“So would the houseboys but Mistress Wenda makes them. I’d think anyone who spends as much as you on fancy soap would want to put it to good use.”
“Not like that.” Jessalyne changed into her nightrobe. Out of habit, she lit the bedside lantern with a nod.
Fynna clapped her hands. “Do that again!”
“I didn’t mean...you must keep this between us, like the healing.”
“But that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but...” Jessalyne wasn’t sure how to put into words the reluctance she felt to let Sryka know the extent of her gifts. Silliness, that’s all it was.
“You don’t want her to know, do you?” A wise grin played on Fynna’s lips.
Jessalyne shook her head, feeling shamed at the admission.
“I understand, trust me. If I know anything about the old bat it’s that if she can’t benefit, she won’t bother.” Fynna winked. “This pixie’s lips are sealed.”
At firstlight, Jessalyne went to the scullery and begged two pails of water off cook. She carried them back upstairs, and after a wave of her hand, she and Fynna washed with the hot water and orange blossom soap.
“I prefer to soak in a tub but clean is clean.” Jessalyne wrung out the linen square she had used to scrub herself with.
“This soap is so much better than cook’s lye and ashes concoction.”
“Lye and ashes? No wonder the houseboys hate to bathe. I’ll give cook a better recipe.”
Fynna pitched the dirty water out the window before Jessalyne could stop her. “Fynna!”
“Everyone does it. Well, everyone who hopes Salena is down below.” She giggled.
Jessalyne rolled her eyes as she finished dressing. “Sryka’s waiting. Try to be on time today, I want to eat dinner in the garden again.”
“Me, too.” She pulled her tunic over her head and tied the sash. Wisps of blue hair stuck out in every direction. “Ready!”
The days passed quickly and Jessalyne fell into a routine of mornings and afternoons with Sryka learning as much magical knowledge as she could, sunset dinners in the garden by the swan pond, and nights filled with dreams of Ertemis.
On the eve of Jessalyne’s meeting the prince, they dined on bread bowls brimming with barley stew and honey-glazed apricot turnovers. In trade for Jessalyne’s soap recipe, the meals cook fixed for them achieved new heights of deliciousness. Fynna sucked the stickiness off her fingers while Jessalyne rinsed hers in the pond.
“Are you nervous about meeting Prince Gropes-a-lot?”
“Calling him that doesn’t help, Fynna.” Jessalyne sat next to her friend, both of them watching the play of colors in the sky as the sun descended.
“Sryka sure has done a good job of keeping you from crossing his path this week. Between eating up your hours with all that study to no dinners in the hall...” Fynna shifted. “I wonder why she doesn’t want you to see him.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want him to see me.”
Fynna looked sideways at her. “Could be. You do look a little—”
“Elven—I know. You commented on that when we met. Besides, I’ve heard it before.”
“From who?” Fynna sucked a bit of parsley out of her teeth.
“You ask a lot of questions.” Jessalyne leaned forward, resting her chin on her bent knees.
“I would ask less if you would answer more. I can’t help it. Pixies are very curious by nature. So tell me, what are you hiding?”
Jessalyne whipped her head around. “What does that mean?”
“You keep secrets.” Fynna shrugged. “But they’re yours to keep.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You moan in your sleep. You daydream constantly, rolling that pricey pearl between your fingers. Please, before it kills me, tell me about the man you bought the shirt for?”
“I can’t.” Jessalyne shook her head.
“I am very good at keeping secrets.”
Jessalyne sighed. “You must swear to keep it.”
“I swear on my wings, I won’t tell a soul.”
“He’s not the monster people think he is. Well, he was, but he isn’t anymore. I don’t know if he can turn into a crow, I never saw that, but I swear he would never eat a newborn babe. Although he does like to eat.” Eyes on the sunset, Jessalyne took solace in correcting Fynna’s misconceptions about the dark elf. Smiling, she added, “And he’s a wonderful kisser.”
Silence greeted her. She turned to look at Fynna. The pixie stared back, mouth open, wide blue eyes topped by raised eyebrows.
“You wanted to know.”
“Are you talking about who I think you’re talking about?” She whispered. “The Black Death?”
“Please don’t call him that. His name is Ertemis.”
“Oh my oh my...”
“You’re babbling, Fynna.”
“Did you see him kill anyone? How did you meet? Is the rhyme true? Well, no, you probably wouldn’t know that. Or maybe you would. What does he look like? Is he handsome? Does he have sharp teeth?”
“I saw him kill…a water serpent.” She refused to further color Fynna’s idea of Ertemis with the tale of how he’d dispatched the bandits. “How we met is a long story for another time. As for what he looks like, he is very handsome, well-muscled, and tall. His skin is the color of soot, but with a sheen like this pearl. His eyes are black ringed with silver and I could stare into them endlessly. And his lips...they’re very soft.”
“You definitely kissed him?”
“More than once.”
The pixie hopped up and down. “What was that like?”
“It was a magic all its own.” Jessalyne let out a delighted sigh and laid back on the ground, arms crossed beneath her head for a pillow. Through the leaves of the rowan trees, a few bright stars twinkled in the early evening sky.
“A magic all its own and you still don’t think you’re in love with him? Just admit it, already!”
“What good will it do me to be in love with a man I won’t ever see again?”
Fynna plopped down. “Why do you think that? You don’t know for sure. If he is who you say he is, he’s used to getting what he wants. If he wants you, he’ll be back. And from that bauble, I’m guessing he wants you very much.”
“I cannot think about that now.” Jessalyne hugged her knees tighter. “I meet the prince tomorrow and I’m dreading it.”
Fynna slid closer and wrapped her little arm around Jessalyne. “It will be over before you know it. Let’s head back and have some tea and finish the rest of those chocolate biscuits. Then you can go to sleep and dream about your lover.”
Jessalyne gave Fynna a good-natured shove. “Don’t call him that. Are all pixies so bothersome?”
Fynna nodded. “I thought I mentioned that.”
Jessalyne stood. “I think I will eat all the chocolate biscuits myself.”
Jumping up, Fynna put her hands together. “You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”
Hitching up her skirts in both hands, Jessalyne grinned wickedly. “If I get to them first, I will.” She took off running, Fynna close at her heels.
Panting as she ran into the room, Fynna crashed onto her bed. “If I had my wings, you would still be in the garden.”
“If I had used my magic, I could have just blinked myself up here.”
Fynna sat up. “Really?”
Jessalyne grinned. “No. But it sounded good, don’t you think?” She dodged a pillow as it flew past her head.
“I think I will beat you in a game of Fryst as soon as the tea is ready.” Fynna hopped up to fill the kettle and hang it over the glowering coals.
“Well, you can try.” Jessalyne was glad for the distraction and friendship Fynna provided. The pixie deserved more than a few new tunics and some soft sheets for her bed. She deserved her wings back.
Chapter Thirteen
Prince Erebus posed before his full-length looking glass while Sryka waited. He adjusted his
white silk tunic. A flurry of valets brushed imaginary lint from his embroidered velvet cape and polished the sapphire-crusted buckles on his goblin-skin boots. He twisted the waxed point of his dark beard one more time before waving his staff away with one heavily jeweled hand. “Out! All of you.”
Finally, the prat turned to face Sryka. “You’re sure you can get my father to bless her?”
“I’ll find a way.” Sryka wished the prince paid as much attention to the politics of state as he did to his appearance.
“I still favor you casting a spell to get him to bless Salena.” Erebus licked his lips. “She’s a very willing wench and much to my taste.”
“We have been over this, your highness. The Oath of Amity between the king and I makes that impossible. The oath serves its purpose. It has always been that way between king and mage. Besides, I have searched every grimoire and tome I possess trying to find a way to break the oath. It cannot be done.” Idiot. Sryka shifted her bones on the hard wooden seat.
“Why don’t you bind the girl’s powers now so I may bed her this evening?”
Sryka closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm. “She is not ready to have her powers bound. Once you are wed, you may do as you wish with her. All in due time, Erebus.”
* * *
Jessalyne and Fynna stood outside the carved wooden doors of the prince’s chambers. Jessalyne took several deep breaths, unready to walk through them yet.
“Remember, he needs you more than you need him.” Fynna squeezed her friend’s hand.
Smiling weakly, Jessalyne nodded. “Thank you.”
“Now go or we’ll both get into trouble. Dinner by the pond?”
Knocking loudly on the heavy doors, she whispered, “Dinner by the pond will be just what I need.”
Fynna slipped away as Sryka’s voice bid Jessalyne enter. Pushing the door wide, she did her best to look calm and confident as she entered the Prince’s private chambers. Sryka sat in a wide carved chair looking highly uncomfortable. The prince stood opposite. Jessalyne dropped into a curtsy as Sryka had instructed. “Your Highness. Mistress Sryka.”
With difficulty, Sryka eased herself out of the chair. “Lord Prince Erebus of Shaldar may I present my apprentice, Jessalyne Brandborne of Fairleigh Grove.”
Clasping her hands in front of her, Jessalyne kept her eyes focused down. She knew not to make eye contact until spoken to.
“Jessalyne.” The prince spoke her name like he was tasting a new food, testing it to see if it suited him. “Welcome to my home. Are you enjoying your stay in my fair kingdom?”
Jessalyne raised her head and looked at the man speaking to her. He was almost the same height and his dark, sparkling eyes reminded her of the water serpent. She imagined he must fancy himself a great man to wear so many jewels at once. “Yes, your lordship. Castle Ryght is a marvelous place.”
Slowly, the prince circled her. She felt like the last sweetcake on a platter set before a starving man.
“Quite lovely.” His palm grazed her backside as he walked behind her.
She gasped and almost started forward but quickly steadied herself. Heat sparked in her belly. She forced a civil response. “Thank you, your highness.”
“You look a touch fey. Have you any impure blood in your line?” He came around to face her, making no effort to hide his attempt to peer down her dress.
“No, your highness, I do not.” It took great control to keep the rising anger out of her voice. “I believe that would make me dark as night, not pale as day.”
He raised one well-groomed eyebrow. “So it would. But then, of course, you’d not have been suffered to live.”
Leaning closer, black lust flickered in his eyes as he scanned her figure, “And you are very much alive, aren’t you?”
His words crawled over her skin, making her want to retch. To her great relief, he turned his attention to Sryka. “She will do.”
Jessalyne knew she should be happy with the prince’s approval. It secured her position as mage-apprentice. But the prince looked at her in a way that made her feel worthless and ashamed to be a woman. For all his wicked ways, Ertemis had never made her feel that way.
Sryka leaned to the side to see around the prince. “You’re dismissed for the day, Jessalyne. You will dine tonight in the great hall at the prince’s table. Tomorrow your lessons start anew. That is all.”
Jessalyne curtsied again and ran to find Fynna. The pixie had been right about how quickly it would be over and how salacious the prince was. Did the women competing for his hand actually think his behavior acceptable? Or worse, appealing?
* * *
Fynna sat in the scullery, picking stones out of the lentils. She glanced up as Jessalyne stormed in. “Well? How was it?”
Jessalyne put a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Cook, is there anything Fynna and I might have for a picnic lunch?”
Kneading dough on the long table, the rotund woman who ran the kitchen used her elbow to point across the kitchen. “In the cold larder, there’s lots of pickles, all kinds of breads and cheeses, vegetable cakes, honey braids...help yerself, love. Fynna’s done a fair share of work in here today. Sneak yerself a few of them chocolate cakes if ya want. They’re for the prince’s tea but his royalness don’t really deserve them.”
“Thank you.” Jessalyne took a basket from a shelf and lined with a linen square before loading it with goodies.
Fynna set the bowls of lentils down and hung up her borrowed apron. “Thanks, cook.”
As soon as they were outside and out of earshot, Fynna asked again. “Well, what happened?”
“The man disgusts me. He looked at me like some kind of sweet to be eaten.” Jessalyne’s gait increased the angrier she got.
Fynna jogged to keep up. “Really? I didn’t think he would like you that much.”
Jessalyne shot Fynna a look.
“You’re plenty likeable! Just not what he usually goes after. For the love of Queen Menna, slow down.”
Jessalyne halted, crunching gravel under her slippers. “He ran his hand across my backside!”
Just as Fynna stopped, Jessalyne spun on her heel and started off again.
“What did Sryka say?” Fynna panted.
“Nothing. She seems to have forgotten how concerned she is with my chastity.”
“Well, he is the prince.”
“But she works for the king!” Jessalyne set the basket down in the shade of the rowans but stayed standing, her hands on her hips.
“Stupid old hag.” Fynna sat cross-legged on the ground and began setting out their lunch.
“He asked me if I had any fey blood.”
She looked up. “He did?”
“Right before he tried to look down my gown. Ugh. The man is a slug.” Jessalyne shuddered.
Fynna patted the ground next to her. “Sit. It’s over. Tell me more about your dark elf while we eat.”
“I know you’re trying to change the subject.”
“Can you blame me? You’re talking about my two least favorite people.”
“Is that also why you’re eating the chocolate cakes first?” Jessalyne laughed.
“I didn’t think you noticed that.” Fynna tried to hide half a cake in her small blue hand.
Jessalyne shook her head. “You’re too much, Fynna...you make me laugh. Thank you.”
“If you want to thank me, tell me about the kissing again.”
Still smiling, Jessalyne rolled her eyes. “Can we just eat in silence and enjoy our lovely surroundings?”
“So you aren’t going to be thinking about the kissing then?” Fynna ate the rest of the cake, then licked the chocolate off her fingers.
“Have you ever been kissed?” Immediately after Jessalyne asked the question, Fynna’s face went purple. “Fynna, what’s wrong? Are you choking?”
“Haven’t you ever seen a pixie blush before? Yes, I’ve been kissed but not in a long while. This is hardly the spot for me to find love.” She fished a plu
m cake out of the basket. “So now can I hear about the kissing?”
Leaning back against one of the tree trunks, Jessalyne obliged her. They sat talking for quite a few hours.
The evening meal chimes rung. Jessalyne jumped up. “I’m supposed to eat dinner at the prince’s table. It slipped my mind!”
Scooping the remnants of their lunch into the basket, Fynna waved Jessalyne on. “Go! You still have time before the final chime ring.”
Jessalyne burst into the scullery, barely noticed by the bustling staff. She took a moment to blot the beads of perspiration off her lip and brow with a nearby apron.
She must smell awful. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, since she had to sit at the prince’s table. She grabbed a stem of rosemary from the cook’s herb jar anyway and crushed in her hands, then rubbed her hands over her neck and hair. Straightening her skirts, she felt ready for whatever came next. Mostly.
Everything about the great hall at dinner overwhelmed her. So many people going in every direction, so much clatter. Each platter carried past by the kitchen staff wafted new smells.
Three long tables sat on a dais at one end of hall. From the finely carved chairs to the crystal goblets, it was obvious the tables were reserved for royalty and their noble guests. The center table, although decked in the king’s colors, had no one at it. The left table held only a few elder noblemen. The right table was full of people, most of who seemed to be busy looking important. Jessalyne thought a preening bunch like that could only be seated at the prince’s table.
Of the few seats left, she had no idea which one she should take. Deciding the one furthest away would be most to her liking, Jessalyne sat in the very last one, next to a young boy in noble dress.
“Greetings.” Jessalyne did a small curtsy to cover her general bewilderment of the whole situation.
Busily rummaging in his left nostril with one finger, he stared at her. “Who are you?”
Not quite the response she expected. “I’m Jessalyne, mage apprentice to Mistress Sryka.”
The boy inspected his fingertip before shoving the digit up his other nostril. “I’m Fert.”
As she sat next to the little monster, she took comfort that his poor manners had kept him from offering a hand in greeting. “Are you related to the prince?”
Heart of Fire Page 19