Heart of Fire Read online

  HEART OF FIRE

  by

  Kristen Painter

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Kristen Painter on Smashwords

  Heart Of Fire

  Copyright © 2010 by Kristen Painter

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

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  Chapter One

  A shout ripped Ertemis from sleep. He bolted to his feet, yanked his sword from its sheath at his hip, and in a blur of flashing metal, prepared to deal death to the intruder.

  There was no one in the room.

  He relaxed and sheathed his sword, groaning as the remnants of last night throbbed anew in his skull. Cheap human ale. He rubbed his eyes, still stinging from the smoky tavern air.

  An aching head, gritty eyes and naught to show in his hunt for his birthfather. How the edge of his Feyre hungered for the bastard’s blood. He scrubbed his eyes again. Other than the Traveler’s tales, he had little to go on and time was running out. Surely, the Legion knew he’d deserted. If only his bond price weren’t so high.

  Midday sun spilled through the old wood shutter slats, slashing the dusty air into light and dark slices. He leaned his Legion-issued sword against the bed and picked his leather breastplate off the floor. Another shout rang through the air. He clutched his head. Vile, stinking, babbling humans. At least the residual effects of the ale dampened his heightened senses. More shouting broke out.

  What in Saladan’s name was going on? He dropped the breastplate onto the bed. The ruckus erupting outside needed squelching if there was any chance of further sleep. The more he slept, the faster his elven blood would work the healing magic that enabled him to pickle his brain night after night and kept his black skin scar free despite his many battles.

  He drew on his trousers, grabbed his sword belt, and unwedged the room’s only chair from beneath the rusty door latch. The scarred, faded leather notched easily into the silver buckle at his waist as he trudged down the steps. The belt settled low on his hips, the weight of the sword as comfortable as the press of a woman but far more reliable. His fingers tightened around the hilt as he stepped onto the crowded street.

  The brilliant noonday sun drove daggers into his head. He grimaced, shielding his eyes with his hand. People rushed through the streets, their faces drawn into worried masks. Even with his faculties dulled, the tang of panic hung in the air like burning refuse.

  The daylight, the noise and the crush of unwashed human flesh reminded of why he’d had the ale in the first place. Blunting his acute senses made time spent among humans a little less wretched. Night’s quiet solitude was preferable, and since quitting life as the Legion’s fatal messenger, night offered a security day did not. The Legion would soon realize their deadliest weapon had no plans of returning. They would place a hefty bounty on his head, send men to hunt him. No one left the Legion until the Legion decided it was time.

  Snarling a curse, Ertemis narrowed his eyes against the glare. He scanned passing faces for someone who might know what was going on. Few returned his gaze, but the flow of humans split, giving him a wide berth.

  The frightened expressions as mothers pulled their children closer, the timid glances of men…none of it was new to him. Few sane people were of a mind to engage a dark elf, especially one of Ertemis’s size and current disposition. He hadn’t earned the nick ‘Black Death’ for being kind and sweet.

  The crowd’s collective gaze crawled over his body like a regiment of ants, staring at his telltale black skin and the silver runes tattooed down his spine and up his slanted ears. With less ale and more thought, he would’ve donned a tunic and trousers. His clothed appearance drew stares enough but the sight of him shirtless stalled traffic.

  He wanted to shout at them to stop staring, that he wasn’t one of the Travelers’ curiosities to be gawked at. Instead, he ground his teeth and held his tongue. An outburst would only make them stare harder.

  A bright spot of green bobbed toward him through the sea of humans. He reached into the crowd, snatching the vibrant cloak of a small man coming toward him. The left side of the man’s face was a bunched mass of scars that disappeared beneath his tunic collar.

  “What’s this ruckus about?” Ertemis muttered to his captive.

  The little man stumbled and put his hands out to catch himself. He looked up, fear registering on his face. He stared at Ertemis in dumbfounded silence, mouth agape, eyes large.

  In his peripheral vision, Ertemis saw a crowd developing at a distance around him. The only thing he missed about the Legion was being left alone.

  He dragged the little man into the alley between the tavern inn and the mercantile beside it. “Just tell me what this commotion is about and you’re free to go.”

  The man whispered, “Quarantine,” then cleared his throat before speaking again. “Quarantine’s been called on the whole city. Half of the north quarter and all of the eastside have come down with Speckled Fever, and they ain’t lettin’ anybody out. The gates are locked up tighter than an Ulvian’s pocketbook.” He added, “Sir,” as if hoping to gain enough favor to be allowed to live.

  “Don’t call me sir,” Ertemis snapped. He released his grip on the man’s cloak. Raking a hand through his hair, he swore under his breath. “Codswallop.”

  His elven half could protect him from human illness, even if he had to suffer through it first. But being quarantined wasn’t going to help him find the man who’d ruined his mother’s life. Slodsham was a passable place to spend a few days, but that’s where it ended. Staring past the man, he exhaled in frustration.

  An enterprising light flickered in the man’s eyes. “I don’t much wanna be here, either. I got goods ta buy and coin ta--anyway, maybe we...” Another upward glance at Ertemis and the man stopped.

  “Begging your pardon, master elf...I best be off.” He shifted his gaze down to the alley and tried to back away.

  Ertemis tightened his fist in the man’s cloak. “Speak.”

  The man’s gaze darted to the alley’s entrance then back to Ertemis. “I know a way out.”

  “I don’t need your help to ditch this slum.” He’d find a way on his own, after his head stopped throbbing.

  The man frowned. “But I need yers, master elf.”

  “Why? What’s in it for me?” Ertemis watched the alley’s entrance for company. He released his grip on the man’s cloak.

  “I’m owed a favor from a rather shady fella. I reckon he won’t pay up without some persuadin’. The kind you could provide, if ya und
erstand. It’s worth fifty silvers when we’re out.”

  Everyone always wanted something, but Ertemis needed the coin. “Seventy-five and not a silver less. What’s your name?”

  “Haemus Brandborne at yer service, fiber merchant, seller of the finest colored fabrics, yarns, and other textiles ya could ever want.”

  He grinned, showing a few missing teeth as he extended his hand. “An yers?”

  Marbled burn scars matching the one’s on the merchant’s neck covered the man’s hand and extended up his wrist and under the sleeve of his rich tunic. Ertemis crossed his arms over his chest. “Master elf will do.”

  Haemus’s gaze went to the sword at Ertemis’s side. The merchant’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Ain’t you the...” His voice trailed off as if he no longer wanted an answer.

  Narrowing his gaze, Ertemis finished the man’s sentence. “Black Death? And what if I am?”

  “The Black Death.” Haemus breathed the words out like a curse. “I didn’t think ya came out during the day...ya in Slodsham for work or pleasure?” His eyes suddenly went wide and he shook his head. “Don’t answer that.”

  With his scarred palms up, he stepped back. “I just want out of the city.” He swallowed. “We got a deal, then, right? And that makes us partners, don’t it?”

  “We have a deal,” Ertemis nodded slowly, the pain in his head not yet subsided, “but we are not partners.”

  * * *

  On one last walk along the placid shores of Callao Lake, Jessalyne watched some of the resident herd of cervidae, the deer people, gather ahead. Fairleigh Grove had been home to the skin-shifters since long before Jessalyne’s father had brought her mother to this secluded vale.

  A few of the young cervidae, in human form and dressed in simple linen tunics, played on a cluster of boulders, their mothers and fathers close by. The cervidae reproduced so slowly, each child became a carefully guarded treasure.

  Her jaw tightened. How wonderful to grow up with adoring parents. A father to protect you. A mother to teach you.

  One of the male cervidae kissed his companion’s cheek. Jessalyne looked away. The sight made her ache for something new, something she could never have. Who would love someone like her? Not even the cervidae dare touch her.

  But then, they had good reason not to touch. They knew exactly why her father had left.

  Her mother had been the cervidae’s healer, caring for the deer people until her death. The skin-shifters had become Jessalyne’s only family after her father abandonment. They were kind but never affectionate, and the hole left by her mother’s passing widened with every season.

  Jessalyne inhaled the crisp air, tipping her face toward the sun’s buttery heat. A patchwork of fragrant wildflowers bordered the path along the shore. Honeybees and dragonflies buzzed by. In the distance, waterfalls tumbled from the jagged Wyver mountain range shaping the lake’s furthermost shores. Rainbows shimmered in the mist. A place this beautiful should bring happiness, and it did, but not in a way that felt like home deep down inside.

  She sat beneath a tree, twisting a lock of hair around one finger. She scowled at the snowy strands and pale skin. I look as though I’ve been left in the sun to bleach.

  She didn’t belong here, didn’t even look like she belonged here. In human form, the cervidae were so beautiful – slender builds with elegant bone structure, large russet eyes, sun-kissed skin, and tawny-gold hair.

  A fish jumped and circles rippled across the lake’s surface. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the trunk. If she packed this evening, she could leave at firstlight.

  “Lady Jessalyne, come quick!”

  Jessalyne’s eyes snapped open. The alpha buck’s daughter, Corah, was running toward her, panic distorting her pretty face.

  “Orit fell and hurt his leg on the rocks. Come, please.” Corah’s hands clenched, as if she wanted to grab Jessalyne and pull her along.

  “You should practice what I’ve been teaching you.”

  “I can’t, not on my brother. We need you.” Tears welled in Corah’s eyes as she glanced over her shoulder toward the small gathering by the rocks. “Please, it looks bad. Very bad.”

  Orit was the alpha buck’s only son. Jessalyne nodded. “I’m coming.”

  The cluster of cervidae surrounding Orit parted to let her through. She knelt beside him. The young cervidae’s eyes were dark with pain, and he’d reverted to his fawn form, another indication of how badly he was hurt. She gently ran her hand over his warm dappled coat. A long deep gash along his rear flank exposed shattered bone.

  “Oh, Orit...” Jessalyne held her pity. The child needed reassurance, not further hurt.

  “Should I get mother?” Corah asked.

  “Not yet,” her father replied. “Your lady mother need not see this in her condition.”

  Jessalyne glanced up at Lord Tyber. Not once had her father held such concern for her in his eyes. “I can’t do this here. Bring him to my cottage, but move him as little as possible.”

  He nodded and tenderly lifted his fawn-son. Orit bleated in pain at the movement. Tyber winced.

  “It’s father, Orit. Rest now,” he whispered, moving quickly but carefully into the woods toward her home.

  Jessalyne sent Corah to gather herbs before hurrying after Lord Tyber. Even with Orit in his arms, he arrived ahead of her. He settled Orit into the small second bedroom, then took up pacing the braided rug in her front room.

  Jessalyne paused on her way to the kitchen. “Please, cease that. You’ll wear out my rug, and besides, I know what I’m doing.”

  He stopped, resting one hand on the dagger tucked in his belt. “My apologies. I know you’re skilled, but I cannot help my concern for my son.”

  “I’ll do my best to heal him.”

  His expression was stony. “I expect nothing less.”

  The words spun in her head but she shook them away. There was too much work to do to worry about what Tyber expected.

  Into a kettle she measured valerian, skullcap, and nightflower to dull Orit’s pain and make him sleep, then asked Tyber to fill it with water and set it to brew on the stove.

  Corah came in as the kettle trickled steam, her arms full of fresh herbs and roots. “How is he?”

  “Hurting. Take a mug of that tea to him and see he drinks as much as possible. I’ll be in to clean the wound shortly.”

  After adding the few last ingredients to the cleansing solution, Jessalyne grabbed some clean linen towels and joined Corah and Tyber at Orit’s bedside.

  Evening approached, muting the light filtering in the windows. The muscles in her neck tightened. She didn’t want her fear of the dark to disturb her efforts to care for Orit. Nothing bothered her so much as the loneliness of night, the empty stillness when memories turned into nightscares and unbidden thoughts ruled her dreams.

  At the cursory flourish of her hand, every candle and lamp in the cottage sparked to life.

  Lord Tyber and Corah glanced at one another, a brief wordless communication, before returning their attention to the now slumbering Orit. Jessalyne ignored the look the pair exchanged. She knew what they were thinking. Their shifting magic was harmless. Her magic was not. She frightened them.

  Just one more reason to leave.

  Lord Tyber finally broke the silence. “Corah, go home to your lady mother and gently tell her what has happened. Let her know Orit is in Lady Jessalyne’s capable hands.” Jessalyne knew the cervidae called her lady out of respect for her as their healer, but now she wondered if their fear had prompted the title.

  “But I want to stay with Orit.” Corah remained seated.

  “Now.” Tyber’s stern tone put Corah on her feet.

  She bent to kiss her brother’s head. “Yes, Papa. Good eve, Lady Jessalyne.”

  Jessalyne nodded and went back to her work. Cleaning the bits of bone from the wound and setting Orit’s leg left her drained and aching for the beautiful fawn child. Although she had done her best to
stitch the deep gash neatly, it would leave a scar. He would forever bear a reminder of the pain he’d suffered.

  Hours later, Jessalyne perched on a short, carved stool near the bed sipping a cup of anise tea and watching Orit’s rhythmic breathing. Firstlight softly brightened the sky. She glanced through the doorway at Lord Tyber. He’d drifted off in one of the twig chairs by the fireplace. Would he be happy when she told him she was leaving?

  Chilled by memories of her own father, she pulled her loosely woven shawl tighter around her shoulders. She pushed hair out of her eyes and pressed her palms against her forehead to blot out the thoughts of the day her mother died.

  Those thoughts turned the sweet tea bitter in her mouth. She could count on one hand the times she’d seen her father since the day he’d left. Giving her a share of his merchant’s take seemed to fulfill what little paternal obligation he still felt, whether he did it in person or by leaving a sack of coins on her flagstone porch. Didn’t he know coin meant nothing here? Where would she spend money in Fairleigh Grove? She sighed.

  Orit moaned but didn’t wake. She got up and smoothed the coverlet over him. As soon as he was well, she was leaving. Waiting for another worthless sack of coins held little allure.

  * * *

  Glass globes of phosphorescent angelmoss washed the cobbled streets with weak light. By the position of the crescent moon, Ertemis knew it was well past midnight. There was no sign of the merchant in any direction.

  Ertemis exhaled in frustration. If he hadn’t needed the coin, he never would have agreed to this arrangement. Even with Dragon, his warhorse, he could have gotten out of the city on his own. Somehow.

  A rat scurried through the gutter. Ertemis cloaked himself in elven magic and merged into the shadows, disappearing against the grimy wall of the butcher’s shop behind him. Once shrouded by the enchantment, only elven eyes could see him. There was safety and a sense of comfort in being hidden this way.