Heart of Fire (22 page)

“I guess this is where we part.” A
gentle smile curved her mouth as she studied his face. She raised
her hand toward him but stopped halfway, brushing an invisible
strand of hair from her eyes.

“Aye.” Words left him and he stood
quietly, unable to say much else and feeling the fool. He burned to
touch her matchless skin, to take her in his arms and kiss her
honeyed lips until she forgave him of every thickheaded, dimwitted
thing he’d ever said or done. With her at his side, he could be a
better man, he knew it. Now he would never get that chance. He
tried to read her but his roiling emotions overburdened his power.
Kiss her, you dumb ox.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her
smile fading. “Well, goodbye.” She turned to go, and he caught her
hand.

“Jessalyne...” The heat of her skin
made the breath catch in his throat. Ask her to stay. Beg
her.

“Yes?” The sun sparkled in her eyes,
setting her face aglow.

“Be well,” he mumbled, unable to get
anything else out.

Her jaw went taut and the glitter in
her eyes turned anger. “I’ll do my best.” She spun, Petal’s reins
in hand, and stalked through the castle gates.

Dragon whinnied softly and Petal
nickered back.

He watched her go, listening to the
familiar rhythm of her heartbeat, inhaling the last bit of her
perfume. An undergroom came and led the jenny off. Even from the
back she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And he was
the biggest fool to ever draw breath. A complete and utter
fool.

When she disappeared from view, he
trudged away from the gate, Dragon beside him. A familiar pain
sprang up in him, sharper than the edge of his Feyre. He was alone.
Again.

* * *

Jessalyne hardly noticed the whirl
of activity inside the castle gates. All she could think was
Ertemis. Three words! That’s all he’d said. Two, really. Saying her
name didn’t count. He must hate her. She ached for him, and he
hated her. Or perhaps his cold assassin’s heart didn’t feel
anything. She balled the fabric of her skirt in her fists. Maybe
setting something on fire would make her feel better.

She was almost to the main hall when
she stopped and ran back to the gate. She knew she must look like a
child but she didn’t care. One last glimpse, just one last look. He
would see her and smile and everything would be better. When she
got to the gate, he was gone. The edges of her vision
blurred.

She rested her head against the iron
scrolls. Why should she expect him to still be there? No one stayed
in her life for long. By now, she should be used to being
alone.

* * *

Ertemis hitched Dragon outside the
first tavern he found. He sat in a dark corner without touching the
mug of ale in front of him. He pitched his elbows on the table and
sank his head into his hands. The rhythm of her imprinted heartbeat
drummed in his ears, mocking him.

The ache inside focused his
thinking, and two things became clear. He needed to know his good
for nothing father’s name, and how to win the heart of a woman
above his birth. Only one person could provide both answers. His
lady mother.

He dug his fingers into his scalp.
Not only did he have no idea how to get there, even if he could
find it, the Elders would never let him in.

Then he recalled something his
mother had once told him about finding Elysium. “You must close
your eyes and open your heart,” she’d said. Poor directions at
best, he thought, shaking his head. Open his heart? How in
Saladan’s name was he supposed to do that? He pushed the ale away.
Blast it! Why must women complicate everything?

Chapter Ten

Jessalyne stood in the great hall of
Castle Ryght feeling invisible. Five of her cottages would not the
fill the massive space.

Mosaics covered the floor and
ceiling of the great hall, depicting scenes and people that meant
nothing to her. The walls and support pillars were of the same
blueschist granite as the exterior walls. Ornate banners hung from
the rafters, displaying the king’s crest as they swayed in the
breeze wafting through the windows around the hall’s
balcony.

So many people. Which one to talk
to? Someone must know how to find Sryka, but they all rushed by so
quickly.

“Pardon me, miss?” She approached a
young girl cleaning ashes out of one of the massive
fireplaces.

“Yes, milady?” The girl wiped at her
face but only succeeded in smearing another streak of soot across
her cheek.

“Do you know where I might find the
king’s magewoman?”

“Ya doan want her.”

“But I do.”

The girl’s eyebrows rose. “Ain’t ya
afraid of her, milady?”

“Afraid of her?” She smiled at the
poor girl. Those who didn’t understand magic were often frightened
by it. “No, I’m not afraid of her.”

The girl pointed one black finger
across the hall. “Ask the blue thing listenin’ to the troubadour.
She does Mistress Sryka’s biddin’.” The girl curtsied and went back
to shoveling ashes.

Jessalyne smiled. No one had ever
curtsied to her before. She started across the hall toward the
troubadour in search of a “blue thing”. What the girl meant, she
couldn’t imagine.

The words of his song became clearer
as she approached. He sang about how handsomely the prince of
Castle Ryght dressed. Odd. Weren’t those sorts of songs usually
about sword skills or some heroic battle won?

She stood just outside the small
crowd of lords and ladies gathered to listen. The tune was pleasant
enough, but the nobles responded with such relish she thought city
tastes were certainly different from country ones.

On the other side of the group, a
tiny blue-skinned girl huddled against the wall. Jessalyne walked
over and extended her hand to her. The girl ducked and Jessalyne
pulled her hand back.

“Did I frighten you? I’m sorry. I
only meant to introduce myself.” She smiled. “I’m Jessalyne
Brandborne of Fairleigh Grove.” She extended her hand
again.

The creature raised her head. “You
don’t mean to hit me?”

“Hit you!” Jessalyne started. “Why
would you think that?”

“Never mind, milady.” She held her
hand out as Jessalyne had done. “I’m Fynna.”

Jessalyne shook Fynna’s hand. “Nice
to meet you Fynna. You’re the first person I’ve met with blue skin.
It’s a lovely color.”

“Really? You think it’s lovely?”
Fynna smiled. “I’m a pixie. You look fey but you aren’t. Your ears
are round. They should be pointed, like this.” She tapped the tip
of her ear.

“You’re right, I’m not fey. You’re
also the first pixie I’ve ever met.” Jessalyne squinted at Fynna.
“I thought pixies had wings?”

Fynna’s mouth tightened to a hard
line. “We do. Usually. That’s another story. What can I do for you,
milady?”

“I’m looking for Mistress
Sryka.”

Fynna’s big eyes got even bigger.
“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ve come to be her
apprentice.”

“Does she know you’re
coming?”

“Yes, but I think she expected me
many years ago.”

Fynna nodded. “I’ll take word to
her. Wait here ‘til I come back and let you know what she
says.”

“Very well. Thank you.” The pixie
dashed off to a far set of steps.

* * *

Fynna took the steps more quickly
than usual. She couldn’t wait to pass this tidbit on the old crone.
An apprentice, indeed. Sryka would take one look at that beautiful
young face and turn the lady into a toad. Or something
worse.

She bounded up the last few steps.
“Mistress Sryka,” she called out.

The old woman came in off the wall
walk. “Must you shriek, Fynna? I swear you are more bother than
you’re worth.”

“Pardons, mistress. I have
news.”

“Well? Spit it out!” Sryka stared at
her.

“There is a girl in the hall who
says you might be expecting her. Something about being your
apprentice.” Fynna could not help but add, “She is quite beautiful.
And young.”

Sryka’s mouth opened slightly, her
gaze distant. “The child is here. She’s here.” Her eyes refocused
on Fynna. “Bring her here. Now!”

“Yes, mistress.” Fynna started back
down the stairs. She could not recall the last time Sryka had
looked so pleased.

* * *

Ertemis rode without really knowing
where he was going. Frustrated and disheartened by the whole day,
he stopped and dismounted near a stream. Searching through his
packs for an apple, his finger’s brushed against something
unfamiliar. He pulled the bag off Dragon’s back and dumped it out.
Four heavy suede pouches tumbled to the ground. Guilt lanced
through him at the sight of Jessalyne’s gift. Why would she do
that?

She knew he needed the money to buy
his freedom but he didn’t understand. After everything he’d said to
her and the way he’d behaved, she’d done this.

Dragon munched grass while Ertemis
sat on the bank, staring at the swirling water, feeling more
unworthy than he ever had in his life. He needed to talk to his
mother and soon.

“Open your heart. What is that
supposed to mean?” He looked at Dragon. “Do you know what that’s
supposed to mean?” Nose deep in a patch of young clover, Dragon
ignored him.

Ertemis groaned. He leaned back
against a nearby tree and closed his eyes. All he could think of
was Jessalyne. He should’ve apologized. He should’ve kissed her one
last time. His fingers curled, remembering the delicate silk of her
skin. Her heartbeat thrummed through him. The aching melody
tortured his soul. “Open my heart for what? More pain? First my
mother, now Jessalyne...”

Suddenly, his mother’s words became
clear. He knew how to find Elysium. Besides Jessalyne, the only
other heartbeat he’d imprinted was his mother’s.

He threw the saddlebags back over
Dragon and leapt into the saddle. “Dragon! Quit filling your
belly.”

Straining his senses, a sound spun
through him on a tremulous thread of hope. His mother’s heartbeat
called to him.

Hours passed and forest gradually
gave way to moor. The air softened into mist, parting to reveal a
trail winding through the marsh. He knew from his mother’s stories
what waited on the other side.

His heart hammered when the inland
sea of Lythe came into view. A long pier ran from the end of the
trail out into the water. The Ferryman lingered at the pier’s end,
waiting. Although Ertemis saw nothing but swirling brume, he knew
the isle of Elysium was there, somewhere beyond even fey
sight.

The Ferryman beckoned. Ertemis
dismounted, leading Dragon. There was no sound as they walked down
the pier, no hooves against wood, no jangling tack, not even
birdsong. It unnerved Ertemis but he remained calm. He knew the
Ferryman served as the final line of defense for the
isle.

Dragon walked onto the ferry first,
surprising Ertemis with his willingness. With both of them aboard,
the Ferryman pushed off soundlessly and they evanesced into the
rising, rolling fog.

* * *

Fynna grabbed Jessalyne’s hand.
“Come, she wants to see you immediately, milady.”

“Wait! My bags!” She scooped them
off the floor, trailing after the pixie. “Fynna, slow down! And
please call me Jessalyne.”

“Very well, she wants to see you
immediately, milady Jessalyne.”

“Just Jessalyne.”

Fynna kept tugging her toward the
stairs. “You look like the others but you aren’t.”

“What does that mean?” Jessalyne
asked, trying to keep up as they mounted the stairs.

“The other ladies are all here to
win the prince.” Fynna wrinkled her nose. “They tease me. Are you
going to tease me because I don’t want to waste time liking you if
you are.”

“I give my word, I will not tease
you.” She wondered if the steps actually ended somewhere or if this
was some of Sryka’s magic. They passed a small landing with a
single door but still kept climbing.

At last, Fynna led her into a large
room at the tower’s top. Old books, pottery jugs and little glass
jars crammed the shelves covering every available wall. What looked
like a stuffed gryphon’s foot sat next to twin crocks labeled
simply, Big and Small. A fire raged in the fireplace, boiling the
smelly contents of a caldron and warming the room
considerably.

One door, bolted shut, stood across
from another one. That door was wide open and led to the outside,
to some sort of wall walk.

“Mistress! I’ve got her!” Fynna
yelled.

Sryka walked through the open door,
wind whipping her untamed grey hair around and billowing up under
her robes making her look larger than she was.

Jessalyne tensed as the woman’s eyes
studied her. She looked down, unsure what to do.

“Shy, are we?” The old woman’s voice
rasped across Jessalyne’s skin and she met the woman’s gaze
again.