Heart of Fire

by Kristen Painter

  “Tending your horse. He’ll be in shortly. You’ll keep him from danger, won’t ya? He’s all I have since my son passed.”

  “You have my word he won’t be in harm’s way.”

  The cottage door opened. “Good morning, master elf. Grams, there were only two eggs.” Brynden set them on the counter and sat next to Ertemis. “Dragon’s fed and watered. He ate three portions of oats.”

  “That horse bears the soul of a fat man.” Ertemis emptied his bowl. “Brynden, I want to hire you as my squire. Temporarily.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really?” He glanced at Magda and quickly hid his excitement. “I can’t. I have duties here. I’m sorry.”

  Magda patted Brynden’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Yer chores’ll wait.”

  “Thanks, Gram.” He smiled. “When do we leave?”

  Ertemis leaned back. “After you bathe.”

  Brynden frowned. “Truly?”

  “Aye! Being next to you is like standing downwind of a sty. Mistress Magda, has the boy any other clothes?”

  “We ain’t city folk. We wear what we got.” She furrowed her brow. “Wait.” She went behind the curtain, then reemerged with clothing draped over her arm.

  “These were Brynden’s father’s. I imagine they should fit him now.” On the bed where Ertemis had slept she laid a slightly worn cloak of navy wool and a simple cotton shirt and trousers in pale grey. “Will those do?”

  Ertemis nodded. “Very well. Very well indeed.”

  With Brynden mounted on Dragon beside him, Ertemis entered Shaldar City for the second time. Even with Brynden playing decoy, Ertemis took great care to keep himself covered with his cloak and used his magic to make himself insignificant to any eyes that found his face.

  He glanced up. The boy had certainly taken to his role as knight-in-training. Ertemis’s sword hung at his side. Brynden had yet to take his hand from the hilt.

  Holding tight to Dragon’s reins, Ertemis opened his mind, listening for the familiar sounds of a tavern. Following them, he led them away from the bustle of the main streets and into a less crowded quarter.

  “Ertemis.” Brynden whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Aye?”

  “This doesn’t seem to be the best part of town.”

  “Exactly what we want.”

  “It is?”

  “Aye. I want to be noticed as little as possible. Blending in is out of the question, but in the lesser parts of town, people have their own worries and aren’t as inclined to notice strangers.”

  Brynden nodded and stayed quiet.

  They found a tavern inn and Ertemis felt at home immediately. The Boot and Buckle was just the sort of place a dark elf could disappear in. He made arrangements for a room with two beds and stable space for Dragon.

  Ertemis took his pack and Brynden’s while the boy followed the innkeeper’s directions to the stable with Dragon in tow.

  The room was sufficient. Two pallets, a washstand and a fireplace were all any man truly needed. He pulled the shabby curtains back and studied the lay of the land visible beyond the window. The room was on the third floor, overlooking a back alley. The window opened easily. He would be able to come and go without notice.

  Brynden came up a few moments later, his excitement at everything going on barely contained. “Dragon’s settled in. What now?”

  * * *

  Jessalyne barely heard a word of Sryka’s lesson. She tried but there was little in the casting of runes for better crop growth that could pull her thoughts from Ertemis.

  Where was he? A brief image of him, wrapped in the arms of some tavern doxy flashed in her head. She shoved it away. Even if it were the truth, she didn’t want to see it.

  “Are you listening to me?” Sryka rapped the table sharply with her staff.

  “Yes, mistress. Forgive me, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Did that pixie keep you up?” Sryka glared at Fynna, busy in the corner polishing the sorceress’s crystals.

  “No. It had nothing to do with Fynna.” Jessalyne knew the tone of her voice was less than respectful but she didn’t care.

  “Very well. You are dismissed to visit the king.”

  Without another word, Jessalyne got up, happy to go but wishing Fynna could come with her.

  “Before you go, take the king’s tonic to him. His steward must be ill, he hasn’t been by to pick it up yet.” Sryka pulled the jug from a pouch deep inside her robes, her back to Fynna.

  “Yes, mistress.” Jessalyne took the small, stoppered jug from Sryka’s hands and turned to leave. At least her visit with the king would be a pleasant distraction. Lately she had been reading to him from a book of poems. She shot Fynna a parting glance and took her leave.

  On her walk through the castle, she again found herself thinking of Ertemis. If he didn’t come back, maybe there was a way she could send him a message. Perhaps Valduuk could help her.

  She didn’t see Sir Laythan until it was too late. He swerved to miss her, she went the same way, and they collided. Sir Laythan stumbled but stayed upright. Jessalyne fell backwards, knocking the stopper loose from the jug. The vile liquid splashed over her, staining her gown with the liver-colored tonic.

  “Ugh!” She tilted her face away from the stench rising off her dress.

  “My dear, are you all right?” Sir Laythan offered his hand even as he wrinkled his nose.

  “I’m fine, but my dress may never be the same.” She took his assistance and stood. The stain spread further.

  “I was just on my way to fetch that nasty draft myself. Jeremy’s mother had her third child last night and I granted him the day off to help her.”

  “Sryka dismissed me early and asked me to bring it.” She suppressed a gag at the sickening smell. “I must change, I cannot bear this stench any longer. I’ll return shortly.”

  She ran back to her room, ignoring the wrinkled noses and puckered faces of the people she passed. Once inside, she stripped off the gown and left it in a heap, making sure none of the stain touched anything else in the room. At least it was one of the prince’s gowns. She could care less if it was ruined.

  She selected another dress of lavender brocade trimmed in deep red and hurriedly threw it on, cinching the waist and buttoning the bodice. Gagging, she opened the window wide. Already the smell of Sryka’s tonic doused the room.

  She tucked a lavender sachet into her waist sash and crushed it to release the fragrance of the small dried flowers. She closed the door and made her way back to the king’s chambers. The guards on duty outside his doors gave her entrance without question.

  Sir Laythan was shelving a selection of books as she walked in. “Greetings again. I must say, you smell much better.”

  “Wouldn’t take much after being drenched with that awful stuff, would it?”

  “It would not.”

  “I think the king might be happy to have a day free of Sryka’s elixir.”

  “Actually, there was some left from yesterday. I already gave it to him.”

  “Oh.” Jessalyne wished his majesty never need taste the vile stuff again.

  “He’s not well today. I thought it might help. He’s lost in remembrances of the past, but I’m sure he’ll listen if you read to him. Your voice seems to soothe him.”

  She rested her hand on Sir Laythan’s arm, the pain in his eyes evidence of his love for his king. “You’re a kind man. I cannot imagine anyone serving the king better.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled and slid the last book into place. “I’m brewing a pot of tea. I’ll bring it in to you.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She squeezed his arm before entering the king’s bedroom.

  Laythan had already placed a chair next to the bed and pulled the bed curtains back. The king was propped up with pillows but he made no sign to indicate he noticed her enter. He stared blankly out the windows, mumbling quietly to himself.

  Laythan came in with the pot of tea and a mug on a tra
y. He set it on the table near the bed, glanced at the king and shook his head sadly before leaving the room.

  Jessalyne poured tea into the mug and sipped at it, but the king kept staring out the window. Not knowing what else to do, she starting reading. At the sound of her voice, the king’s mumbling ceased and a slight smile softened his face. He whispered something she couldn’t hear.

  She paused to take another sip of tea. When she looked up, the king’s eyes were fixed on her.

  “Good afternoon, your highness. How are you feeling today?”

  His dark eyes glimmered with tears, and he whispered the same word again.

  Unable to hear, she nodded and smiled.

  With trembling lips, he said it again more clearly.

  She hadn’t heard him correctly. That had to be it. She set the book down and moved to his bedside, sitting on the edge.

  “Again, your highness. Please.”

  He uttered the word once more. Disbelief filled her. It couldn’t be. How could he know that name? She took his hand in hers. He smiled again and words spilled out of him.

  “Shaylana...I knew you would come back.” He gripped her hand with surprising strength. “I’ve missed you so much. Please tell me you’ve brought our child. I think of you everyday, my love.”

  “Shaylana? You think…I’m Shaylana?” Realization swept through her with a shudder. It was too impossible to believe. She needed more confirmation.

  With the king still begging to see his child, she cried out for Sir Laythan.

  He burst through the door. “What’s wrong? Should I call the king’s physicians?”

  “Were you in the king’s employ when he attempted to form the alliance with the elves?”

  Taken back, Laythan hesitated. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Was there an elfess in the council by the name of Shaylana? An elfess the king was especially fond of?”

  “How do you know this?” Laythan’s eyes narrowed.” What sorcery have you worked on him?”

  “He got a child on her, didn’t he? And when she fled, the alliance fell apart, spoiling the blood between both kingdoms.”

  Laythan tore her hands away from the king. “How do you know this? I demand you tell me or I will call the guards and have you put out of the city.”

  “I mean his highness no harm, I swear it. He called me by her name. Shaylana. You see the pendant around my neck?”

  He nodded.

  “Her son gave it to me. Her only son. The king’s son.”

  “It cannot be,” he whispered, staring at the necklace then the king. He slumped into a chair. “Lady Shaylana sent a missive after she disappeared telling the king the halfling child had been dealt with according to custom. He cursed the elves for their intolerance.”

  “His son is very much alive.”

  “Do you know what this means?” He straightened. “This child is King Maelthorn’s firstborn son. Prince Erebus is no longer in line for the throne. There is hope yet for the kingdom. What kind of man is the king’s son? He is half-elf, of course...”

  Laythan paused as his own words sunk in. “A dark elf on the throne of Shaldar or Prince Erebus? I daresay one could be worse than the other.”

  “Ertemis is a good man, nothing like what people think. He shielded me here, kept me safe and sheltered. He knows nothing of his father. Nothing.”

  “She never told him, just as she told us the child was killed.”

  “She conscripted him to the Legions when he was a boy.”

  Laythan face blanched. “The Legions? I’ve heard tales of a creature—”

  “I don’t think most of them are true.”

  “Are you telling me the king’s firstborn is the assassin known as the Black Death?”

  She nodded. “And I love him.”

  He stared unblinking at the floor. “In truth, I always thought the tales more fiction than fact, stories told for frights and amusements...and now you tell me this creature is not only real but the king’s own flesh and blood.”

  The king grasped Jessalyne’s hand. “A son or daughter, Shaylana, please tell me...”

  “A son, named Ertemis. You would be proud of him, I think. His life has not been an easy one, but he’s made his own way.”

  The king stared out the window again, and she wondered if he’d really heard anything she said.

  Laythan looked up. “Where is this dark elf?”

  She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t know.”

  “But you love him?”

  “Yes, I’ve tried not to but I cannot help it. We quarreled and when he left he barely spoke to me. I’m sure he’s forgotten me by now.”

  “Forgotten a woman who bears such a lovely resemblance to his lady mother? I doubt that. More likely he berates himself for not finding a way to smooth things between you before he left.” Laythan stood and patted Jessalyne’s knee. “Not to worry. The Black Death is a man for hire and a man for hire cannot be too hard to find or he will never get work.”

  She brightened a bit. “I had not thought of that.”

  “This will be our secret, Jessalyne. Do you understand?”

  “But I must tell Fynna.”

  “The pixie in Sryka’s service?”

  “Yes. She’s my friend and she already knows about him.”

  “Very well, but no one else. I don’t want Sryka or Erebus learning of this.”

  She nodded. “I agree. There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

  “What is that, child?”

  “In order to be king of Shaldar, a prince must marry a woman blessed by his father, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Does that mean Shaylana was the king’s mistress? I doubt Ertemis will find that happy news.”

  Laythan shook his head. “Nay, she was not his mistress. His highness was married at his coronation, as all kings of Shaldar are, but she died in childbirth, along with the babe, about a year after they wed. The king fell into such a state of sorrow that I thought he wouldn’t recover.

  “Lady Shaylana brought laughter and joy back into his life. He truly loved her and his hope was that a successful alliance would polish the way for them to be wed. He intended she be his queen.

  “Some years after the failed alliance, he realized he must have an heir and so he wed again and Erebus was born. But it was a union born of duty, not love. She passed two summers ago.”

  Jessalyne kissed Sir Laythan’s cheek as she slipped off the bed. “Thank you. Take care of his highness. I fear this has been a bit of a shock for him. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir Laythan.”

  Ertemis was King Maelthorn’s firstborn son. Heir to the throne of Shaldar. It was almost more than she could take in. She was rounding the last few steps to the landing when she saw Fynna coming down from Sryka’s quarters.

  “You’re certainly alight with something.” Fynna hopped onto the landing.

  “I have news.” Jessalyne held a finger to her lips and whispered, “I’ll tell you inside.”

  She pushed open the door and the reek of her stained dress greeted them. “Ugh. I must throw that dress out.”

  Fynna stood in the doorway, quivering. “What...what is that?” She pointed to the stain clearly visible on the crumpled gown heaped upon the floor.

  “I bumped into Sir Laythan and spilled that foul tonic Sryka makes for the king all over my dress. Have you ever smelled anything like it?”

  Sinking to her knees beside the dress, Fynna nodded. “Yes. I have.” She picked up the gown and lifted it to her nose, inhaling where the stain was.

  “Fynna! How can you stand to—”

  “She’s poisoning him. With the dust off my wings.” Fynna shook, despair twisting her mouth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pixie wings are covered with a fine powder like butterfly wings. That’s where pixie dust comes from. Made into an elixir, it smells like the corpse flower.”

  She held up the dress. “I would know that smell a
nywhere. No wonder Sryka has taken such pains to hide the tonic from me.”

  “But you said she cannot harm him because of the Oath.”

  “She has found a way around it. In small doses, pixie dust is a powerful restorative. In large doses, it’s deadly. By giving him the elixir every day, she’s slowly poisoning him.” Fynna sobbed. “And destroying my wings in the process.”

  “Not for much longer. I have news that will change everything. Everything.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ertemis relaxed on one of the pallets, arms folded behind his head. “We wait.” He closed his eyes, ready for a nap.

  “We wait? We just got here!” Brynden muttered, his dissatisfied with Ertemis’s decision evident in his voice.

  “Just until lastlight. You’ll need to be alert later. Once I leave, I want you to keep an eye on Dragon.”

  The boy sighed as he lay on the other pallet. “Fine.”

  “Brynden?”

  “Aye?”

  “Take my sword off, please. You’re liable to slice yourself in two while you sleep. ”

  “It’s still sheathed!”

  “Take it off. Now.” Ertemis suppressed a grin. The boy’s enthusiasm was undaunted.

  With another great sigh, Brynden reluctantly took off the sword and lay quietly.

  As the boy’s breath slowly evened out with sleep, Ertemis grinned. No doubt the excitement of the day had taken its toll. Sleep would do them both good. His eyes closed, Ertemis opened his mind and found Jessalyne’s heartbeat, drawing it into his body until his heart beat in time with hers. Knowing she was so close and not being able to go to her was excruciating. He ached to hold her and kiss her. He would never leave her again. If she would have him.

  He pulled free the chain his mother had given him and studied the delicate band of gold and diamonds. It confounded him to think of himself, the infamous Black Death, actually in love. And with such a woman as Jessalyne. He moaned softly at the thought of her smooth skin.

  She would say yes. She had to. He would find them a place to live, near Valduuk perhaps. Jessalyne could work as a healer or maybe just stay home and fill their home with babes and every night he would hold her tight and inhale her intoxicating scent and remind himself that she was his. He would make sure she wanted for nothing.