“Shaldar lost the wisdom and strength of the elves and we...” Her voice lowered. “We are more isolated than ever. Our bloodlines are so weak, many chose not to bear children instead of losing them in birth.”
“I didn’t realize the elves suffered but that’s not my concern. I already knew my father was in Shaldar City. What I want is a name.” Ertemis’s hand sought the hilt of his sword. He would find his father somehow. Then he would pay.
“The desire for vengeance seeps out of you like water from a cracked bowl. I cannot allow you to harm the man I love. Try to understand.”
Chimes rang out again and she stood. “Our time is gone. I won’t say goodbye, only tu’layan fa naltha.”
“You really think we’ll meet again? I doubt the elders will admit me twice.”
“I see you haven’t lost the language.” She smiled. “I expect an invitation when you wed your firemage.”
He pursed his lips. “Elysium truly is a dream world.”
“Only to those who don’t live in it, my son.” She slipped her fingers beneath the opening of her cloak, drawing out a thin gold chain. A finely woven band of gold dangled from it, sparkling in the sun. She pulled the chain over her head and held it out.
He stared at the glittering ring.
“It was a gift from your father, a symbol of his unending love for me. Give it to your beloved.” She reached up, sliding the chain over his head. “Go to her and speak your heart.”
The chain was so fine, he couldn’t feel it on his skin. He picked the ring up from where it lay against his leather breastplate. Woven of thin gold strands and set with tiny diamonds, it reminded him of something he’d seen before. “It’s beautiful. Are you sure you won’t miss it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not allowed to wear it here. It would please me greatly to give you this one thing.”
“Then I will take it. Thank you.”
She reached up to kiss his cheek. “Be well, Ertemis.”
“Be well, mother.” He returned her kiss and fresh tears sprang to her eyes.
As she walked away, images of Jessalyne spun through his head. He rolled the band of gold between his fingers. His mother was right. A woman as beautiful as Jessalyne would not remain a maid forever.
Chapter Eleven
Jessalyne followed Fynna into the kitchen. The scullery was busier than she’d imagined. Staff bustled about making breads, plucking chickens, scaling fish and bundling herbs to dry.
At the end of a long table sat a dour-faced woman, her hair scraped back into a tight knot. She pored over an open ledger. Gnarled fingers gripped a quill as she scratched figures into the book.
Fynna nodded toward the woman, stepping back against the wall, out of the way of two boys hefting a huge pickle barrel.
Jessalyne smoothed her skirts, and approached. “Pardon me, Mistress Wenda?”
Wenda’s head stayed down, her eyes fixed on her work. “Aye.” Her tone was stern.
“I’m sorry to bother you, mistress. I’ve just come to the castle and I have a request.”
She looked up, eyeing Jessalyne’s dress and necklace. “You have any idea how much work it takes to keep this place in order? If I listened to every request from every skirt come to chase the prince, nothing would get done. Now out!”
Jessalyne’s head snapped back. “I’m not here to ‘chase the prince’. I’m here to study under the tutelage of Mistress Sryka. And I don’t expect you to grant me anything without my giving you something in return.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Is there somewhere else we might discuss this?”
“Nay.”
Jessalyne sighed. She didn’t want the entire kitchen witnessing her gifts. Leaning over, she whispered into the woman’s ear.
Wenda rubbed her chin with the knuckle of one swollen hand. “If this is some trick, some foolery, I will make your life here as unpleasant as is within my means. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Fine. Come with me.”
The girls followed Wenda to her chambers. The room of the house steward lacked nothing.
“What do you want in return for this healing?” Wenda asked.
“Fynna and I share the room beneath Sryka’s quarters. There is barely any furniture to speak of, no lanterns...it’s unfit to live in.”
Wenda forced a smile. “Take this misery from my body and I will embarrass you with goods.”
Jessalyne nodded. “Thank you. Please sit. Fynna, stand at the door. I want no interruptions.”
Wenda sat in high back tapestry chair near her fireplace, resting her gnarled hands on the arms. “Will this hurt? Not that it matters...what is one pain over another?”
“No, I don’t think so. At least it won’t hurt you.”
Fynna watched Jessalyne with intense curiosity, barely blinking.
Pulling the chair’s mate in front of Wenda, Jessalyne sat. She rested her hands over the woman’s, feeling the swollen joints of her twisted fingers.
She gave herself over to the growing power inside, willing the woman’s pain into her own flesh. She inhaled as her joints began to throb. Crumpling forward, she waited for her powers to dissolve the deep ache. The welcome flush of heat passed through her. The swelling subsided. The twisted fingers straightened. A soft inhale of breath told her the heat had passed into Wenda.
The heat drained out of Jessalyne, and she relaxed back against the chair, tired but not spent. Each time she called her power, she grew stronger. Ertemis was right about practicing.
Fynna’s mouth hung open.
Wenda extended her hands, wiggling and flexing her fingers. She stood and stretched, pleasure lighting her face. “I feel like a girl again. This is most wonderful, most wonderful.” She jumped lightly. “There’s no pain. None!”
Jessalyne smiled as Wenda hugged her. “I’m glad to have helped.”
“Helped? This is more than help, child. You’re gifted. I’ve been here almost as long as Sryka and she’s never even attempted such a thing! You should school her, child.”
Panic niggled at Jessalyne and she looked at Fynna, nodding furiously by the door. “You must promise me, both of you, not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Fynna, promise me on your wings and Mistress Wenda, please...”
“Hush, girl. If any ask where my rheumatism has gone, I’ll tell them I bought a potion off the Travelers at the shade market.” She smiled. “Come, now. I’ve my end of the deal to uphold.”
Wenda led them back to the kitchen, where she directed a maid to clean the girls’ room. Lantern in hand, she bade the two pickle barrel boys to follow her. Through a series of stairs and long passages, she at last stopped at the end of a dreary hall, lit only by high narrow windows. Handing the lantern to one of the boys, she selected a key from a large ring dangling off her belt and unlocked the door.
With a wink to the two girls, she snatched the lantern back, pushed the door wide, and sauntered through. The circle of light revealed a vast storehouse.
Mistress Wenda’s meticulous organization was evident in the neat rows and precise placement of each object. Pieces of furniture were draped with muslin. Rugs were rolled and bound with twine.
“Now,” she said. “What does the room need?”
Fynna’s blue hands caressed the edge of a nearby rug. “Can we have a carpet?” she asked timidly. Even Jessalyne was unsure of when Wenda’s new generosity might evaporate.
“Boys.” Wenda’s now limber fingers snapped. “Mark that rug to go. What else?”
Jessalyne thought quickly. She rattled off a list of goods. “Two lanterns, with stands. Two chairs, padded if possible, and a table to go between. Bed boxes to get the mattresses off the floor. If it can be spared, a tapestry for the north wall. A fire screen, a footstool, coverlets for the beds, and a wash basin.”
She peeked at Mistress Wenda, aware of how much she had asked for, but Wenda was busy pointing the boys in the direction of
each item.
Fynna jumped up and down in a way that Jessalyne imagined would have sent the pixie flying if her wings were still attached.
Wenda spoke softly. “Thank you, child. Thank you so much.”
“Your generosity is thanks enough,” Jessalyne said.
“Now, off you both go. Everything will be delivered today.”
Both girls nodded their thanks again and Jessalyne did her best to keep pace with the pixie so as not to get lost in the maze of halls and stairs.
When they got back, they stared. The room had been scrubbed clean. Jessalyne dug through her bag for some dried lavender and sprinkled it over the floor before the carpet went down.
“This room will be livable after all.”
Fynna did some more jumping, and before long the boys came knocking with the carpet.
Woven of blues and greens, the rug covered nearly the entire room when unrolled. Jessalyne and Fynna moved the mattresses upright against the wall to await the bed boxes.
Fynna spread out on the rug like a child making snow faeries. “It’s as soft as kitten fur!”
Jessalyne smiled and leaned on one of the mattresses propped against the wall. She rubbed the bed linens between her fingers. “How well do you know your way around the city?”
Big blue eyes blinked up at her. “Pretty good. Why?” Fynna rolled over onto her knees.
“There are still a few things this room needs. Like decent linens.”
“But that takes coin. And I’m not allowed out without Sryka’s permission.” Fynna’s stuck her tongue out, her gaze returning to the carpet. She petted it like a cat.
“Coin isn’t a problem. I’ll beg Mistress Sryka to let you go. If you take me, I’ll buy you some sweets. Put on your good tunic.”
Fynna looked at her tunic, plucking it away from her body with two fingers. Her mouth bent into a frown. “It’s the only one I got.”
“I apologize, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Jessalyne wondered why the pixie hadn’t been given a new tunic. Surely the cost of a few new clothes would not empty the king’s coffers. “I didn’t realize it was your only one. Why haven’t you been given another?”
“I get a new one every year but Mistress Sryka always takes it away as punishment for some dumb reason or another.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Pixies aren’t worth noticing in this kingdom.”
Seeing the hurt in Fynna’s eyes, Jessalyne knelt down beside her. “Why?”
Fynna traced the carpet’s woven pattern with her fingertip. “The prince can’t stand any creature not human. Pixies, sprites, the weer, trolls, goblins, any being not human...especially elves. Ever since King Maelthorn attempted an alliance with the elves a long time ago. Some say he wants the prince to try again, but the prince refuses. That might be why the king hasn’t blessed a bride for him.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Tradition says that for the prince to get the throne, he has to marry a woman the king approves. Without the king’s blessing, the prince can’t marry and until he does, he can’t be king. If the king dies before the prince marries...” She paused, a shudder running through her. “Shaldar will be a kingdom without a king.”
“I take it that’s a bad thing.”
Fynna’s eyes widened. “Shaldar will be overrun by every lord who sees himself as the next king. Eventually, there won’t be anything left to rule.”
“The king must realize this. Seems silly not to bless a bride for the prince and keep Shaldar safe.”
Fynna glanced around. Jessalyne wondered who could possibly be listening when they were alone in the room.
Lowering her voice a bit, Fynna answered. “Lots of people think the king has no intention of letting Prince Erebus rule. With Erebus on the throne, the realm would suffer anyway. He’s a cruel man who only cares about his own pleasure. He taxes the people wickedly to pay for his fancy clothes and big feasts. But worst of all, he hates his father.”
“Truly?” Jessalyne whispered back, caught up in the moment.
Fynna nodded. “And the women that come here to win the prince’s hand...” The pixie rolled her eyes. “Mean-spirited, foolish wenches that only see the promise of the queen’s crown on their head and jewels on their fingers. I don’t blame the king one bit.”
“Poor King Maelthorn. He must be so disappointed in his son.”
Fynna hopped in place. “I’ve got it! You can heal the king like you did Mistress Wenda! You can save his life and then all this will be over.”
“What ailment does the king suffering from?”
Fynna stopped hopping. “Old age, I think.”
Jessalyne shook her head. “I doubt I can cure that. Growing old isn’t a disease.”
Fynna’s face fell.
Jessalyne patted the girl’s hand. “Shopping will cheer you up. I’ll go talk to Mistress Sryka.”
Jessalyne bounded up the steps and knocked at Sryka’s door. The old woman took her time answering. “What do you need, child?”
“I wish to go into the city to purchase a few things. I would like to take Fynna with me.”
“Fine. You shouldn’t have to carry your own packages. If she gives you any problem, let me know. I will deal with her.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“And Jessalyne, mind yourself. If any man tries to talk to you, ignore him. Remember who you are at all times.”
“Yes, mistress.” What would Sryka think of the dark elf whose kisses still burned her lips? She turned her head to hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
Sryka closed the door and Jessalyne went to fetch her coin pouch and her new friend.
The memory of Ertemis’s mouth pressed against hers was bittersweet, but it was just a memory. He was gone. Her fingers sought the gems at her neck. Small comfort knowing part of him had once cared enough to give her such a gift.
She pushed open the door to her shared quarters. “All right, off we go.”
Clapping her hands, Fynna spun on one foot. Jessalyne smiled half-heartedly as she attached her coin purse to her sash. Fynna cocked her head to one side. “Is something wrong?”
Jessalyne shook her head, not trusting her voice.
Squinting, the pixie pursed her blue lips. “You’re a bad liar.”
A weak smile tweaked Jessalyne’s mouth. “Just memories, nothing else.” She jangled the coins in the pouch at her side. “Shall we?”
Fynna bounced several times on her little blue toes before the pair headed down the long winding stairs. They exited into the great hall, still bustling with activity.
“There’s so much going on here all the time,” Jessalyne said. “I never imagined city life would be so busy.”
“This is nothing. Wait until nobles visit for holidays or feasting. Then you’ll see what busy really is.”
They walked out into the sunny courtyard Jessalyne had first entered. A group of heavily painted, over-dressed young women sat to one side, under the shade of two large oak trees. They drank cold tea from crystal goblets while they watched some of the prince’s guard practicing swords.
Fynna grabbed Jessalyne’s hand and pulled her in the opposite direction.
“The gate is that way.” Jessalyne pointed to the way she’d come in.
“I know a better way.” Fynna kept tugging.
One of the girls from the group under the tree nudged the one next to her, and pointed at Fynna. “Seems the blueberry is pestering someone new.”
The girl stood, tossing blond ringlets over her shoulder. She set her glass down and smoothed the skirts of her lemon-colored gown. “You there,” she called out.
Jessalyne turned in the girl’s direction. “Me?”
“Yes. Is that little blue bug bothering you?”
Fynna crouched behind Jessalyne’s skirts.
“She’s not bothering me. And she’s a pixie, not a bug.”
The girl smiled thinly, staring at Jessalyne with limpid blue eyes. “Whatever it is, it isn’t fit to keep company with.
You know the prince won’t tolerate her kind in the castle once he’s crowned.”
“That’s right, Salena, you tell her.” Another of the girls spoke, her freckled nose twitching.
“He has to be crowned first,” Jessalyne shot back.
Holding an embroidered linen square to her nose as if damping out some awful smell, Salena raised her eyebrows. “Not interested in the prince? Probably for the best. I doubt he would find your looks the least bit appealing.”
The gaggle behind Salena twittered. Jessalyne wished Ertemis were here. He would scare the wits out of them.
Fynna tugged at her skirt. “Please, let’s go.”
Nodding, Jessalyne felt the tingle of anger heating her spine. She spun on her heel. Behind her, Selena cried out. “Ow! Who poured hot tea in my glass?”
* * *
The shops in Shaldar City’s market quarter shamed every other shop Jessalyne had seen during her journey. The selection of goods overwhelmed her. She wanted one of everything.
Fynna’s new tunic was first. But after trying several clothiers, Jessalyne soon found none of them carried anything to fit Fynna’s petite figure.
“It can’t be helped. None of these shops specialize in pixie.” Fynna sighed.
“I don’t give up that easily.” Jessalyne stood beneath the awning of the shop they had just left. She smiled when she looked across the street. “I have an idea.”
The pixie followed her line of sight. “You cannot be serious.”
“It won’t hurt just to look.”
“I am not wearing anything with ruffles or daisies or kittens. Well, maybe kittens.” Fynna crossed the street with Jessalyne and entered the children’s shop.
When they left, Fynna was wearing a new tunic, simply cut from tea-colored linen, and tied about the waist with a matching embroidered sash. She carried a bundle beneath her arm with two more tunics, one of lightweight grey wool and one of earthy green brushed cotton.
She smiled. “Thank you. But I really only needed one.”
“Nonsense. I can’t have my quartermate wearing the same thing everyday. It would bore me to tears.” She winked.
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