Heart of Fire

by Kristen Painter

  He followed the guard through the woods on an overgrown path. Before long, they came upon Dragon and Petal in a rundown willow pen attached to a small, three-sided shed. From the shed’s state, it hadn’t housed animals in many years.

  Dragon whickered a greeting and Petal, not to be left out, brayed softly. Dragon nudged Petal’s neck with his nose.

  Ertemis raised an eyebrow at Dragon’s behavior, but he had other things to worry about. He needed to get his bearings so he could start looking for Haemus’ daughter again. He nodded to the guard and promised to be on his way.

  His mind wandered to the lovely Lady Jessalyne as he went through the mechanics of preparing Dragon’s tack. She was a uniquely beautiful woman and oddly unafraid of him.

  He smiled at how flustered she’d become in the kitchen, nose to chest with him. The sight of her fair face flushed with indignation, her chest rising against the thin fabric of her tunic with each deep breath, tightened his insides like no other woman ever had. Maybe the fever had affected him. And she had not denied she was the one who had undressed him. The thought of her hands on his skin caused parts of him to stiffen.

  Perhaps after he delivered the key, he would return and let her undress him again. He shook his head. Fool. She only helped you because she thought you were dying. What would she want with an ex-Legionnaire? She was a simple country healer. Probably not frightened of him because she didn’t know better. He couldn’t imagine she’d think him worthy of more time than she’d already given him. In his scarred, battered heart, he knew she would sooner dally with Saladan himself before she would choose the company of a lowborn halfling.

  He wanted to leave more than ever. With renewed purpose, he finished saddling Dragon. Once done, he turned to ask the guard for some bearings, and found himself alone in the wood.

  “Saladan’s hocks!” Ertemis kicked the ground. He was so addlepated by the curve of Jessalyne’s hips and the depth of her heather eyes that he had no weapons, no cloak, and no idea where he was. He hadn’t even heard the guard leave.

  Temper simmering, he started back to the cottage, berating himself for succumbing to a woman’s wiles. What point is there in getting wrapped in the charms of some esya who doesn’t want me anyway? I don’t need the misery.

  He turned a section of path half-circling a huge acacia thicket, and as he came round the blind bend, Jessalyne crashed into him.

  She fell flat on her backside, glaring at him with fire-filled eyes. She looked mad as a faerie with fleas. Ertemis stifled a chuckle.

  “Oaf!” she snapped.

  “Am I to blame because you didn’t watch where you were going? Women!” He extended his hand to help her, but she ignored it, and got up on her own.

  Jessalyne shook bits of leaves and dirt from her clothes. “I thought you left.” She brushed her hair back.

  He stared at the curve of her ear and wondered what it might taste like. “Miss me already?”

  “No.” She shook her head for emphasis.

  “I started to leave, but your guards –“

  “They are not my guards.”

  “Well, they belong to someone. They left before I could get my bearings and find out where my weapons are.”

  “Oh.” She sucked in her cheek in a most becoming way.

  He glanced down. “Were you rushing up here for a reason or do you normally run barefoot through the woods?” Maybe she wanted to ask him to stay. Or to kiss her.

  She hitched up her skirt a bit to look at her feet. They were filthy. Her ankles, however, were lovely. A sunset glow colored her cheeks as she hastily dropped her skirt. “I wanted to ask you about how you came to have Petal.”

  “You know the jenny’s name?”

  “Of course. She belongs to my father.”

  The wind from a dragonsprite’s wings could have knocked Ertemis over. He cleared his throat. “Well, that answers one question.”

  Back at her cottage, Jessalyne’s stoic demeanor confounded Ertemis as she listened to the news of her father’s passing. She didn’t wail and bawl expected. Not until he told her of Haemus’ dying admission did any emotion rise to the surface.

  “He said he knew he hadn’t been a good father, and he was sorry for it.”

  A single tear spilled down her cheek. She stared at the kitchen table, eyes not really focused. She made no effort to wipe the tear from her face, just let it slide off her chin and onto her hands, folded in her lap.

  Ertemis shifted in his chair. Sobbing and squalling he could have dismissed as typical female behavior, but her single quiet tear unsettled him. He wasn’t the comforting type, which mattered little, for comforting didn’t seem the correct response either. He tried to read her, but the fog was back. Perhaps the house was warded with a protection spell. Who would ward a house in the middle of nowhere? Haemus certainly hadn’t. The man had as much magic as mud.

  Jessalyne finally brushed the wet trail from her cheek and glanced at Ertemis. “What else did he say?”

  He furrowed his brow. “He said it’s not your fault you are the way you are. What does that mean?”

  She ignored his question and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “He gave me a key to give to you. I have it in my packs, on Dragon.”

  “A key for what?”

  “He said it opened a box under the garden bench.” Ertemis stood.

  Her expression changed to one of intense curiosity. “Did he say what’s in it? Is it something from my mother?”

  Ertemis saw hope in her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ll get it.”

  Jessalyne flicked a wisp of hair out of her eyes and stood. “I’ll meet you in the garden.”

  Chapter Four

  Shovel in hand, Jessalyne smiled as she approached the stone bench beneath an arbor of her mother’s climbing roses. The pale pink blooms were almost at the peak of their beauty. She came here often to sit and inhale the sweet perfume. After her mother died and her father left, it was comforting to know at least the roses always came back.

  She dropped the shovel, and tried to pick up the bench. It wouldn’t budge. She shoved it again, trying to turn it over. Nothing.

  Behind her, a throat cleared.

  She spun around, startled. Ertemis stood behind her, a worn suede pouch in one hand. How did he move so quietly?

  “Need some help?”

  “No. I can manage.” Jessalyne wrapped both arms around the seat and tried to lift again.

  He leaned against the nearest tree. “I think the sun’s going down.”

  “Fine!” She wiped a misting of sweat off her brow. “You do it.”

  “Are you ordering me or asking me?”

  “You offered.”

  “And you refused.” He didn’t move off the tree, his half-lidded gaze sweeping the length of her before returning to her face.

  Obstinate creature. She stood silent for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. Sighing loudly, she stared skyward. “I’m asking.”

  He peeled off the tree and came toward her. The suede pouch dangled from his fingers. She pointed at it. “I assume that belongs to me?”

  “Aye.” His fingers brushed her palm as the key tumbled into it. The glancing touch sucked the air out of her. She squeezed her hand around the key, her traitorous heart thumping.

  Her reaction seemingly unnoticed, he lifted the bench then grabbed the shovel. Hands that large could easily encircle her waist. He stomped the spade into the ground where the bench had been and started digging.

  Turning the key in her fingers, she watched his thick shoulders bunch with the movement. His sleeves were pushed back, revealing sleek, corded forearms. She cleared her throat, but not her mind. “I can do that.”

  He stabbed the shovel into the dirt again. It struck something solid.

  “Too late.” He dug a bit more then tossed the shovel aside and dropped to his knees, reaching into the hole. He cleared the rest of the dirt with his hands, working the box back and forth until it was loose enough to lift.


  Pulling up the box wrapped in dirt-caked sackcloth, he set it on the ground at her feet. It was no bigger than a loaf of bread. He clapped the dirt from his hands as he stood.

  She dropped down next to the box and pulled off the wrapping cloth. The box was as ordinary as the key, built of unfinished wood, with two hinges on the backside and a locked clasp on the front. She hugged it to her chest and stood.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” He shrugged. “Not that it’s my business.”

  “I want to look at it inside.” She started toward the cottage.

  “I’m not leaving until I get my weapons back.” Ertemis crossed his arms over his broad chest, his feet planted wide.

  “Oh.” She stopped. His trousers clung to his thighs, outlining legs as muscular and distracting as the rest of him. “I forgot about that.”

  “So I noticed.”

  Heat blossomed in her belly like spring flowers after a warm rain. “I…I have to ring for Corah.”

  He raised a brow.

  “You can wait inside.” Inside, with her. The thought made her shiver, but nothing about her felt cold.

  He looked at the position of the sun. “Might as well. It’s almost time for you to serve me supper.”

  “Serve you supper?” She scowled, all thoughts of his muscled shoulders and sleek skin gone. “This is my home. I am not your servant. The more you speak, the more I regret saving your life.” The sooner he left, the better.

  The lout did nothing to suppress his laughter as he followed her to the cottage. Just outside her front door hung a weather-worn bell on a carved post. She yanked the bell pull twice before hurrying inside. The need to know what the box held consumed her. She set it on the kitchen table and pulled out a chair

  Ertemis planted himself opposite her as though he was lord of the manor. She refused to acknowledge him. He irritated her almost as much as he intrigued her.

  The key fit the lock, but she had to wrench it to break through the rust. The hinges moaned when she lifted the lid. The unlined box held two items. Beneath an object wrapped in sackcloth lay a folded leaf of yellowed parchment.

  Jessalyne picked up the object first. Without unwrapping it, she knew what it was by its shape. She pulled off the fabric and held in her hand an intricately etched dagger with a large oval lunestone set at the cross point of blade and hilt. She slid it from its sheath. The blade bore unfamiliar runes matching those on the hilt. The handle warmed quickly in her grasp. There was a lethal beauty to the piece. She slipped it back into its sheath and set it on the table.

  Next, she unfolded the parchment. It was a letter from her mother. She blinked back tears as she sat. How long she had wished for a message, a brief note, anything from her mother? Now she held that anything in her hands.

  Dearest Daughter, I have instructed your father to give this to you on your tenth year. How I wish I were still there with you. As I sit in the garden writing this, you play but a few steps from me. I am sure you have become a beautiful young woman. By now, you know you are gifted. I believe you are more gifted than even I imagine. I will explain.

  Her father had kept this letter from her, ignoring her mother’s request. Her stomach knotted. She should have read this many years ago.

  All my life, I ached for a child, but I was not fair of face and found no man willing to wed me. Being a magewoman did not help, either. Many years passed and my time for bearing children grew short. I wept to think I would never have my heart’s desire, but I refused to accept fate’s hand. I sought aid from the most powerful sorceress I could think of, Mistress Sryka, magewoman to King Maelthorn. She took pity on me and gave me the spells and potions I needed. In return, she told me I must relinquish my child to her as an apprentice when the child came of age. Of course, my darling, that child is you.

  Jessalyne reeled. She was the product of a sorceress’s spells and potions? She’d never heard of this Sryka but King Maelthorn was Lord King of Shaldar, so if Sryka was his magewoman, she must be very powerful indeed. Jessalyne couldn’t believe she might actually become this woman’s apprentice. Finally, someone who could explain her gifts to her. She took up the letter again.

  You must travel to her, Jessalyne. She is a mighty sorceress but she grows old. I think she means to train you in her stead. According to Sryka, you must remain chaste or your gifts will disappear. It is not such a grand sacrifice, I promise you.

  Think of it, Jessalyne. Magewoman to a king! My precious daughter, you will be all that I was not.

  The dagger is a gift from Sryka to guide you on your journey. In your hand alone, the lunestone will glow when the blade points toward her.

  I am sorry our time together was so short. The spells Sryka gave me to bind your father to me and gain you have taxed my strength, but you were worth it. I love you, Jessalyne. You are my life.

  Tears blurred the words as Jessalyne tried to reread the letter. It ended too soon. She still had so many questions. Her belly twisted as she pondered what lay ahead of her. Leaving had suddenly become a reality.

  “Well?”

  She’d almost forgotten the elf. She scrubbed her eyes. “It’s from my mother. She died when I was very young.”

  At the word mother, a flicker of something passed over Ertemis’s face but disappeared before she could name it. It didn’t matter. She had a journey to pack for. She would find Sryka and hope the magewoman was still alive and still wanted her after so long. Maybe Sryka could answer the rest of her questions.

  A rapping at her front door reminded her she’d rung the bell. She put the letter back in the box, closed the lid and went to answer the rapping. She opened the door. Corah’s hand was raised to knock again.

  “The elf is gone, then?” Corah was transparently disappointed.

  “Nay, I am not gone yet.” He walked from behind the door, again coming up so quickly Jessalyne hadn’t heard him. “Although I would be if those guards had not taken my weapons.”

  Corah stared at him with a coy smile. “I didn’t know you were still here, Master Elf.”

  “Obviously.” He flashed a blinding grin and rested one brawny arm against the door frame. Why must he stand so close to her? “Why do you call her lady?”

  “You don’t have to answer him, Corah.” Jessalyne frowned.

  “We call her lady as a term of respect. She is our healer. And our friend.”

  Jessalyne made an impatient noise. “Corah, your father’s men still have his things. Take word to him that the elf is ready to leave.”

  “I’ll tell him.” Corah glanced at Ertemis again. “But he’s gone to a settle a territory dispute with the neighboring herd’s Alpha Buck and won’t be back until morning.”

  “Firstlight then. Please tell him I desire an audience with him and Lady Dauphine at that time also.”

  “Very well.” Corah curtsied, something Jessalyne knew was entirely for Ertemis’s sake. “Good evening, Lady Jessalyne and...” This time, she looked up through a thick fringe of tawny lashes.

  “Ertemis.” Jessalyne grimaced at the girl’s blatant flirting. Sickening.

  “Good evening, Master Ertemis.” Corah completed her curtsey and gave Ertemis one last smile as she left. Jessalyne rolled her eyes and Ertemis caught her.

  “Your friend has impeccable taste in men. Perhaps she wants company for dinner.” He was close enough that his spicy scent stroked her skin.

  She stepped back. “I’ll be sure to mention that to her betrothed. There is bread and cheese in the larder if you’re hungry. I have packing to do.” She turned toward her bedroom.

  “I knew you were smitten with me, but I had no idea you planned on becoming my traveling companion. First you undress me, now this. Who knew that innocent face hid such a saucy wench.” He gave her a wink when she spun around.

  “How dare you speak to me that way after what I did for you?” Her cheeks burned with indignation. “You flatter yourself with such big thoughts, halfling.”

  To his credit, he didn’t r
espond to her name calling. “Why are you packing then?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but according to my mother’s letter I am to apprentice with King Maelthorn’s magewoman so that I may take her place.”

  Surprise washed the expression from his face. The satisfaction she felt at shutting him up was short lived.

  “Magewoman to King Maelthorn? Are you deluded? You have to actually have magic to be a magewoman. You do know that?” He shook his head. “Humans.”

  “You know nothing about me. Don’t assume otherwise.” Her hands were tingling. She bit back the remainder of what she wanted to say in an attempt to quell the heat snarling in her veins and ground out an angry, “Good night,” before stalking off to her room.

  “Shaldar City will eat you alive,” he called out.

  She slammed the door.

  Firstlight broke in streaks of pink and gold. Sleep had only come to Jessalyne for a few hours as packing had kept her up. She went into the kitchen, eager for a cup of tea and a bite of breakfast before she packed some foodstuffs and herbs for travel.

  Her scullery lay in shambles. Crumbs and crusts of bread mingled with sticky smears of jam dotted the table. A single half-eaten sweet cake remained as the only proof of the dozen once piled on an earthenware platter in the larder.

  She opened the hatch to the cold box. The milk jug sat empty and most of the smoked fish was gone too.

  “Dash it!” Jessalyne knew exactly which ill-mannered elf to blame.

  She stormed toward the second bedroom and shoved the door wide, ready to blast him for his ungracious behavior. As soon as the door burst open, she knew she should have knocked. The dark elf wore only the skin in which he’d been born.

  Sweet mercy. Her jaw unhinged. His hind parts were to the door. A line of silver runes like those on his ears trailed from beneath his long black locks down the length of his spine, stopping above the cleft of his buttocks. Her fingers itched to trace the marks marring his perfect flesh. A sigh slipped from her lips.

  He turned. Her eyes, frozen to the spot where his backside had been, now saw a great deal more of him than she had seen of any man. Ever.