Heart of Fire

by Kristen Painter

  “Nay.” Ertemis slowed Dragon and dropped back beside her.

  “Why not? It’s the capital. It must be very beautiful.” She wondered how her ideas compared to the reality.

  “The king has men enough to fight his battles. No need for a man like me.” His jaw went tight.

  “But you haven’t even visited there?” Jessalyne imagined bustling streets and colorful shops and felt a tingle of excitement at what her future held.

  “Nay,” he snapped. “I told you that already.”

  Whatever brooded in the dark elf, Jessalyne didn’t pursue it. She had no desire to rouse his temper.

  Ertemis changed the subject. “Why did Tyber tell me if I touched you, you would kill me?”

  Taken off guard, Jessalyne searched for an answer that was neither a lie nor the truth. Tyber should have kept his mouth shut. “He was only trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me? From what? You don’t look very dangerous.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  Ertemis shook his head. “Not usually.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Do I look dangerous to you?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. You do.”

  “No deception there.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “So what do I look like then?”

  * * *

  Ertemis opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. What she looked like was a kind of dangerous he had kept himself free from, the kind of dangerous that addled a man mind with soft curves and sweet perfume and whispered words. “You look like the woman I work for,” he growled. “Let’s leave it there.”

  “Hmmph.” Jessalyne stopped talking to him after that.

  He glanced over. Petal’s rhythmic stride and the warmth of the sun in the cloudless sky made her eyelids heavy. The last thing he needed was for her to drift off and fall.

  “There. Do you see it?” Ertemis pointed toward the horizon.

  She looked up, yawning. “See what?”

  “The town.”

  She was squinting into the distance. “I don’t see anything but trees.”

  “Ah. I forget my sight surpasses human. Trust me, there’s a town ahead. One I think I know. We’ll break there.”

  “You can see that far ahead? What other gifts do dark elves possess?” She nudged Petal into step with Dragon, curiosity shining in her eyes.

  Ertemis threw his head back in a laugh. “You aren’t timid, are you? Few have been brave enough to question me so directly. You have mettle, esya.”

  She smiled back. “What does esya mean?”

  “Girl.”

  “I’m a woman,” she countered.

  “If you say so, esya.” He grinned at her insistence.

  She sparked with irritation. “You aren’t the first elf I’ve ever met.”

  “Really? In the grove? That surprises me.” He watched her while he rode, his eyes unwilling to leave her face.

  “A council of elves came for the naming ceremony of Lord Tyber’s son. They gave him a Feyre, like the one you carry.”

  “I’m impressed you know the name of my blade.”

  Her cheeks pinked. “Those elves looked very different from you.”

  “They were light elves, high born. Like my mother.” His smile waned and he faced forward again. “Your coloring is very much like hers.”

  “You must miss her.”

  “I miss no one.” He urged Dragon on, breaking stride with Jessalyne and pulling ahead.

  * * *

  The town finally emerged before Jessalyne’s eyes. The sign above the main gate proclaimed it Warren on the Wick and she rejoiced, knowing reprieve from Petal’s hard back was on its way.

  Ertemis drew his hood in a way that hid his face. From his pack, he retrieved leather gloves and donned them as well. Once in the town, he stopped at a tavern called The Thirsty Troll. He tethered Dragon’s reins around the hitching post with a few deft loops. “Tie up. Bring your bags. We’ll eat, then buy your saddle.”

  She tried to mimic his movements, almost duplicating his knot, then followed on his heels, trying to keep up and absorb the sights around her at the same time. People bustled about with packages, dogs and children ran through the dusty streets, vendors spieled their wares. Shouting, barking, babies crying, cart wheels creaking – so much clatter and jangle from every direction.

  The women’s clothing emphasized their curves. Blouses and skirts, cinched about the waist with wide, boned belts that pushed their chests into soft mounds spilling out of their tops. Jessalyne felt shapeless in her tunic and overvest. No one dressed like her.

  Near the alehouse’s entrance, a painted tart with cleavage to spare brushed by, giving Ertemis a lusty growl. He turned and winked at her.

  Jessalyne glared at the woman as she passed. “Do you know her?”

  “I know what she’s about.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Pleasure. But don’t worry, I never mingle business with pleasure.” He pushed through the tavern doors.

  Jessalyne barged after him, wanting to snap back but didn’t know what to say. You look like the woman I work for. She was nothing but business to him.

  The stink of sour ale and smoke mixed with unwashed flesh stung her nose. A tumult of languages filled her ears. A sordid mix of creatures packed the dim tavern. They crowded around tables, drinking ale and telling tales. She moved closer to Ertemis. Better the beast she knew than those she didn’t.

  From the shadowy recesses, a bristled figure emerged. Dressed in a fine loose linen shirt and brushed cotton trousers, he stood a head taller than Ertemis and twice as wide. Flexing fists the size of hams, the creature headed toward them.

  Ertemis pushed his hood back. A soft murmur swept the crowd.

  “Saladan’s strumpet mum,” the creature growled. “Who let this muddled blood lowlife into my fine establishment?”

  Tiny pointed teeth filled the brute’s mouth, but it was his ears that drew her gaze. Little shells of skin, they sported dangling gold hoops. His ears were too small by half. Even faeries had bigger ears than he did.

  Ertemis snarled right back. “Fine establishment? This dunghill? How fine could it be if it’s run by a troll?”

  Jessalyne looked back at the door. If any chance for escape remained before the bludgeoning began, it was most likely now.

  The two scowled at one another, gazes locked, fists clenched. Not a single creature in the alehouse moved. Jessalyne expected blows any moment.

  They lunged and Jessalyne shut her eyes.

  “Ertemis!”

  “Valduuk!”

  She peeked. They were pounding each other on the back in friendly sort of way. Childish oafs. The rest of the patrons, bored with the lack of bloodshed, went back to their carousing. Ertemis and Valduuk cuffed each other a few more times.

  “How does the day find you, my friend?” Valduuk’s voice resounded low and gravely.

  “Well, and you?” Ertemis stood, hands on hips, his back to Jessalyne. She crept closer.

  “I am the most contented troll in all of Warren on the Wick. What’s taken you so long? I’ve not seen you in ages.” The troll leaned close, his voice soft, “Have you finally paid your bond?”

  “I have no excuse other than too many battles to be won and too much coin to be collected. As for my bond, let’s just say I’m working on that.”

  Arms crossed, Jessalyne cleared her throat.

  “Ah...Valduuk, please meet my current employer, Lady Jessalyne of Fairleigh Grove.” Ertemis mocked a courtly bow in her direction.

  Valduuk extended one enormous hand, catching Jessalyne off guard. She reached her hand out, not sure what else to do. He took her fingers and lightly brushed his thick lips across the back of her hand.

  Jessalyne blinked at him, dumbfounded.

  “Best manners I have ever seen in a troll.” Ertemis shook his head, adding, “At least when there is a fair-faced skirt involved.”

  Valduuk ignor
ed the elf and offered a crooked arm to Jessalyne. “My Lady, if you would care to join me in my quarters, I’ll have my staff prepare whatever eatables you desire.” He glanced at Ertemis. “Don’t mind the elf, he’s always been jealous of my good social graces.”

  Jessalyne reached up to take his arm, suddenly tickled by the gentleman troll. “Thank you, kind sir.” She rested her palm on Valduuk’s arm, surprised by the softness of his pelted skin.

  “What? No arm for me?” Ertemis followed the odd pair through a private entrance at the rear of the tavern.

  Valduuk’s quarters were as paradoxical as the troll himself. Instead of duplicating the rough-hewn scheme of the tavern proper, his chambers were luxuriously appointed.

  “Since when did you become exiled nobility?” Ertemis asked as he surveyed his friend’s dwelling.

  Thick Ulvian carpets covered finely waxed wood floors. The furniture, sized to match Valduuk, was exquisitely crafted. Upholstered chairs sported plush fabrics, antique tapestries hung from the walls and yards of diaphanous silks draped the windows.

  “Oh my. Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen such beautiful things.” Jessalyne wanted to touch everything.

  “Thank you,” Valduuk tipped his head toward Ertemis. “How is it that such a fair lass as yourself has ended up in the company of the Black Death?”

  “The company of the what?” Jessalyne wasn’t sure she heard Valduuk correctly.

  “Valduuk.” Sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs, Ertemis shot the troll a look. “There will be time for tales when we eat. Our mounts need tending.”

  Valduuk made short work of ordering food then sent someone to feed and water the animals. He led his guests into the dining room, where they seated themselves around a spacious table in wide, high backed chairs.

  After her time on Petal, Jessalyne lounged happily on the well-padded seat. “What was that name you called him?” she asked Valduuk.

  “The Black Death?” He glanced at Ertemis, who was shaking his head back and forth. “Nothing, just a little ribbing between old friends.”

  Ertemis regaled Valduuk with the events leading up to his joining company with Jessalyne, and Valduuk kept their goblets full of honeyed wine. Before long, tavern staff began setting heavy platters of food before them.

  Valduuk pulled one of the workers aside and whispered something to him. The man nodded and left.

  Jessalyne looked out over the table and beheld foodstuffs the likes of which she had not known existed. Smoked eels stuffed with garlic and leeks, capons wrapped in bacon, fresh and cured sausages, cabbage stewed with onions and tansy, rice soup with spinach and walnuts, blue-veined cheeses, thick brown bread, crocks of fruited butters. The last plate brought in was a footed dish holding small shiny brown cakes decorated with flower petals. It must take a vast quantity of food to satisfy Valduuk.

  As they feasted, she exclaimed her love for everything she tried, which caused Ertemis to roll his eyes and Valduuk to smile with extreme pleasure. She ignored Ertemis as best she could. She sipped her wine before speaking. “So, Valduuk, how do you know Ertemis?”

  Valduuk wiped his mouth with a square of linen and sat back in his chair. “We met many years ago. We were youngsters then, conscripted to the Legion for different reasons. It wasn’t an easy life, but we learned. We grew up quickly.”

  She could only imagine what that life must have been like.

  Valduuk hesitated, eyes trained somewhere in the past. “None of our squad wanted to spar with a troll or a half breed, fearsome creatures that we be. So we sparred with each other.” He chuckled. “Truth be told, it was for the best. We outsized and out-muscled the others by a fair measure.”

  “Well, you certainly did,” Ertemis interjected.

  “As I am in the presence of a lady, I’ll ignore your remarks until such time as I may deal with them properly.”

  Ertemis snorted and returned to his meal.

  Valduuk’s attention belonged to Jessalyne’s once again and he continued. “We fought together in many campaigns. But as I grew older, I tired of Legion life. I had enough money saved to pay my bond and purchase my freedom. I took what was left and bought this tavern. And here I am.” He stretched his arms out toward his surroundings. “I am content with my life. What it lacks in excitement, it makes up for in stability, unlike my brother here who has no stability but plenty of excitement.”

  “Stability is overrated.” Ertemis pushed back from the table. “It’s good to see you again, Valduuk. I’m glad the years have been kind to you.”

  “They have indeed. And I insist you stay the night. The least I can do is give you a soft bed,” Valduuk said.

  Ertemis lifted his hands. “I’d as soon press on, but I’m only the hired help.”

  Hired help. Must he constantly remind her of their arrangement? He had said yes, after all. Why make such a point of it?

  Valduuk turned to her. “I know you must be anxious to continue your journey but lastlight comes soon. Surely, you’d prefer a feathered pallet to a bedroll on the hard ground?”

  “A feather bed sounds wonderful. We don’t need to travel at night. Besides, we still have a saddle to purchase.”

  Ertemis stood and shoved his chair in with more force than she thought necessary. “I’ll see to the bags and the beasts.”

  “No need,” Valduuk beamed. “Your bags are already in your rooms and your mounts in my stable. I set my staff about it before dinner. Lady Jessalyne, if you wish, I’ll have a hot bath sent up. Ertemis and I can purchase the saddle.”

  “A bath sounds even better than the feather bed. You’re a marvelous host, Valduuk.” Jessalyne smiled at the gentleman troll. Too bad Ertemis wasn’t more like his friend.

  Ertemis sat back down as Valduuk rang for his valet to escort her to her chambers. She bid the men good evening and headed off to the promise of a hot soak.

  * * *

  Watching his friend’s face as Jessalyne left, Ertemis suspected Valduuk had fallen under her spell as well. “She isn’t hard to look at, is she?”

  “Aye. A definite step above your regular paramours,” Valduuk said.

  “She’s not my paramour. Far from it. I doubt she knows much of what passes between a man and a woman. Anyway, she’s not my taste.”

  “Then perhaps you should hide the heat in your eyes when you look at her, my friend.” Valduuk chuckled. “A blind man could see you want her.”

  “Pah.”

  “Then why deny what you’re called? She hired you, she must know who you are.”

  “She doesn’t. Not really. I just don’t want her frightened of me for no reason. It’s been more years than I can count since I’ve met a woman who doesn’t run from me in fear or wish to bed me just to tell the tale.”

  Valduuk smiled. “She has the look of the high born light fey, don’t you think?”

  Ertemis nodded. “Her father certainly carried no elven blood and if her mother had, she’d look like me.”

  Valduuk stood. “Let’s go get that saddle. You can explain what in Saladan’s name made you desert the Legions.”

  Ertemis rose to his feet, raising an eyebrow as he slipped his hood over his head.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t know? This was one of the first places they came looking. For the price on your head, I could have a tavern in every city in Shaldar.” Valduuk tossed his voluminous cloak about his shoulders. “Fortunately for you, one is all I can handle.”

  * * *

  “Fynna!” Sryka screamed for the girl.

  Fynna scrambled into the room, her head already ducked as she anticipated Sryka’s predilection toward ear cuffing.

  “Worthless pixie, never around when there is work to be done,” she muttered.

  “J-just washing the mixing pots, mistress.” She peered at Sryka, trying to determine the magewoman’s mood.

  “Get word to Prince Erebus I require an audience with him immediately. I have very important news. And be quick about it! No dallying with the
stable boys or you will be sorry.” Sryka stared at her.

  “You are such a mess, Fynna.” She sighed. “Be gone.”

  Fynna scampered off, taking the stone steps in little hops. She thought of her wings, locked away in Sryka’s closet. With them she could have flown down the steps in no time.

  She smiled anyway, for any task that took her out of Sryka’s immediate range was a task worth doing. Fynna detested the old crone but was debt bound to serve her.

  If only Sryka had not saved the life of Queen Menna. No, no, she must not think such things. The pixie queen was not to blame. It was Sryka who had demanded bond service of the next born female child in payment. Such is my luck to be that child.

  When she reached the great hall, she looked about for Prince Erebus’ valet. Most likely, they were all out in the yard, playing at swords or hand-to-hand in front of a crowd of giggling females. She wandered in the direction of the yard.

  She was torn between wishing the King would name one of the Prince’s foolish women as the Blessed Bride and hoping that Erebus never took the throne at all. Prince Erebus filled her with as much dread as Sryka did. She could not imagine him as king. If only King Maelthorn was not sick abed. Poor man. He was the only compassionate soul left in the kingdom.

  Fynna located the Prince’s valet and gave him Sryka’s message. She exited the courtyard as quickly as possible but not before some of the Prince’s tootsies got a few jeers in. They didn’t speak to her. Rather, they spoke about her and always loud enough to be heard.

  “Pixies are a rather homely breed, are they not?”

  “I hear they eat pixies in some kingdoms.”

  “What do you think they taste like? Blue-berries?”

  At the last comment, the cluster erupted into laughter and Fynna crept away, head down.

  * * *

  Jessalyne took one look at the bathing tub being carried into her chambers and erupted into a fit of giggles. Perhaps the volume of wine she had consumed made Valduuk’s tub look so enormous. But of course, it was sized to fit him.

  His staff, used to filling it for Valduuk, brought the water level up in no time. Finally alone, she disrobed and climbed in. There was something so wonderful about a hot bath after a day’s traveling.