Heart of Fire (28 page)

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 plum 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?”

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 against 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.”