Heart of Fire (26 page)

She entered, knowing how sheepish
she must look. “My apologies for my lateness, mistress. I fear the
traveling wore me out more than I realized.”

Mistress Sryka sat at the long table
that took up a great portion of the room. Thick tomes spread out
around her. She hastily shut one she’d been reading as Jessalyne
came closer.

“No harm done. Sit.” Sryka gestured
to the chair across from her.

Jessalyne did as she was
bid.

“Have you come into your powers?”
Sryka’s eyes narrowed.

“I...I have some gifts but I don’t
know their full extent.” Not a lie.

Sryka nodded. “We’ll begin your
training today. In a week’s time, if you show yourself to be as
gifted as I think you are, I will introduce you to the prince.
After all, you’ll be serving him when I am gone. Eventually, I will
perform a binding spell to bind your powers to you. Until then, I
must restate that you are to remain chaste.”

“Yes, mistress.” Jessalyne couldn’t
stop thinking about her dream.

“Are you listening to me, child?
You’ll be meeting the prince of Shaldar, the heir to the throne.
Does that mean nothing to you?” The look on Sryka’s face told
Jessalyne it had better mean something.

“Yes, of course, it will be a great
honor.” She feigned a smile.

The answer seemed to appease Sryka.
“You’ll meet the king as well, if he lives long enough. The
position of magewoman is thankless, but we serve the greater
good.”

Another knock at the door and Fynna
slipped in.

“Late as usual.” Sryka scowled. “Get
to your chores.”

As soon as Sryka turned back toward
Jessalyne, Fynna did her best silent imitation of Sryka, complete
with wagging finger.

Jessalyne pinched herself to keep
from laughing. Sryka was already on the next topic, gazing out the
open door that led to the wall walk and talking about seasons and
something else Jessalyne had not caught.

She did her best to look interested
even though her attention truly belonged to an onyx-eyed,
smoky-skinned elf.

The day passed quickly as she
learned the difference between spells and charms, incantations and
glamours, how to levitate small objects and the basics of
scrying.

“There is so much to learn.”
Jessalyne’s eyes swam from reading the cramped text in Sryka’s
books.

“That’s enough for today. Put the
books away before you go.”

“Thank you, mistress.” Jessalyne
started shelving the multitude of volumes on the table.

“Have Fynna bring your dinner up to
you. I would prefer you not take your meals in the hall just yet.
For your own safety. I don’t want the men in the castle chasing
after you like rutting dogs. Understood?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Very well. Tomorrow morning
then.”

Jessalyne nodded and finished
shelving the last few books, glad to be done. She couldn’t
concentrate any longer. A walk in the gardens might be just the
thing to clear her head, but she didn’t want to leave Fynna behind.
“Mistress Sryka, may Fynna go too? I have some things that need
mending.”

Fynna shot Jessalyne an odd
look.

“Very well.” Sryka didn’t look up
from the herbs she was sorting.

Jessalyne winked at Fynna, and the
two made their way down to their quarters.

“For a moment, I thought Sryka was
rubbing off on you,” Fynna said.

“I didn’t want you to get stuck up
there for the rest of the night. Besides, I want to walk in the
gardens, and I hoped you would come with me.”

“I would love that! We should stop
by the kitchens. I bet cook will give us a basket dinner so we can
eat outside.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Especially
since Sryka doesn’t want me dining in the great hall.” Jessalyne
rolled her eyes. “She seems to think the castle’s male population
will find me irresistible.”

As they headed to the kitchen, Fynna
nodded. “The old witch might actually have something
there.”

Blooming with fragrant flowers, the
gardens delighted Jessalyne. She named all the flowers and herbs
she knew for Fynna. They walked the maze of rosemary hedges,
inhaling the spicy woodsy scent. Near one of the large ponds they
found a shaded spot. They sat and spread out their meal.

Jessalyne smoothed a linen napkin
over her lap. “This is really lovely. I’m glad you came
along.”

“I’m glad you got me away from
Sryka. I hardly ever get to come out here. These gardens are the
only good thing Prince Erebus has done, even if they are just to
impress the women that cluster around him.”

“I’m supposed to meet him in a
week’s time.” Jessalyne took a bite of cheese.

Fynna looked aghast. “What?
Why?”

“Sryka thinks the future king should
meet his future mage.”

“And she’s worried about the rest of
the castle’s men? Hah! The prince is the one she should be worried
about. They don’t call him the Prince of Hands for
nothing.”

Jessalyne’s appetite waned. “The
Prince of Hands?”

“I’m sure he won’t bother you,”
Fynna reassured her. “His tastes run to a very different sort of
woman, more like Salena and those twits.”

Jessalyne wanted to believe her but
the seed of apprehension sprouted.

Fynna changed the subject. “Look!”
She pointed to the pond. “The swans are out.”

A pair of elegant gray birds sailed
across the still water, rippling the pond’s surface with swirling
eddies.

“I’ve never seen swans before.
They’re so beautiful.” An unnamed yearning wrapped around
Jessalyne’s heart.

“Swans mate for life,” Fynna
said.

Jessalyne followed the feathered
beauties as they glided side by side. A thought occurred to her,
and she turned to Fynna. Her voice was hushed when she spoke. “What
do you know about elves?”

“Being pixie, probably more than
most. What do you want to know?”

Jessalyne chose her words carefully.
“I’m curious why the prince thinks they are such a threat. I saw
some elves at home once. They came to the naming ceremony of a
noble’s son. They were intimidating but not in a threatening way.
They just seemed so very perfect and regal.”

“I don’t really know the whole story
of what caused the rift between King Maelthorn and the elves. As
for Prince Erebus, he just thinks any creature not human is below
him.”

Fynna continued, “I’m sure the elves
think the same of him, since they consider themselves a noble class
and rightly so, I guess, considering they hold so much of Shaldar’s
old magic. It’s said only the faerie have more.”

“The elves live on an island called
Elysium. It’s impossible to find except for them. It’s supposed to
be paradise and the source of their power. Sometimes they leave
Elysium, the males, mostly, to visit other towns, but you won’t
ever see them in Shaldar City, not since the alliance went bad all
those years ago.”

Jessalyne nodded with interest.
“That’s the only kind of elves?”

Fynna shook her head. “Well, there
is sort of another, but most folk don’t like to talk about them.
The dark elves. Born of mixing blood. The midwives that birth them
are supposed to snuff them.” She shivered. “I’ve never actually
seen one but people say there’s a few in the realm. They tell tales
about one.”

She lowered her voice and narrowed
her eyes. “They call him the Black Death, the fiercest, most
bloodthirstest assassin the Legion’s ever had.

“Skin black as night and eyes like
fire. They say he’ll kill a man for breathing wrong and that he can
turn himself into a crow at midnight. And on the night of the new
winter moon, he devours a newborn babe to renew his
powers.”

“That is absolutely not true,”
Jessalyne snapped. “He does no such things! My word, that is the
most ridiculous bunch of piffling I’ve ever heard.”

Pulling back, Fynna wrinkled her
brow. “Well, you asked! How do you know what he does and doesn’t
do?”

Jessalyne took a deep breath and
tried to calm herself. “It just sounds like foolishness. Like an
old mother’s tale. Eating babes. Really now,” she
huffed.

Were these atrocious lies what
people actually thought of Ertemis? Her heart sank as she imagined
a life plagued with such prejudice. The sudden urge to wrap her
arms around him and kiss the hurt away filled her. She closed her
eyes, wondering if she’d ever touch him again.

Leaning back against a tree trunk,
Fynna bit into a juicy slice of melon. “Just telling you what I’ve
heard. Dark elves are very dangerous creatures. Unless you’re a
woman. They’re supposed to be quite knowledgeable in other areas,
if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean. Why
are you grinning like that?”

“You know, in other areas...” Fynna
made a rude gesture with her hands.

“Fynna!” Jessalyne’s eyes widened.
“Oh my, that was uncalled for.”

The pixie fell over laughing. “You
asked!”

They finished their meal, and
watched the sunset unfurl in ribbons of lilac and coral before
heading back to their quarters.

“Tomorrow is bath day.” Fynna
flopped onto her bed.

“Wonderful! What time will the tub
be brought up?” Jessalyne asked.

Fynna shot her an odd look. “We bath
in the scullery.”

“You cannot be serious. In front of
everyone?”

“Behind a screen, silly. I’ve got
the feeling you’ll get to go first, if Sryka has anything to say
about it. And she does.”

“I don’t want to interrupt the
normal routine. I’ll bathe in whatever order works
best.”

“Trust me, you do not want to bathe
after the houseboys. Especially during the summer months.” She
wrinkled her nose.

Jessalyne stared, unsure she fully
understood. “Do you mean we share the same bath water?”

“Of course! What did you think I
meant?”

“That is disgusting! I cannot bathe
in someone else’s dirty water.”

Fynna shrugged. “Unless you suddenly
become nobility, you better get used to it.”

“I would prefer not to bathe,
then.”

“So would the houseboys but Mistress
Wenda makes them. I’d think anyone who spends as much as you on
fancy soap would want to put it to good use.”

“Not like that.” Jessalyne changed
into her nightrobe. Out of habit, she lit the bedside lantern with
a nod.

Fynna clapped her hands. “Do that
again!”

“I didn’t mean...you must keep this
between us, like the healing.”

“But that’s what you’re here for,
isn’t it?”

“Yes, but...” Jessalyne wasn’t sure
how to put into words the reluctance she felt to let Sryka know the
extent of her gifts. Silliness, that’s all it was.

“You don’t want her to know, do
you?” A wise grin played on Fynna’s lips.

Jessalyne shook her head, feeling
shamed at the admission.

“I understand, trust me. If I know
anything about the old bat it’s that if she can’t benefit, she
won’t bother.” Fynna winked. “This pixie’s lips are
sealed.”

At firstlight, Jessalyne went to the
scullery and begged two pails of water off cook. She carried them
back upstairs, and after a wave of her hand, she and Fynna washed
with the hot water and orange blossom soap.

“I prefer to soak in a tub but clean
is clean.” Jessalyne wrung out the linen square she had used to
scrub herself with.

“This soap is so much better than
cook’s lye and ashes concoction.”

“Lye and ashes? No wonder the
houseboys hate to bathe. I’ll give cook a better
recipe.”

Fynna pitched the dirty water out
the window before Jessalyne could stop her. “Fynna!”

“Everyone does it. Well, everyone
who hopes Salena is down below.” She giggled.

Jessalyne rolled her eyes as she
finished dressing. “Sryka’s waiting. Try to be on time today, I
want to eat dinner in the garden again.”

“Me, too.” She pulled her tunic over
her head and tied the sash. Wisps of blue hair stuck out in every
direction. “Ready!”

The days passed quickly and
Jessalyne fell into a routine of mornings and afternoons with Sryka
learning as much magical knowledge as she could, sunset dinners in
the garden by the swan pond, and nights filled with dreams of
Ertemis.

On the eve of Jessalyne’s meeting
the prince, they dined on bread bowls brimming with barley stew and
honey-glazed apricot turnovers. In trade for Jessalyne’s soap
recipe, the meals cook fixed for them achieved new heights of
deliciousness. Fynna sucked the stickiness off her fingers while
Jessalyne rinsed hers in the pond.

“Are you nervous about meeting
Prince Gropes-a-lot?”

“Calling him that doesn’t help,
Fynna.” Jessalyne sat next to her friend, both of them watching the
play of colors in the sky as the sun descended.