With a great sigh, Fert stopped foraging and explained. “My mother, Lady Fenlyck, is the daughter of the king’s sister.”
“Is that your mother there?” Jessalyne pointed a few seats away toward a broad-faced woman with elaborately coiffed red hair. Her plunging neckline dripped with faceted carnelian beads.
“You don’t know very much, do you?” Fert gave her a cold look.
Deciding she’d had enough conversation with the sanctimonious child, Jessalyne turned her attention to the scene before her. Of the low tables that ran out from the dais end to end, the center rows were filled with other lesser nobles, judging by their accoutrements. Salena and her ever-present cluster of gnats took up almost an entire table. If they noticed Jessalyne, she couldn’t tell.
The next row out held the castle guard, many accompanied by painted women who looked happy just to be in the great hall. Beyond that, an assortment of travelers and merchants filled the tables.
The last chimes rang for the evening meal and colorfully dressed jugglers strolled between the tables. Following them came a troupe of lithe tumblers. In the gallery, minstrels played a lively tune. When the tumblers reached the end of the hall, trumpeters appeared on the balcony above the dais. They announced the prince with three short bursts. He strode into the room and as if on cue, the seated guests erupted in hoorahs, stomping their feet and banging their pewter mugs.
“Is it like this at every dinner?” She asked Fert.
In the middle of wiping something onto the bottom of the table, he looked at her as if she smelled of the stables.
“Never mind,” she growled.
Waving as he made his way to the dais, Prince Erebus nodded and smiled, sucking up the adoration. Two valets scurried to pull out the prince’s chair. He stood before the cheering crowd, hands raised against the swell of the throng. At the softening of the din, he clapped his hands and announced, “Dinner is served!”
Another cheer rose as the kitchen staff came forth with platters for the head table. Wine was poured for each guest, starting with the prince.
The prince’s taster sipped the wine then sampled each dish before it was placed before Erebus. With a yea or nay, his plate was filled with the selections he chose. He looked down both sides of his table. When he saw Jessalyne, he leaned back and whispered to one of his stewards.
The steward came and bent to Jessalyne’s ear. “The prince requests you dine at his side.”
Even Fert looked interested by that bit of news.
Without waiting for Jessalyne’s assent, the steward pulled out her chair, forcing her to stand. She moved to the side as everyone shifted down a chair. The steward set Jessalyne’s goblet of wine at the now vacant spot beside the prince.
“Your highness.” She tried to smile as she sat next to Prince Erebus. As a dinner companion, Fert was infinitely more desirable.
“Jessica, how does the evening find you?” He leaned closer than necessary.
“It’s Jessalyne, your highness. I’m well. And you?” If politeness did not dictate she ask after him in return, she would not have uttered another word.
He was about to answer when a steward came forward with some pressing business and took the prince’s attention off her. She sipped her wine, looked out over the feasting and locked eyes with Salena.
Jessalyne could not believe this girl actually wanted the prince. Rage danced across Salena’s face. Jessalyne was in no mood to deal with the prince’s unwanted advances and some simpering skirt’s ill will. The girl needed something else to focus on.
Concentrating on the candelabra in the middle of Salena’s table, Jessalyne called her magic. The flames shot into the air. The girl next to Salena jumped, toppling a carafe of wine onto Salena’s gown.
The prince’s hand found her knee, distracting Jessalyne from the ensuing melee at Salena’s table. She turned to find him still in conversation with his steward. The prince’s fingers moved higher, massaging her thigh. Jessalyne cringed at his touch. Ertemis, where are you?
Maybe Ertemis was right about her virtue being required as proof of her fealty. It crushed her to think what this pretentious fop might expect of her. She would turn her back on Shaldar City before she gave Prince Erebus one shred of herself.
Chapter Fourteen
Once finished with his conversation, Prince Erebus turned to Jessalyne. This close it was easy to see he groomed himself to appear younger. Over the spicy musk he doused himself in, the scent of henna wafted from his hair.
He smiled, reminding her of a dog snarling. One of his bottom teeth was an odd yellow shade. It took her a moment to realize it was carved ivory and not a real tooth at all.
“You look lovely this evening, Jessalyne.”
An empty compliment, considering she had not changed. “This is the same gown I wore when I met you this morning, your highness.”
“Is it? Perhaps I’ll have my clothier provide you with a selection of gowns. I take great pains to ensure those around me are well taken care of.”
Since when? She’d had to buy Fynna a new tunic. “If that pleases you, your highness.”
He patted her arm and she was relived to have his hand off her thigh. “Very well, it shall be done. I will send one of my stewards into the city to take care of the matter.”
“Very kind of you, Prince Erebus.” Jessalyne saw a chance to get away. “Tomorrow will be a very full day, and I am already so tired. If your highness would be so kind, I would very much like to retire to my chambers.”
The prince’s gaze found Salena as she reentered the hall, freshly changed into a deep red gown. The neckline left no question as to what Salena considered her best assets. She met his gaze and drew her tongue slowly across her lips.
Without turning back Jessalyne, he dismissed her. “I believe I shall retire myself. I have matters to attend to in my chambers. Good evening.” He motioned for one of his stewards and pointed toward Salena while whispering something.
Unnoticed, Jessalyne slipped away and hurried up the steps to her chambers. She wanted nothing more than to scrub herself free of every trace of his touch and climb into bed. At least she could find solace in her dreams, even if the man she dreamed of was just a memory.
Morning came pale and early. Jessalyne sipped her tea while she dressed and wondered if the day would bring another skin crawling encounter with the prince.
Fynna broke Jessalyne’s reverie by poking her in the stomach.
Jessalyne swallowed quickly and set her cup down. “What was that for?”
“Are you ready to go? I’ve asked you twice and you haven’t answered me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Jessalyne gulped the rest of her tea. “Ready.”
They walked into Sryka’s chambers as they had every day for the past week, expecting lessons and chores.
“Fynna, it’s about time. I want this entire floor scrubbed with lye and then the carpets taken out and beaten. The ashes need to be shoveled out as well. If you finish that before we get back, you are to dust these shelves, but mind you do not break anything or I will take it out of your hide. Am I understood?”
Fynna cringed. “Yes, mistress.”
Sryka turned to Jessalyne. “Today you meet the king. I must attend to more pressing matters, but I will take you to his chambers first.”
Jessalyne wondered what could be more pressing than visiting the king.
“You will stay there until I return for you, understood?”
“Yes, of course.” Jessalyne tired of Sryka’s patronizing attitude. A hint of frustration crept into her voice. Sryka’s eyes narrowed but she made no comment.
They passed the guards posted outside the king’s chambers without notice. The guards seemed to want little to do with the old sorceress.
In the king’s foyer, Jessalyne admired the royal crest, inlaid in marble into the floor’s center. The room had eight sides, with six sets of double doors. The only solid walls were on either side of the main entrance and low carved benches sat ag
ainst them.
A young squire came out from one of the side doors to greet them. Sryka cut him off before he could speak. “Where’s Laythan?”
“In the king’s bedchambers, mistress.” The boy pointed toward the doors across from the entrance.
The first of the king’s inner rooms felt like it belonged in the warm, comfortable home of a wealthy scholar rather than a castle. The showiness that saturated Prince Erebus’ personal rooms didn’t exist here. King Maelthorn’s library was lined not just with books but also with objects that looked rare and expensive. The walls were covered with detailed maps of Shaldar and the neighboring realms.
Sryka trudged through the room as if she wanted to spend as little time there as possible.
When they reached an arched door at the far end of the room, Sryka stopped and rang a small crystal bell hanging from a tapestry pull.
The door opened and a simply dressed white-haired man greeted them. Jessalyne at first thought he was the king but remembered Fynna telling her the king’s ill health kept him abed.
“Here’s the king’s tonic.” Sryka handed him a stoppered earthenware jug. “The prince wishes the girl be introduced.” Sryka barked the words in such a way Jessalyne felt like she was somehow to blame for bothering the man.
The old man took the jug and adjusted the spectacles on the end of his nose. Peering through them, he nodded. “Very well. Be seated. I will fetch you when his majesty is ready for visitors.”
He gave Sryka a sideways look before closing the door. Jessalyne sensed there were few in the castle who found Sryka’s presence enjoyable.
“Who was that?” Jessalyne whispered.
“That dried bit of flesh is Sir Laythan.” Sryka almost shouted. She narrowed her eyes at the closed door and muttered something under her breath. “He’s the king’s man.”
“You mean like his steward?”
“Yes. Now sit and wait. When your time with the king is over, sit here again and I will collect you when I am finished.”
“Yes, mistress.” Jessalyne sat on the wide leather bench trimmed with age-darkened nail heads. Sryka leaned heavy on her staff as she exited the king’s antechambers.
Alone in the room, Jessalyne itched to examine the books and the maps and the curiosities filling every available space in the room. She listened for footsteps. Hearing none, she got up and tiptoed over to the nearest bookshelf.
The first book was on Ulvian mourning rituals, the second was a book of plays by an unknown author. The spine of the third was in a language she didn’t recognize. Sitting next to the volumes on that shelf was a small, hinged box made from a raven’s egg. She picked it up and, unable to contain her curiosity, opened it.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” Sir Laythan stared at her disapprovingly.
Jessalyne nearly dropped the egg box. She hadn’t heard Sir Laythan open the door. “I’m truly sorry, sir. I meant no harm.” She gingerly placed the object back on the shelf.
“Follow me.” His tone was clipped.
“Yes, Sir Laythan.”
Heavy drapes shuttered the bright sun from the king’s bedroom. It took a moment before Jessalyne’s eyes adjusted. Stale air swamped the room, both sweet and foul at the same time. Only the measured rasps of breath coming from the high curtained bed broke the quiet. Through the sheer inner curtains, Jessalyne glimpsed the propped up form of a man.
Sir Laythan stood by the bedside. “Lord King Raythus Maelthorn, Ruler of Shaldar, Right Royal Heir to its throne and Benevolent Monarch to its people, the prince wishes I present to you...” Sir Laythan looked at her, eyebrows raised as if he expected something.
Jessalyne looked at him blankly.
“Your name, child. What’s your name?” Sir Laythan sighed heavily.
“Jessalyne Brandborne of Fairleigh Grove.”
“Jessalyne Brandborne of Fairleigh Grove, your highness.” Sir Laythan pulled the inner curtains back a bit, bowed, and backed away from the bed until he reached the door and left.
The king motioned her closer with a withered hand. Jessalyne curtsied, then approached a few steps. The king looked older than Sryka but beneath the mask of age, there were signs he had once been a handsome man. The sparkle of intelligence still danced in his eyes. “Come closer. Don’t be frightened by the ravages of time.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Sire, just unsure of myself. I’m unused to courtly ways. I don’t wish to make a dunce of myself.”
He smiled softly. “Fairleigh Grove is most beautiful. Deep in the southern valleys of the Wyvers, is it not?”
Amazed the king knew of her home, Jessalyne took a step closer. “Yes, your highness, it is. Have you been there?”
“I passed through there once as a boy, traveling with my mother. She took me all throughout Shaldar. She thought it important I know the land I would someday rule.”
“A wise woman.”
“Yes, she was. Taken from me too soon. She died birthing my twin sisters.”
Jessalyne felt a twinge of familiar pain. “How old were you, Sire?”
“Not yet twelve years of age.” The pall of longing clouded the king’s face.
“I lost my mother when I was a child also. The pain never really leaves.”
King Maelthorn nodded, still lost in memory.
“I should leave you, your highness. I don’t wish to wile away your day with casual chatter.”
“Casual chatter is something I’ve not had the pleasure of in many ages, child.” He smiled. “I was beginning to fear my son’s taste in women ran only to the gossipy skirts he’s paraded past me these last few years now. You’re a welcome change.”
Jessalyne furrowed her brow. “Your highness, it’s not my place to correct you, but I’m not here to win your blessing as a bride for your son. I’m here as mage-apprentice to Mistress Sryka.”
The king’s face fell. “Unfortunate news. Nonetheless, you are the first bright spot in my day for quite some time.”
“You might have more bright spots if you let some sun into this room.” Jessalyne slapped her hand over her mouth too late to stop the brash comment. “Forgive me, your highness.”
The king chuckled. “Despite what my physicians say, I think you’re right. I doubt the sun could speed the inevitable any more than fate allows.” He tugged the bell pull hanging next to the bed. Sir Laythan appeared through the door.
“Laythan, open those drapes and windows and bring a chair for my guest.”
Arching one eyebrow, Laythan hesitated. “But your physicians, your highness—”
“Blast the physicians. I want sunlight and fresh air.”
“Yes, Sire.” Laythan did as the king requested and the room took on the golden hue of the sun filtering in. Jessalyne inspected the space as the warm light revealed what the gloom had kept hidden. Bookshelves and curiosities lined the walls just as in the outer chambers. The jug Sryka brought sat on a table near the king’s bed, a small mug next to it.
Laythan brought the chair from the king’s desk and set it next to the bed. Jessalyne nodded her thanks. “Have you read all these books, King Maelthorn?”
“Tell me your name again, child. My mind is not what it once was.”
“Jessalyne, Sire.”
“Lovely name. Yes, Jessalyne, I have read all these books. Some many times over.” He clasped his hands together. “Age does terrible things to the memory. I can remember things that happen in my youth as though they occurred yesterday and yet things just discussed slip from my mind like water over a fall.” He reached for the mug on his side table, took a sip and grimaced
“You don’t care for Mistress Sryka’s tonic?”
“It’s an awful, vile tasting concoction. She assures me it’s the only thing giving me strength. My physicians agree but in truth, they would rather face Saladan himself than argue with Sryka.”
“If it tastes as bad as it smells, you have my sympathy.” Even as the opened windows brought in fresh air, the
stench lingered.
She sat and talked with the king until he began to grow tired. Laythan insisted the king rest and he agreed, bidding Jessalyne farewell but not before insisting she return the next day to talk with him some more.
Laythan escorted her to the bench outside the bedchamber. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I incorrectly assumed you were another one of the prince’s women. It was good to see the king happy and I have you to thank, so, my apologies.”
“I have met some of the prince’s women.” She grinned. “Don’t apologize, I would feel the same way.”
Laythan smiled. “I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow then. There is one thing you should know, however.”
“Yes?”
“The king sometimes...loses his place in time as it were. He slips back into the days of his youth, thinking the past is really the present. If it happens, don’t be alarmed. It usually passes quickly. He’s a good man and with him goes the end of an age, I fear.” Sorrow lit Laythan’s eyes as he gazed back toward the bedroom.
“I can tell he’s a good man. As are you for keeping his interests at heart.” She sat on the bench. “I will wait here for Mistress Sryka and not touch anything.”
“Until tomorrow then.” With a chuckle, he added, “Touch anything you want.”
“Thank you. Until tomorrow.”
Laythan closed the door. Jessalyne leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes and wondering what it would be like to be the king’s age. The thump of Sryka’s staff woke Jessalyne from the nap she’d slipped into.
“Well?” Sryka looked at her expectantly.
“The king invited me back tomorrow.”
The old woman’s face softened and her eyes brightened. “Did he? Excellent. You may take your dinner in the garden tonight if you wish.”
“I’d like that very much.” Anything to avoid the hands of the prince. “May Fynna join me? I do hate to carry the food basket,” she added, appealing to Sryka’s need to keep Fynna subservient.
“Fine. I will send her down when I return to my chambers but she better have done her work and done it well.”
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