Heart of Fire (43 page)

Sryka hurried toward Jessalyne,
nudging the crystals back into place with her staff. She ignored
Salena, motionless on the floor. “Keeping the best for last, are
you?” She smiled. “I have always wanted inborn powers. Fire will do
nicely.”

Jessalyne’s body trembled with the
flow of power. She glared at the woman. “I hope you blow yourself
to bits.”

“Now, now. It will all be over
shortly.” She glanced at Salena. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I
hate to climb stairs and now I have to fetch Erebus
myself.”

When she returned with Erebus, his
hands and mouth were smeared with grease. Jessalyne smirked at the
thought of how it must aggravate him to look so
unfashionable.

“Let’s get this over with.” He
looked highly uncomfortable and kept his distance from
Jessalyne.

“Your darling Salena doesn’t seem
very interested,” she teased. Even so, she cringed at the thought
of hurting someone with her power.

“Shut up, witchling,” he growled.
“If you were as replaceable as she, you’d feel the extent of my
wrath.”

“Wrath? You don’t know wrath until
you’ve raised the blood of dark elf.” She smiled her sweetest
smile. “You do know he’s on his way, don’t you?”

His eyes widened as Sryka seethed.
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Didn’t Mistress Sryka inform you?
Pity. If I knew a creature called the Black Death was coming for
me, I’d want a little time to prepare.” She shrugged. “Oh
well.”

Erebus clenched his fists, only to
howl at the fresh pain. “Witch, why didn’t you inform
me?”

Sryka frowned. “She’s lying. He
isn’t coming. He doesn’t know where we are. How would he find us in
the wastelands of Scythe?”

“The Oath. Now,” Erebus
demanded.

Sryka nodded, glaring daggers at
Jessalyne as she handed her a sheet of parchment. “Read this
aloud.”

Jessalyne read the first line to
herself. “If I read this I’ll be a liar.”

Erebus unsheathed his short sword,
groaning at the torment it caused. “Read it or so help me, I will
sever your fingers one by one until you do.”

With a catch in her throat,
Jessalyne read the words. “I, Jessalyne Brandborne, take this oath
of amity by my own free will. On this day I vow to serve my king
blamelessly as his mage, to protect him from harm and be his
shield.”

“I denounce all powers and magics,
swearing never to invoke such against my king, using them only as
he commands and only for his good. I promise this with my heart and
mind in like accord.”

Sryka blew a pinch of white powder
at her and she sneezed. The split in her lip bled anew.

“It is done.” Sryka turned to
Erebus. “Be gone and I shall send her to you when her powers are
bound.”

“See that you are quick about it. We
return to Shaldar immediately.”

Sryka waited to speak until he had
retreated up the stairs. “So many years I have waited to perform
this spell, more years than necessary thanks to your selfish
mother. I worried she would keep you longer than agreed, and I was
right.”

“She didn’t try to keep me. She died
when I was young and my father hid her instructions.”

“I knew she would die when you were
still a child, but I thought she would last long enough to see you
on your way to me.”

“You knew she would die young?” Pain
laced Jessalyne’s words.

“She wanted too much. She knew such
strong magic came with a price.”

“What did she want from you?” Even
Sryka’s bitter memories of her mother seemed sweet.

“The homely creature wanted a
husband and a child. I taught her how to cast the glamour for
beauty so she could find a man who would marry her. I gave her
fertility potions and she drank them down like summer wine. When
she told me she had nothing to pay me with, I made her promise her
child would serve as my apprentice. She was easily beguiled. She
drank the last few potions without even asking what they were.”
Sryka snickered.

“What were they? What did you do to
her?”

“Your concern is touching albeit
late. You should thank me for those final draughts. They made you
what you are. One to give you gifts from the earth, another to
enhance that gift. One to ensure your appearance surpassed that of
your mother and father. I can only imagine what he must look like.
Another to brighten your mind and the last to make you hale and
hearty.”

Sryka laughed. “Everything you are,
you are because I made you that way. Now, enough of this chatter.
It’s time for you to fulfill the destiny you were born
to.”

Numb, Jessalyne nodded. She barely
felt Sryka prick her finger with a needle and catch a few drops of
blood in vial before unlocking her wrists. Her hands fell to her
sides and feeling rushed back into them with a sharp prickle of
sensation. The pain freshened her awareness. Sryka began the
ritual.

With the same needle, Sryka pricked
her own finger, dripping the blood into the vial with Jessalyne’s.
She corked the vial and set it down before pulling a book and
several small pouches from her robes. The black leather-bound
grimoire was a twin to the one left behind in the armoire. She
opened the book and began reading out loud in a tongue Jessalyne
had never heard. From the first pouch, she took three small nails,
drawing runes in the air with them as she spoke.

Jessalyne’s vision narrowed, closing
down until everything seemed far away. She squinted; trying to
watch what Sryka did next. Whatever came out of the next pouch was
too small for her to see. Sryka drew in the air with it as well. A
low whine filled Jessalyne’s ears until she could no longer hear
Sryka’s voice.

The room tilted. She fell forward
and caught herself with her still tingling hands. A feeling of
lightness filled her. She tried to grip the stone floor but the
sense of floating overwhelmed her. Her mind reeled as images from
her life flared and faded away. She cried out. Her spirit was being
sucked out of her.

The thought enraged her and she
fought back. Struggling to hold on to her memories, she focused on
Ertemis. She called to him over and over. Her voice echoed in her
head, the sound flattening and washing over her as her fireball had
earlier. The circle was holding in her pleas.

Her sight almost gone, she reached
forward and found a crystal. Just beyond it, her hand brushed
through the line of ashes. Pushing the crystal aside, she scoured
the floor and opened a hole in the ring.

Tipping her head back, she gathered
breath for one last plea and screamed Ertemis’s name.

* * *

“She’s here.” The relief sweeping
through Ertemis was short-lived. “I hear her heart again, but the
rhythm is wrong, echoing, almost double.” He gestured to Valduuk
and Fynna. “You take Erebus. Hold him until I secure
Jessalyne.”

Ertemis motioned with two fingers up
a flight of steps. Valduuk responded with a turn of his fist and
disappeared up the stairs, Fynna close behind.

The dark elf honed in on his beloved
and entered a narrow hall. The garrison reeked with the stench of
death. The Scythians had suffered great losses at the hands of the
Akuza invaders. He had seen the atrocities with his own eyes. The
bloodscent revived images better forgotten and tightened the
muscles in his jaw. He reached for the hilt of his sword. The cold
metal comforted him.

From the sounds above him, he
surmised Valduuk was upholding his end of the mission. Erebus
shrieked like a woman. Farther down, the hall narrowed and turned.
He followed it, eager to get to Jessalyne. Ahead, pale light
slipped out around the edges of a door. Flakes of rust beneath the
heavy iron latch and hinges were evidence the door had been
recently used.

He would have to be quick. With so
much rust, the hinges would protest and any chance for surprise
would be lost. Steeling himself for what he might find, he drew his
sword and wrenched the door back, tearing it loose from its top
hinge. He flew down a set of stairs, barely touching them as he
descended.

In a cell ahead of him, Jessalyne
huddled on her hands and knees on the filthy stone floor. Her head
hung down, her beautiful moonlight hair, disheveled and dirty. The
ground around her was littered with crystals sparkling in the
lantern light.

“Jessalyne,” he roared as he
barreled through the cell door.

She lifted her head.

The sight renewed his rage. Her ring
and pendant were gone. A purple bruise marred her pale cheek.
Trickles of dried blood trailed from her mouth. Her gown was torn
and stained. Recognition flickered in her eyes as she focused on
his face. Her face contorted as she struggled to speak.

“Ertemis.” A whisper so soft only
his ears could have heard it.

“I’m here, lelaya.” He knelt beside
her, his hands shaking with outrage at what had been done to her.
She moaned as he cradled her in his arms. He gently brushed the
hair from her face. Her skin was so cold.

She opened her mouth to speak but a
spasm tore through her, stiffening her body. Pain veiled her face,
changing her expression into that of a stranger.

“So you came after all, elfling?”
Her voice was strong but edge with bitterness. Not the Jessalyne
he’d ever heard before.

“Of course, sweeting. Did you think
I wouldn’t?” His brow wrinkled as he studied her. She was
Jessalyne, and she wasn’t.

She laughed, a dry rasping sound.
“Love has made you weak.”

Her eyes lost their focus. She went
slack in his arms. Another grimace of pain twisted her mouth. She
grabbed hold of the edge of his cloak.

“Sryka’s in me…”

“I don’t understand,” he shook his
head.

“Listen,” she gasped, another spasm
shaking her.

Opening his senses, he did as she
asked. Pushing everything else aside, he listened to her, to the
rush of her blood, the scrape of air through her lungs, the
throbbing of her bruises. And then the echoed heartbeats, one
gaining in strength, one diminishing. The latter was Jessalyne’s.
If Sryka had indeed possessed her, the crone was
winning.

“Nay…this cannot be.”

The intruder in his arms sneered at
him. “But it is, halfling.”

He shook her, desperate to help but
not knowing how. “Jessalyne, fight her. You are stronger than
she’ll ever be.”

A low moan parted her lips and the
woman he held was Jessalyne once again. With his cloak, he gently
wiped dirt from her face.

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

“I don’t think—”

“Please.” Her grip on his cloak
loosened and her hand slipped down his chest.

Pulling her close, he embraced her
mouth with his. Her lips were cold and still beneath his press.
Tears wet his face as he feathered kisses across her bruised skin,
whispering her name as he drew breath, pleading with her to
respond.

“Not like this,” he moaned. “Fight
her, Jessalyne.”

Her eyelids fluttered at the sound
of her name. “Kiss me,” she whispered again, her face a storm of
emotion as the battle within her seethed.

He bent closed the distance between
them and kissed her again as tenderly as he could. Her lips parted
slightly. The delicate response quickened him. She nodded and he
imagined the beginnings of a smile.

Abandoning his timid approach, he
captured her mouth and savored it like rare fruit, suckling their
sweetness. Her hand grasped his arm, her touch assuring him, urging
him on. Her lips warmed in answer to his kiss.

She squeezed his arm and cried out
as another spasm stiffened her. Her head snapped back and her eyes
flew open. A mask of anger altered her gentle expression. Her mouth
twisted as she spoke.

“Get away from me,
mongrel!”

“You will not win her, hag.” He
lifted Jessalyne’s hand and kissed her fingers. The warmth building
in her spurred him on. He pressed her palm against his cheek. “I
love you, Jessalyne. You are the bravest woman I’ve ever met. Come
back to me.”

The mask dissolved and her dulcet
tones answered him. “You found me…” She smiled weakly. “Kiss me
again, my love…”

Without hesitation he reclaimed her
mouth, passionately meeting her demands. Her building heat seeped
through his clothing, mingling with the fire already burning inside
him. Her tongue danced against his. She slid her hand up his arm,
cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer with new
strength.

They fed from each other, hungry to
salve the pain of separation, eager to find comfort in the love
that bound them. The desperation of their kiss became satisfaction.
Heat curled off Jessalyne in waves. She tried to pull away, but he
refused to let go. He would not lose her again. “Don’t fight
it.”

Ertemis lost himself in her
trembling mouth. Another rush of heat coursed through her. Holding
her meant being burned. A small price to pay for having her whole.
He braced himself for the pain, unwilling to release her even as
she pushed him away.