Heart of Fire (29 page)

“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.”

As soon as Sryka turned her back,
Jessalyne rolled her eyes. Poor Fynna.

* * *

Instead of going directly back to
her quarters, Sryka sought out the prince. She found him in his
chambers, having high tea with the usual group of insignificant
females.

“Out, all of you. I must speak with
the prince alone.” She glared at the pouting lot of them, daring a
retort to pass their rouged lips.

The girls filled out quickly and the
prince looked none too pleased. “This better be of great
importance, old woman.”

“The king met the girl today,” Sryka
said.

“So?” The prince sat with one leg
thrown over the arm of his carved chair.

Sryka held her temper, eager for the
coming days when she would ensorcell this unbearable twit and bend
him to her will. “And the king has asked her back tomorrow. It
bodes well, don’t you think?”

The prince studied his nails. “How
soon before he blesses the union so that I may be
crowned?”

“You’ve waited this long. A little
while longer will do you no harm.” You will wait until I’m ready,
you simpering fool.

“Just see that it happens. I’m tired
of waiting. I want to be king now.” The prince jumped to his feet,
causing the crystal on the table to clink.

“As do we all, your highness. As do
we all. I shall return when I have more to tell you.”

“You’re dismissed then. Stewards!
Send the women back in!” He yelled loud enough to be heard beyond
the double doors of his chamber.

The flood of women that rushed in
nearly knocked Sryka down. She held tightly to her staff until they
passed, placating herself with the thought that very soon she would
turn the whole lot of them into salamanders.

Calmer, she left the prince to his
giggling women and walked back to her quarters. It was good the
child had done so well with the king. She desperately needed the
renewal.

Soon, she would no longer have to
suffer in this weak, aged body. She would have youth and beauty and
power. Prince Erebus would be her puppet and she would be the true
ruler of Shaldar.

She made a list of the few remaining
things she still required for the incantation. The hardest to come
by would be the nails pulled from a babe’s coffin, but the
undertaker would certainly supply her with them in exchange for the
love spell he desired. The most vital ingredient of the spell was
already in the castle.

Under the blackest sky of the next
new moon, she would gather all the necessary components, speak the
ancient words and cast the spell that would begin the next phase of
her life as queen of Shaldar. She couldn’t help but snicker aloud.
Poor simple little Jessalyne, who could barely grasp the levitation
spell, had no idea what an important role she was about to
play.

Chapter Fifteen

Jessalyne waited in the scullery for
Fynna to come down. She busied herself by teaching cook a cervidae
recipe for seeded brown bread. When Fynna finally stumbled in,
Jessalyne wanted to cry.

“Fynna! You look awful!” Jessalyne
rushed to her friend’s side.

“That miserable old hag worked me to
the bone. Look at my hands!” Fynna held up her palms as Jessalyne
helped her to the bench. The skin was cracked and bleeding, the
nails torn and ragged.

Wrath blossomed in Jessalyne’s heart
against Sryka. “She cannot treat you this way. Something must be
done.”

“There is nothing that can be done.”
Fynna slumped her head on her folded arms. “I’m so hungry I could
eat bugs but I’m too tired to chew. I don’t think I can walk to the
swan pond.”

Jessalyne petted Fynna’s tousled mop
of indigo curls. “You just rest, let me take care of you.”
Fortunately, the scullery was nearly empty. Bread and pies had
already been baked and most of the staff was out tending the spits
of meat roasting over the fires in the great hall.

“Cook, may I use a few items from
your store?”

“Whatever ya need, love.” Cook shook
her head and clucked her tongue while she looked at Fynna. “Take
care of the wee one.”

“Thank you. Will you fetch Fynna a
mug of water? I need a few things from my own supplies in my
chambers.”

“Aye, I’ll fetch it myself from the
well so it’s good and cold. You go, I’ll keep an eye on the
child.”

Nodding, Jessalyne hurried out of
the room and up the length of stairs. When she returned, the mug of
water was drained but Fynna was in the same spot, head down, her
arms crossed in such a way that her ravaged palms faced
up.