Heart of Fire (9 page)

“You cannot take all this! You have
coin enough to purchase what you need.” He sighed. “Petal may be a
donkey, but there is no need to overload her.”

“Fine. But this goes with me.”
Jessalyne patted the box holding her mother’s letter and the
dagger.

“Just the contents.” He shook his
head. “Not the box.”

Resigned, Jessalyne folded her
mother’s letter and tucked it into the pouch on her belt. She
lifted the sheathed dagger and stuffed it into her bedroll. Ertemis
caught her hand, his rough fingers gently snagging her
wrist.

“Always keep your blade handy.” He
unlatched her waist belt and ran it through the loop on the
dagger’s sheath, then refastened the tooled leather around her
hips. Heat flared over her. For a man with such large hands, his
fingers were surprisingly nimble.

* * *

Ertemis struggled to concentrate as
Jessalyne’s scent curled around him. The gentle rhythm of her
beating heart filled his ears. She smelled of flowers, sunshine and
sweetness. Heat radiated off her like a blacksmith’s
shop.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice
small and breathy.

He lost himself in the liquid
lavender of her eyes. Less than the length of his Feyre separated
them. Her lips moved. He realized she had said something else. The
urge to kiss her overwhelmed him. He stepped away to give himself
recess. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. “What?”

For the first time, she smiled at
him. “I said that is better than having it hidden away in my
bedroll.” She patted the dagger.

The smile lit her face from within.
Ertemis just nodded. Saladan’s britches, she bewitched him. This
was going to be a very long trip. Think of the coin, he told
himself. Being paid to go somewhere he needed to go anyway was no
burden.

“I’ll go pack what little you left
in the larder.” She almost laughed.

“Uh, good, the animals.” Ertemis
gestured toward the outside, stumbling over his words. “I’ll be
back.” He needed fresh air. His head swam with her perfume. Perhaps
she had magic after all. He felt utterly bespelled.

The air cooled his blood as he
brought the animals down from the stable. He finished adjusting his
saddle. Dragon stomped the ground, eager to be off.

He turned to ready Petal and
frowned. There was no saddle for Jessalyne. He doubted she was
schooled in riding or had ever ridden at all. Without proper tack,
she would suffer more than necessary. He could share his saddle
with her but having her so near, her backside pressed against
his—he started calculating sums in his head until his blood
cooled.

They would stop at the first town
and purchase a decent saddle. He would buy it using some of the
too-generous sum she’d paid him.

Jessalyne came out of the house,
bedroll tucked beneath one arm, rucksack in her hand. Her hair was
braided in a plait down her back.

He hooked the clasp of his cloak and
tugged his hood down over his eyes. Without asking, he knew she
would not be willing to wait until nightfall to travel. “There’s no
saddle for Petal. Do you know how to ride bareback?” He already
knew the answer to that question as well.

“No. Is it hard?”

“It isn’t easy even if you’re
skilled.” He sighed. “You may share my saddle with me, if you
wish.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his
mouth.

She stayed close to Petal, stroking
the jenny’s back. “I’ll be fine without a saddle.”

Mostly relieved, he nodded. “We’ll
stop at the first town and purchase one.”

As Ertemis mounted, Jessalyne placed
both hands on Petal’s back and pulled herself up. He turned. She
laid belly over the donkey. “What are you doing?”

“I am trying to get on, what does it
look like?”

“Not that,” Ertemis muttered as he
hopped off Dragon. He knit his fingers together to form a step and
held his hands below Petal’s side. “Step up.”

Jessalyne placed her foot into his
hands and rested her palm on his shoulder. Her light touch shot
warmth down his spine to pool as hunger in his belly. He hoisted
her onto Petal’s back but she fidgeted, trying to get
comfortable.

“In a gown you cannot ride straddle
as a man, so bend your knee...” He nudged her slippered foot to
bend her leg. “And hook your foot beneath your other leg like so.”
His hand lingered longer than necessary on the slim arch of her
foot.

“How does that feel?” He swallowed,
remembering to breathe.

She stroked Petal’s mane, her voice
soft. “Thank you, I think that will do.”

Indeed it would. Touching her was a
great distraction. She was job. A package to be delivered. Nothing
more. Ertemis jumped astride Dragon once again. “Off to Shaldar
City then.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Where else would the king’s
magewoman be except near the king?” Why did she have to smell so
good? Feel so soft?

“Do you know what direction Shaldar
City is from here?”

He frowned and stared into the
distance. “Once we’re out of the wood the way will become
clear.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will be. Until
then…” Jessalyne slid the dagger from its sheath and gripped the
handle. She swept the blade through the air. Halfway across the
horizon line, the lunestone flared to life.

“There,” she said, pointing with the
blade.

Chapter Five

Crisp winds scrubbed the wall walk
around Sryka. She pulled her robes tighter, loose gray locks
tangling in an updraft. The sun shone brightly but the winds
carried a faint chill, and old bones held little heat.

She peered into the courtyard below,
but the height of the tower and her age prevented her from
discerning much detail. Prince Erebus pranced about down there
somewhere, no doubt preening for the simpering skirts that clung to
him like flies to dung.

If only the child would come. The
Prince grew angrier with her, but she had done all she could. Her
spells hadn’t failed. The glamour she’d cast on the child’s mother
had worked well, transforming the homely woman to a jade-eyed,
scarlet-haired beauty before Sryka’s eyes. She’d watched the
pathetic woman drink down the potions, heard her chant the words.
The fertility spells must have worked. Sryka’s magic was as sure as
the king’s mortality.

In her heart, she believed the child
would come. But after so many years, she held little hope the girl
would still be acceptable. Prince Erebus would expect a virgin
bride, and the spell required untainted flesh. Bride. As if the
King had already blessed this one fit to wed his son. If necessary,
she would charm the King into blessing the union, just as she would
charm Erebus into accepting the girl. Whatever it took, she would
do.

Sryka spat over the parapets. She
hoped the juicy gob landed squarely on Prince Erebus’ vain head.
The thought made her smile. He would get his. Once she controlled
the child. The kingdom, youth, power...it would all be
hers.

Small warmth spread through her, and
she thought little of it until it centered itself in her chest.
Sryka paused, gripping the stone ledge, wondering, wanting it to be
true. She reached into the folds of her robes and pulled the amulet
free. The lunestone pulsed warm and lively in the amulet’s center.
Her hand trembled. The girl child came.

* * *

The scenery they traveled through
was so different from the grove, but still not as interesting as
the elf in her company. She focused on the way his broad shoulders
tapered to the slender vee of his waist. How his cloak flowed over
his expansive back. Time and again her mind imagined the trail of
silver runes and the fine curve of backside that brought them to a
halt.

The image built such heat in her,
she thought it best to think of something else before she melted.
She broke the stillness with a question. “Have you been to Shaldar
City?”

“Nay.” Ertemis slowed Dragon and
dropped back beside her.

“Why not? It’s the capital. It must
be very beautiful.” She wondered how her ideas compared to the
reality.

“The king has men enough to fight
his battles. No need for a man like me.” His jaw went
tight.

“But you haven’t even visited
there?” Jessalyne imagined bustling streets and colorful shops and
felt a tingle of excitement at what her future held.

“Nay,” he snapped. “I told you that
already.”

Whatever brooded in the dark elf,
Jessalyne didn’t pursue it. She had no desire to rouse his
temper.

Ertemis changed the subject. “Why
did Tyber tell me if I touched you, you would kill me?”

Taken off guard, Jessalyne searched
for an answer that was neither a lie nor the truth. Tyber should
have kept his mouth shut. “He was only trying to protect
you.”

“Protect me? From what? You don’t
look very dangerous.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Ertemis shook his head. “Not
usually.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Do I look dangerous to
you?”

She hesitated. “Yes. You
do.”

“No deception there.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So
what do I look like then?”

* * *

Ertemis opened his mouth to speak
but nothing came out. What she looked like was a kind of dangerous
he had kept himself free from, the kind of dangerous that addled a
man mind with soft curves and sweet perfume and whispered words.
“You look like the woman I work for,” he growled. “Let’s leave it
there.”

“Hmmph.” Jessalyne stopped talking
to him after that.

He glanced over. Petal’s rhythmic
stride and the warmth of the sun in the cloudless sky made her
eyelids heavy. The last thing he needed was for her to drift off
and fall.

“There. Do you see it?” Ertemis
pointed toward the horizon.

She looked up, yawning. “See
what?”

“The town.”

She was squinting into the distance.
“I don’t see anything but trees.”

“Ah. I forget my sight surpasses
human. Trust me, there’s a town ahead. One I think I know. We’ll
break there.”

“You can see that far ahead? What
other gifts do dark elves possess?” She nudged Petal into step with
Dragon, curiosity shining in her eyes.

Ertemis threw his head back in a
laugh. “You aren’t timid, are you? Few have been brave enough to
question me so directly. You have mettle, esya.”

She smiled back. “What does esya
mean?”

“Girl.”

“I’m a woman,” she
countered.

“If you say so, esya.” He grinned at
her insistence.

She sparked with irritation. “You
aren’t the first elf I’ve ever met.”

“Really? In the grove? That
surprises me.” He watched her while he rode, his eyes unwilling to
leave her face.

“A council of elves came for the
naming ceremony of Lord Tyber’s son. They gave him a Feyre, like
the one you carry.”

“I’m impressed you know the name of
my blade.”

Her cheeks pinked. “Those elves
looked very different from you.”

“They were light elves, high born.
Like my mother.” His smile waned and he faced forward again. “Your
coloring is very much like hers.”

“You must miss her.”

“I miss no one.” He urged Dragon on,
breaking stride with Jessalyne and pulling ahead.

* * *

The town finally emerged before
Jessalyne’s eyes. The sign above the main gate proclaimed it Warren
on the Wick and she rejoiced, knowing reprieve from Petal’s hard
back was on its way.

Ertemis drew his hood in a way that
hid his face. From his pack, he retrieved leather gloves and donned
them as well. Once in the town, he stopped at a tavern called The
Thirsty Troll. He tethered Dragon’s reins around the hitching post
with a few deft loops. “Tie up. Bring your bags. We’ll eat, then
buy your saddle.”

She tried to mimic his movements,
almost duplicating his knot, then followed on his heels, trying to
keep up and absorb the sights around her at the same time. People
bustled about with packages, dogs and children ran through the
dusty streets, vendors spieled their wares. Shouting, barking,
babies crying, cart wheels creaking – so much clatter and jangle
from every direction.

The women’s clothing emphasized
their curves. Blouses and skirts, cinched about the waist with
wide, boned belts that pushed their chests into soft mounds
spilling out of their tops. Jessalyne felt shapeless in her tunic
and overvest. No one dressed like her.

Near the alehouse’s entrance, a
painted tart with cleavage to spare brushed by, giving Ertemis a
lusty growl. He turned and winked at her.

Jessalyne glared at the woman as she
passed. “Do you know her?”

“I know what she’s
about.”

“And what is that?”

“Pleasure. But don’t worry, I never
mingle business with pleasure.” He pushed through the tavern
doors.