Heart of Fire (24 page)

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.