Chapter 71: Whispers of Illusion
Chapter 71: Whispers of Illusion
The morning after her confrontation with Lachlan, Isla wasted no time. If she stayed idle, her mind would unravel, her heart would wither, and Lachlan’s accusations would drown her before the truth ever had a chance to surface. She needed answers—and she needed them quickly.
Fenella was the first she trusted. In the quiet of her chamber, with the door firmly shut, Isla took her hand. “I need you to listen,” she said softly, eyes sharp with urgency. “Among the maids, among the kitchens, in the corridors—anything unusual you hear, anything whispered, anything odd—tell me. At once. Even the smallest thing.”
Fenella’s face lit with loyalty and worry all at once. “Aye, my lady. I’ll keep my ears sharper than a fox in the henhouse.” She squeezed Isla’s hand. “But promise me you’ll be careful. They’re watching you closer now.”
“I know,” Isla admitted. “That’s why we have to be quiet.”
When Fenella slipped away, Isla turned to the books scattered across her desk. Tomes borrowed from Vaelen, others long neglected on shelves, and even the slim volume of spells she had hidden beneath her pillow. Page after page turned beneath her fingers. Words blurred, diagrams of circles and runes offered no help. Her heart sank lower with every fruitless line.
Illusion, she whispered to herself. If someone had tricked Alistair, if someone had convinced Lachlan, if someone had placed her in the Dark Forest when she had never stepped foot there—then it had to be illusion. Nothing else explained the madness consuming them.
She slammed the book shut, frustration boiling in her chest. Enough reading. She needed to ask the right person, even if it meant risk.
Her feet carried her to Vaelen’s lab. The familiar scent of herbs, heated oils, and charred parchment met her as she entered. He was bent over a beaker, carefully dripping a pale liquid into the vessel. When the last drop hit, the glass clouded with swirling blue smoke that spilled over the rim like a living waterfall.
Isla sat quietly as it formed the shape of a bird, wings outstretched in glorious arcs. It hovered for a breath before bursting apart, filling the air with the warm, unexpected smell of blueberry pie.
“Wow,” she whispered, her lips curving despite herself. “That was…amazing. It smells like pie in here now.”
Vaelen chuckled, setting the beaker down with a clink. “Magic always leaves a trace of itself. Sometimes taste, sometimes scent. This one—I like best.” He walked over and sank onto the bench across from her. His clever eyes studied her. “You did not come to admire tricks of smoke and sugar, Lady Isla. What troubles you?”
She hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her gown. “Vaelen…if I ask you something, would you think me mad?”
He tilted his head, expression unreadable but kind. “Depends on the question.”
Isla swallowed. She had to tread carefully. “Can magic be used for trickery? To create…illusions?”
Vaelen leaned back, curiosity sharpening his gaze. “Define illusion.”
Her lips pressed together as she gathered her thoughts. “Not like a ghost or shadow. More like…an impersonation. Someone making themselves appear as someone else.”
Vaelen blinked, then frowned slightly. “To look like another, you mean? To wear their face?”
She nodded. “Exactly that.”
Silence stretched between them. His gaze never left her, his mind clearly chasing dangerous possibilities. At last, he said quietly, “Why do you ask? Rumor already paints you bold. Burning Sir Lachlan’s belongings, speaking your mind where most women stay silent. Now you ask me of illusions, as though you suspect a trick in your own life.”
Her breath caught, fear and relief twisting together in her chest. She managed a faint smile, though her heart was racing. “Because I need to know if it’s possible.”
Vaelen leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. His voice dropped low, careful. “Lady Isla…you are not like others. I’ve seen it in your eyes, heard it in the questions you ask. There is more to you than this place. But I’ll not press—not if you do not wish me to.”
Isla reached across the table and clasped his hand. “You are my friend, Vaelen. You and Fenella both have saved me more times than I can count. One day I will tell you the truth. But not yet. If Lachlan knew the things I wonder…if he suspected…” Her voice trailed, fear thick in her throat. “I would not see harm fall on either of you because of me.”
His eyes softened. He squeezed her hand. “Then what do you want me to do?”
She inhaled, letting determination harden her voice. “Come with me to see Elspeth. Quietly. If anyone knows whether illusion magic can bend reality so cruelly, it will be her.”
Vaelen’s brows rose, but he nodded. “Elspeth has little love for court politics, but her loyalty to Lachlan is strong. You’ll have to guard your questions well.”
“I will,” Isla promised. She rose from the bench, smoothing her gown. “But I can’t afford silence any longer. Not when my very life depends on finding the truth.”
Vaelen gathered a satchel of vials and herbs, slinging it over his shoulder. “Then we best not waste time.”
Together, they left the safety of the lab. The castle walls loomed behind them, heavy with secrets, while the path ahead led toward Elspeth—the witch who had Lachlan’s ear, and perhaps the answers Isla most desperately needed.