeling deep within my gut. Biting my lip against the searing pain, I pull the blade from my calf and toss it in his direction. The snake lifts its head to hiss at the disruption before returning to its task. The reaper doesn’t even flinch as the weapon flies past him, only an inch from his head.

“You missed.”

I almost laugh at the disappointment in his voice as the blade clatters to the ground somewhere behind him. Closing my eyes, I summon the last of my strength as I rub my temples. Blood drips from my nose and ears. Using so much power tonight has weakened me, but I force myself to push past the pain and dizziness. After several seconds, I look up and meet the reaper’s gaze.

My grin resembles a grimace as my attention shifts behind him. “No, I didn’t.”

He turns around to find my eidolon crouched on the tips of her toes, baring her teeth at him. Her blood crusted fingers clutch my favorite dagger as she leaps. He dives out of the way as his shadows surge into action, trying to restrain her. Their distraction leaves me free to jump to my feet and run for the door.

Burning pain shoots up my calf every time I put weight on my right leg. Despite my exhaustion, I manage to summon an illusion and make myself invisible. I stumble slightly as my stomach lurches from the familiar sensation settling over my skin. Pushing past all of it, I tell myself the pain isn’t real. It’s merely another illusion, and I am its master.

Hidden from view, I race into the cool night air, quickly putting distance between myself and Darrow’s shop. The streets of Highgrove are empty at this hour, but I still choose to cut down alleyways to stay far away from the glow of the streetlamps.

I glance over my shoulder several times, paranoid about the trail of blood I’m leaving behind. Every shadow that dances across the night has me nearly tripping in panic. My aching calf wants to give out, but I keep pushing forward. Luckily, Highgrove is the closest district to the palace.

Finally, the stone gates come into view. As always, there are two guards manning the side entrance. Their familiar faces feel out of place after everything that’s happened tonight. As I slip past them, I pick up the end of a dirty joke followed by their muffled laughter.

Apprehension skates over my skin as I hasten through the palace grounds, limping with each step. My eyes scan the lush gardens, searching for the reaper. I tell myself it’s all in my mind, merely the product of adrenaline lingering after the fight. But the tingling sensation on the back of my neck has me wishing for one of my blades.

Movement catches my eye, pulling my attention to the sloping roofs of the palace.

Gargoyles line the ledges, guardians peering down at us in silent judgment. As I scan their frozen faces, I notice something that has my blood turning to ice in my veins. The winged statues stand together in a row, but there’s something different about one of them.

His giant wings aren’t made of stone; they’re made of feathers.