Heart of Fire

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
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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 understand. 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.