Heart of Fire

by Kristen Painter

  “There’s no binding spell, you dimwit. Erebus will witness you taking the Oath of Amity as Jessalyne and then he’ll leave, thinking as you do that your powers must be bound so he may safely bed you. In truth, I shall cast a spell of renewal.”

  She extracted a stoppered vial of ashes from her pocket. She tossed the cork aside and shuffled around the crystal circle, spilling the powder over it. “Ring of ashes all around, now fire within is fire bound.”

  She smiled. “I was a little surprised when Erebus told me of your encounter in the hallway, but fire is a simpleton’s trick. You couldn’t master even the novice level skills I tested you with at the castle.” She gestured toward the circle of ashes. “Try your fire tricks again and this ring will ignite, burning you alive.”

  “Soon my spirit will leave this worn out shell and come to reside in your young tender flesh. Of course, it may take a while for your spirit to surrender, but I’m prepared for that. Not only am I a much stronger mage than you but I am much smarter.”

  The desire to set Sryka aflame pulsed through Jessalyne. “I refuse to take the Oath. I’ll tell Erebus what you have planned. I’ll fight you with every scrap of power I can muster or I’ll die trying.”

  Sryka shook her head. “No, you won’t. You’ll be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

  “Give me one good reason why,” Jessalyne sneered.

  Reaching beneath her robes, Sryka pulled out a glowing lunestone pendant. It swayed in her decrepit hand. “The dark elf approaches. If you don’t do as I command, I’ll do to him what the midwives should have done ages ago.”

  * * *

  Ertemis sunk down onto the hardscrabble, ignoring the shards of stone pressing into his knees. She was not dead. He would not accept that. She would have to lie cold in his arms for him to believe that.

  Gravel crunched under Valduuk’s feet as he approached, rubbing Dragon’s nose before setting his mammoth hand on his Ertemis’s shoulder. Fynna hovered nearby.

  “We can rest a moment, if you need.”

  Ertemis shook his head and stood. His voice threatened to break. “I cannot hear her heart any longer.”

  Tears welled up in Fynna’s eyes. “What does that mean?”

  Gruffer than he meant to be, Ertemis snapped, “I don’t know.”

  Fynna swallowed and pointed to his hand. “But...”

  Ertemis glanced at Jessalyne’s dagger still clenched in his fist. The lunestone shone intensely. He lifted the dagger and turned it in all directions until the stone burst forth lighting up the night around them. His gaze followed the line of the dagger. Sharpening his vision, he recognized what lay ahead.

  He pulled the cloth from his face and inhaled deeply. “Time for this to end.”

  “Aye.” Valduuk nodded.

  “There’s an abandoned Scythian garrison ahead and from the scent of smoke in the air I’d say Erebus couldn’t bear a cold dinner.” A wicked grin curved his mouth. “Or Jessalyne’s set someone on fire.”

  Ertemis flipped the dagger in his hand and held it up to Fynna. “Here.”

  She took it, shaking her head. “I can’t make it glow.”

  “You need a weapon. Valduuk and I will try to watch out for you, but you must be able to protect yourself.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He glanced at Valduuk. “You take the old witch. I want Erebus to myself.”

  “Aye, brother, he’s all yours. And may Saladan have mercy on his soul.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The glow from the lunestone pendant lit the chamber with a cool, callous light. All Jessalyne’s anger, all her purpose, all her desire to protect herself drained away as if she had been punctured. Nothing mattered to her but Ertemis. She would do whatever Sryka bade her to keep him safe.

  Another set of footsteps sounded in the chamber, but Jessalyne didn’t bother to look. She didn’t care. Once she took the oath, this would all be over. Salena’s voice echoed in the chamber. She sounded overly pleased to be helping Sryka. Her jubilant tones pricked Jessalyne like needles in her skin.

  Shutting Salena out, she searched for some thought to take her away from the dank chamber. With no idea if it was day or night, she wondered if Ertemis was back from Elysium yet. Did he know what had happened to her? By the time he found her, if he found her, she’d be wed to Erebus and possessed by Sryka. A lone tear slanted down her face. No. No crying. That would solve nothing.

  She called out to him, not knowing if he heard her but needing to talk to him, to warn him of what lay in wait for him. More than anything, she wanted to see his face and touch his midnight velvet skin. Wrapped in his imagined arms, she felt his illusory kisses on her face, skimming her broken lip and soothing the pain away. She could almost feel his throaty growl resonating against her skin.

  A gentle, soothing heat radiated through her. He would come, wouldn’t he? She resolved to fight until she saw his face one last time, heard his voice, and told him she loved him.

  “Get her up.”

  “I don’t want to touch her,” Salena whined. “I saw what she did to Prince Erebus.”

  “You silly twit. I bound her with acacia ashes. She’ll fry herself if she creates fire in that ring now.”

  With a great martyred sigh, Salena grabbed Jessalyne by the shoulders and hoisted her up. As soon as she was upright, Jessalyne hissed at the girl as she had at Erebus. Salena stumbled back, knocking a few of the crystals askew.

  “Clumsy girl,” Sryka screeched.

  Jessalyne squared her gaze through the opening in the circle and gathered her power to give the girl a good scare. She summoned a bolt of cold fire and sent it in Salena’s direction. The blast exploded off the floor in front of Salena and she stumbled, thumping her head against the stone as she fell.

  Sryka hurried toward Jessalyne, nudging the crystals back into place with her staff. She ignored Salena, motionless on the floor. “Keeping the best for last, are you?” She smiled. “I have always wanted inborn powers. Fire will do nicely.”

  Jessalyne’s body trembled with the flow of power. She glared at the woman. “I hope you blow yourself to bits.”

  “Now, now. It will all be over shortly.” She glanced at Salena. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I hate to climb stairs and now I have to fetch Erebus myself.”

  When she returned with Erebus, his hands and mouth were smeared with grease. Jessalyne smirked at the thought of how it must aggravate him to look so unfashionable.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He looked highly uncomfortable and kept his distance from Jessalyne.

  “Your darling Salena doesn’t seem very interested,” she teased. Even so, she cringed at the thought of hurting someone with her power.

  “Shut up, witchling,” he growled. “If you were as replaceable as she, you’d feel the extent of my wrath.”

  “Wrath? You don’t know wrath until you’ve raised the blood of dark elf.” She smiled her sweetest smile. “You do know he’s on his way, don’t you?”

  His eyes widened as Sryka seethed. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Didn’t Mistress Sryka inform you? Pity. If I knew a creature called the Black Death was coming for me, I’d want a little time to prepare.” She shrugged. “Oh well.”

  Erebus clenched his fists, only to howl at the fresh pain. “Witch, why didn’t you inform me?”

  Sryka frowned. “She’s lying. He isn’t coming. He doesn’t know where we are. How would he find us in the wastelands of Scythe?”

  “The Oath. Now,” Erebus demanded.

  Sryka nodded, glaring daggers at Jessalyne as she handed her a sheet of parchment. “Read this aloud.”

  Jessalyne read the first line to herself. “If I read this I’ll be a liar.”

  Erebus unsheathed his short sword, groaning at the torment it caused. “Read it or so help me, I will sever your fingers one by one until you do.”

  With a catch in her throat, Jessalyne read the words. “I, Jessalyn
e Brandborne, take this oath of amity by my own free will. On this day I vow to serve my king blamelessly as his mage, to protect him from harm and be his shield.”

  “I denounce all powers and magics, swearing never to invoke such against my king, using them only as he commands and only for his good. I promise this with my heart and mind in like accord.”

  Sryka blew a pinch of white powder at her and she sneezed. The split in her lip bled anew.

  “It is done.” Sryka turned to Erebus. “Be gone and I shall send her to you when her powers are bound.”

  “See that you are quick about it. We return to Shaldar immediately.”

  Sryka waited to speak until he had retreated up the stairs. “So many years I have waited to perform this spell, more years than necessary thanks to your selfish mother. I worried she would keep you longer than agreed, and I was right.”

  “She didn’t try to keep me. She died when I was young and my father hid her instructions.”

  “I knew she would die when you were still a child, but I thought she would last long enough to see you on your way to me.”

  “You knew she would die young?” Pain laced Jessalyne’s words.

  “She wanted too much. She knew such strong magic came with a price.”

  “What did she want from you?” Even Sryka’s bitter memories of her mother seemed sweet.

  “The homely creature wanted a husband and a child. I taught her how to cast the glamour for beauty so she could find a man who would marry her. I gave her fertility potions and she drank them down like summer wine. When she told me she had nothing to pay me with, I made her promise her child would serve as my apprentice. She was easily beguiled. She drank the last few potions without even asking what they were.” Sryka snickered.

  “What were they? What did you do to her?”

  “Your concern is touching albeit late. You should thank me for those final draughts. They made you what you are. One to give you gifts from the earth, another to enhance that gift. One to ensure your appearance surpassed that of your mother and father. I can only imagine what he must look like. Another to brighten your mind and the last to make you hale and hearty.”

  Sryka laughed. “Everything you are, you are because I made you that way. Now, enough of this chatter. It’s time for you to fulfill the destiny you were born to.”

  Numb, Jessalyne nodded. She barely felt Sryka prick her finger with a needle and catch a few drops of blood in vial before unlocking her wrists. Her hands fell to her sides and feeling rushed back into them with a sharp prickle of sensation. The pain freshened her awareness. Sryka began the ritual.

  With the same needle, Sryka pricked her own finger, dripping the blood into the vial with Jessalyne’s. She corked the vial and set it down before pulling a book and several small pouches from her robes. The black leather-bound grimoire was a twin to the one left behind in the armoire. She opened the book and began reading out loud in a tongue Jessalyne had never heard. From the first pouch, she took three small nails, drawing runes in the air with them as she spoke.

  Jessalyne’s vision narrowed, closing down until everything seemed far away. She squinted; trying to watch what Sryka did next. Whatever came out of the next pouch was too small for her to see. Sryka drew in the air with it as well. A low whine filled Jessalyne’s ears until she could no longer hear Sryka’s voice.

  The room tilted. She fell forward and caught herself with her still tingling hands. A feeling of lightness filled her. She tried to grip the stone floor but the sense of floating overwhelmed her. Her mind reeled as images from her life flared and faded away. She cried out. Her spirit was being sucked out of her.

  The thought enraged her and she fought back. Struggling to hold on to her memories, she focused on Ertemis. She called to him over and over. Her voice echoed in her head, the sound flattening and washing over her as her fireball had earlier. The circle was holding in her pleas.

  Her sight almost gone, she reached forward and found a crystal. Just beyond it, her hand brushed through the line of ashes. Pushing the crystal aside, she scoured the floor and opened a hole in the ring.

  Tipping her head back, she gathered breath for one last plea and screamed Ertemis’s name.

  * * *

  “She’s here.” The relief sweeping through Ertemis was short-lived. “I hear her heart again, but the rhythm is wrong, echoing, almost double.” He gestured to Valduuk and Fynna. “You take Erebus. Hold him until I secure Jessalyne.”

  Ertemis motioned with two fingers up a flight of steps. Valduuk responded with a turn of his fist and disappeared up the stairs, Fynna close behind.

  The dark elf honed in on his beloved and entered a narrow hall. The garrison reeked with the stench of death. The Scythians had suffered great losses at the hands of the Akuza invaders. He had seen the atrocities with his own eyes. The bloodscent revived images better forgotten and tightened the muscles in his jaw. He reached for the hilt of his sword. The cold metal comforted him.

  From the sounds above him, he surmised Valduuk was upholding his end of the mission. Erebus shrieked like a woman. Farther down, the hall narrowed and turned. He followed it, eager to get to Jessalyne. Ahead, pale light slipped out around the edges of a door. Flakes of rust beneath the heavy iron latch and hinges were evidence the door had been recently used.

  He would have to be quick. With so much rust, the hinges would protest and any chance for surprise would be lost. Steeling himself for what he might find, he drew his sword and wrenched the door back, tearing it loose from its top hinge. He flew down a set of stairs, barely touching them as he descended.

  In a cell ahead of him, Jessalyne huddled on her hands and knees on the filthy stone floor. Her head hung down, her beautiful moonlight hair, disheveled and dirty. The ground around her was littered with crystals sparkling in the lantern light.

  “Jessalyne,” he roared as he barreled through the cell door.

  She lifted her head.

  The sight renewed his rage. Her ring and pendant were gone. A purple bruise marred her pale cheek. Trickles of dried blood trailed from her mouth. Her gown was torn and stained. Recognition flickered in her eyes as she focused on his face. Her face contorted as she struggled to speak.

  “Ertemis.” A whisper so soft only his ears could have heard it.

  “I’m here, lelaya.” He knelt beside her, his hands shaking with outrage at what had been done to her. She moaned as he cradled her in his arms. He gently brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was so cold.

  She opened her mouth to speak but a spasm tore through her, stiffening her body. Pain veiled her face, changing her expression into that of a stranger.

  “So you came after all, elfling?” Her voice was strong but edge with bitterness. Not the Jessalyne he’d ever heard before.

  “Of course, sweeting. Did you think I wouldn’t?” His brow wrinkled as he studied her. She was Jessalyne, and she wasn’t.

  She laughed, a dry rasping sound. “Love has made you weak.”

  Her eyes lost their focus. She went slack in his arms. Another grimace of pain twisted her mouth. She grabbed hold of the edge of his cloak.

  “Sryka’s in me…”

  “I don’t understand,” he shook his head.

  “Listen,” she gasped, another spasm shaking her.

  Opening his senses, he did as she asked. Pushing everything else aside, he listened to her, to the rush of her blood, the scrape of air through her lungs, the throbbing of her bruises. And then the echoed heartbeats, one gaining in strength, one diminishing. The latter was Jessalyne’s. If Sryka had indeed possessed her, the crone was winning.

  “Nay…this cannot be.”

  The intruder in his arms sneered at him. “But it is, halfling.”

  He shook her, desperate to help but not knowing how. “Jessalyne, fight her. You are stronger than she’ll ever be.”

  A low moan parted her lips and the woman he held was Jessalyne once again. With his cloak, he gently wiped dirt from her face.
>
  “Kiss me,” she breathed.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Please.” Her grip on his cloak loosened and her hand slipped down his chest.

  Pulling her close, he embraced her mouth with his. Her lips were cold and still beneath his press. Tears wet his face as he feathered kisses across her bruised skin, whispering her name as he drew breath, pleading with her to respond.

  “Not like this,” he moaned. “Fight her, Jessalyne.”

  Her eyelids fluttered at the sound of her name. “Kiss me,” she whispered again, her face a storm of emotion as the battle within her seethed.

  He bent closed the distance between them and kissed her again as tenderly as he could. Her lips parted slightly. The delicate response quickened him. She nodded and he imagined the beginnings of a smile.

  Abandoning his timid approach, he captured her mouth and savored it like rare fruit, suckling their sweetness. Her hand grasped his arm, her touch assuring him, urging him on. Her lips warmed in answer to his kiss.

  She squeezed his arm and cried out as another spasm stiffened her. Her head snapped back and her eyes flew open. A mask of anger altered her gentle expression. Her mouth twisted as she spoke.

  “Get away from me, mongrel!”

  “You will not win her, hag.” He lifted Jessalyne’s hand and kissed her fingers. The warmth building in her spurred him on. He pressed her palm against his cheek. “I love you, Jessalyne. You are the bravest woman I’ve ever met. Come back to me.”

  The mask dissolved and her dulcet tones answered him. “You found me…” She smiled weakly. “Kiss me again, my love…”

  Without hesitation he reclaimed her mouth, passionately meeting her demands. Her building heat seeped through his clothing, mingling with the fire already burning inside him. Her tongue danced against his. She slid her hand up his arm, cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer with new strength.

  They fed from each other, hungry to salve the pain of separation, eager to find comfort in the love that bound them. The desperation of their kiss became satisfaction. Heat curled off Jessalyne in waves. She tried to pull away, but he refused to let go. He would not lose her again. “Don’t fight it.”