by Inez Kelley
Despair dropped his head far between his shoulders.
“But you could start at Windmere.”
Taric snapped his head up and frowned. “Her birthplace?”
“Yes, also where she trained. Someone there may have answers or at least be able to tell you where to look. But first, you have to go before the Council.”
Frustrated, Taric pushed off the desk with a growl, sending Elora’s letters sailing.
Balic’s voice was firm. “Sotherby sits adjacent to Windmere, Taric. You can’t ride into the southlands while still being accused of Bridal Revocation by Windmere’s neighboring lord and be assured of coming out alive. It’s too close to the seat of that bastard’s evil.”
“I’m going to be standing less than four feet from Marchen in a matter of days.” Taric’s boots stomped across the floor with echoing booms.
Balic’s gentle words halted the sound. “Surrounded by a dozen Elders. I’ll send Mactog. He knew Tarsha when we were courting and knows who her friends were. He might remember servants, and people may talk to him. And I trust him. He’ll find out anything there is to find.”
“Thank you.”
Something pecked at Taric’s brain like a chicken scrounging for a last kernel of corn. He knew something, something just beyond his reach. Bits of information and memories tumbling around his mind, he rubbed his fist against his chin. Puzzles had fascinated him as a child and this was the puzzle of his life, one he would solve no matter what. Steeling his resolve, he tried to view the problem as a maze. Where to begin? The beginning. All puzzles had a beginning.
“Papa, do you still have any of Mother’s magic tools?”
“Yes.” Surprise heightened the king’s tone before a grin appeared. “I have all her papers, pieces of spells—words that make no sense—and letters to others in the craft. No better place to begin than the beginning. Well done. Come.”
After finding Mactog and retaining his help, king and prince darted up the stairs like two eager puppies, hope lifting Taric’s bleak mood. Balic thrust his antechamber door open and Lunian squealed.
“Balic Segur! You nearly stopped my heart.” Seated at her loom, the queen pressed a slender hand to her heaving breast and sighed. “I didn’t even know you’d returned.”
“Within the past half hour, Lu.” Distracted, Balic started rummaging through a tall chest, pitching pillows and blankets aside. Not finding what he sought, he shot into the bedchamber. Taric stood helpless and smiled at his stepmother’s shocked face. A frown pinched her mouth. She vaulted from her bench and stormed into the other room. Her voice screeched loudly and Taric grimaced.
“What are you looking for? Stop that. There is nothing in that chest except for my shifts.”
Balic appeared once more with her directly behind him. He pulled a low bench seat from the window and opened it, rifling through it like a man possessed. “Lu, when you moved in here, did you see a wooden chest, about this big?” He held his hands apart at shoulder width.
“Do you mean Tarsha’s papers?”
Excitedly, he grabbed her hands. “Yes.”
“It was under the bed. I put it in the cedar trunk over there for Taric one day so the parchment wouldn’t collect mold.”
Taric spun and popped the cedar lid but not before his father rose and pressed a loud, hard kiss to his wife’s mouth. Taric hid his grin. She might not be Balic’s heartmate but she made him happy. It was good to know and terrifying at the same time.
Lunian laughed. “All you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to make a mess of things.”
While she refolded blankets and straightened drawers, Taric and his father settled at a small table and opened the box lid. A whiff of jasmine touched Taric. Balic’s eyes closed, but only for a second. He pulled out several thick sheaves and handed one to Taric with an encouraging nod.
They read in silence for hours. Lunian came and went, keeping quiet as a whisper.
His mother had written with a graceful hand. Her strokes were delicate but grew bolder when speaking of different herbs—that meant nothing to him—to people he’d never heard of. Words foreign and strange halted his flow and he stumbled over them, pondering their meaning, their intentions, before moving on with a defeated sigh. It was like reading in two tongues and he was fluent in only one. In the last letter, Tarsha spoke of his impending birth and he paused to reread the understandable and happy words. Sometimes he missed never missing her. It would be nice to have at least one memory to hold.
“A few names, that’s about all.” Balic sighed wearily, tossing a letter back in the box. Lunian sat on the arm of his chair and stroked his shoulder.
Taric refolded a parchment and shook his head. “I’d hoped for something more. Most of this makes no sense to me. It’s like reading a different language.”
Balic grumped. “It is a different language, one that I don’t know a soul who speaks anymore.”
“Slight as it is, the names give me someplace to start searching.” Taric grabbed onto the smallest clue but the tasks before him were daunting. “Let’s see, I have to go on trial and defend a crown which I don’t have yet, discover a way to bring a cloud of violet smoke to life, and thwart the magic of the most powerful sorceress ever recorded. All while fighting a war with a madman. Life won’t be dull.”
“You come from magic. And I’d like to think I gave you some gifts, even if it is just stubbornness. You will succeed, Taric.”
Balic grounded his resolve and Taric nodded. He would succeed. He didn’t dare fail a single task before him. “It may take a dozen seasons but I’ll solve the riddle and make Myla my bride.”
“Taric, you’re getting married?” Lunian’s eyes shone with feminine pleasure, latching on to the least of his worries. Taric could almost see her planning feasts and gowns.
Would he ever get to see Myla in a formal gown walking to him? Would he get to crown her or was he reaching for a star?
Stars fall. If they fall then they can be grasped. I have a chance. I will make this happen.
“One day, if I’m lucky.” He sighed.
“Why wait?” Balic’s query furrowed his forehead but his father’s rounded eyes were lively. “She’s shown herself to a few, why not let the world see her? Let Myla be your princess while you search for an answer. If she has to—” he waved his hand toward Taric’s stomach with a curled lip, “—then let her as she needs. I’ve seen her. Myla’s very solid when in this world. No one would know she isn’t fully human if they’re not told such. So why not go ahead and get married? Worry about finding the charm with Myla at your side not in it. And having an intended princess in the wings would do no harm at the Elders’ Council, either. It might strengthen an already-strong case.”
“Who is Myla?”
Lunian bounced her inquisitive eyes between the two men and Taric’s lips curved. Why not get married? If he could bed Myla then he should be able to wed her…if he could get her to speak with him again. Balic explained as best he could while Taric refolded letters and papers.
The queen’s face remained studious, listening. “So Myla is a magic spirit?”
“Something like that,” Taric murmured. A servant knocked and Lunian rose to answer, stepping outside to ensure their privacy. Standing, he caught Balic’s gaze and gripped the back of his chair in tight hands. “But what if I can’t find a way? I’ll be married but the crown is still forfeited. Myla can’t carry a child unless she is fully human. No child, no heir.”
“Are you certain she can’t carry?”
Taric nodded, sorrow swelling his tongue. “She must return to me or she’ll die. When she returns, she’s reborn as Mother created her. Papa, why do I feel…this burning? This…I can’t describe it. I must solve this riddle now, not next summer, not next moon, now. It gnaws at my stomach.”
Balic’s eyes narrowed and he fisted a hand to his lip, searching Taric’s face for a long moment. “When you’re with Myla…the gnawing makes the loving more…intense?”
A sigh heaved before Balic smirked. “You’re ready to be a father.”
Taric snapped his gaze to his father, his jaw swinging open. Balic sat with a memory shading his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his mouth. “It happens with Segur men at different times after they’re bonded. The mystery of our marks…it not only binds us to one woman but, at times, fuels a fiery need to create a child. I knew the minute Tarsha conceived.”
“If I… Will I know when I give Myla a child?”
“I don’t know. My father never told me if he knew. But I knew with you. Maybe you will know it. I hope you do. The moment is…priceless.”
Taric blew out a hot breath, shaking his head. “I reach for stars. That moment will never come if I can’t make her human.”
Balic rolled his tongue around his cheek and looked to the closed door. Assured of their privacy, he fixed a stern look on his son. “Then you’ll find a way. But if not…we’ll find you a child. As you well know, many mothers don’t survive the birthing. You’ll have an heir…either by blood or gold. No one need know.”
“Like Marchen,” Taric said sadly.
“If need be. It’s been done in the past by other nobles. Why should the monarchy be different? It won’t lessen the burning in your gut, but you’ll have an heir.”
“An heir…but the bloodline still dies with me. I’ll be the last Segur.” Taric forced himself to meet his father’s eyes. “I didn’t plan to fall in love with my guardian.”
Surprisingly, Balic smiled. “You think I planned to fall in love with a sorceress? Me? The man who hates magic? No, Taric, you can’t control who you love. Myla is your bondmate. Just hold her as long as you can. The rest will work itself out somehow.”
The queen returned with a small tray holding a pitcher of ale. Balic nodded at her silent inquiry but Taric shook his head. Ale wasn’t what he wanted at the moment. Not even married and he was lamenting his lack of offspring. In his brooding silence, the queen stroked his arm. He sent her a thankful smile before she stepped behind her husband.
Balic drew her back to his side and reached for the scattered papers. “We’d better box these up before they get ale spilled on them.”
“Just a moment.” Lunian bit her lip in thought. “If this guardian is magic, created by Queen Tarsha, wouldn’t she be able to understand some of her writings?”
Taric’s eyes flew to his father’s and both sets widened.
Lunian wrinkled her nose to match her brow. “Do you mean to tell me you have both sat here for hours and never thought to ask the one magical creature you know if she could help you? Honestly, sometimes I think that crown dulls your thoughts.” Lovingly, she tapped on Balic’s skull.
Smiling in play, he took her hand and looked up at his son. “She has a point. Call Myla. It can’t hurt to ask.”
Taric frowned and began pacing. “I can’t. I swore I’d never call her against her will and she asked me not to call her out again. I’m honor-bound, a fact she pointed out earlier.” Running a frustrated hand though his hair and down his face, he snorted. “I guess I could throw myself down the stairs. She’d appear in a blink if my life was threatened.”
Balic pushed Lunian off his chair arm and picked up a sharpened letter opener from the table. He hefted it, tested it for weight and raised his eyes to his son. A quiet menace deepened his tone. “I pray she’s as good as you say, Taric. Now don’t move.”
The silvered blade flew through the air directly at Taric’s chest. It stopped when it embedded in Myla’s right palm. Lunian screeched and Taric exhaled loudly but Myla reacted. Faster than his eyes could see, she ripped the blade from her hand and snapped it toward Balic. The king’s howl was drowned out by another feminine scream and Taric’s shout. He grabbed for Myla’s arm but it was too late.
Pinned to the chair back, the handle sticking out of his shoulder, Balic grimaced and shook his head. Lunian covered her mouth with both hands before jerking her eyes to Myla. “You could have killed him!”
“If I wished him dead, I’d have aimed for his throat, not his shoulder,” Myla replied coldly.
Balic grunted in ironic amusement and grasped the letter opener. It took visible effort to yank the blade from his body. “Good eve, my daughter-to-be.”
Myla tipped her head to the left and stared at him, her ruby blood dripping on the carpet. Lunian grabbed a folded cloth from beside a wash basin and pressed it to her husband’s wound.
The air erupted in sound. The frantic events had been a battle cry in the castle. A rolling cadence of footsteps pounded on the stairs and grew louder with servants and soldiers rushing to aid their king.
Taric sprinted to the door and nearly collided with Bryton. “Keep everyone out!” he hissed. “He’s fine. Distract them and keep everyone downstairs.”
Bryton nodded, whirled around and forced a laugh, propelling a throng of people down the stairs. “Nothing to worry about. Queen Lunian just saw a mouse and our crown dispatched it for her.”
“A mouse!” Lunian gaped in horror. “I’d never allow a mouse in—”
“Lu.” Balic’s low groan redrew her concern and she bent to him.
“I am not your daughter.” Myla spoke calmly, ignoring her injury. Taric took one of the folded cloths and began to wrap her hand but she pulled from him. “Why did you seek to harm your child? There is no animosity in your heart.”
“Not at the moment but if ever a woman tempted me…” Balic let the sentence hang and his wife tugged the bloody tunic over his head.
Taric’s eyes fell to the blackened mark above his father’s heart and his throat clogged. The mark darkened on the death of a heartmate. Would his darken if a life was never lived?
Lunian pressed too firmly against his shoulder and Balic sucked in air harshly but glowered with regal arrogance at the woman who’d inflicted his injury. “Now, Guardian, you’ve appeared, thanks to my blade, which you so kindly returned to me. My son needs your help.”
Her gaze swiveled to him but she did not look at his face, instead focusing on the small splatter of her blood on his shirt. “I serve your needs, my charge.”
Taric didn’t want her servitude, he wanted her love. Her smooth cheeks were now dry but whiter than normal. He tasted the ache in her soul, an echo to what shrilled through him at the thought of never holding her again. A flash of the river formed in his mind, of her pale skin caressed by shimmering moonlight in a cradle of dark ink. There had to be a way to keep her by his side forever.
His hand tenderly stroked the smooth wooden trunk in place of her skin. “Myla, these are my mother’s magical writings. I don’t understand them. Can you?”
She didn’t speak but stepped to the table and looked inside. Her gaze darted over several letters, no expression marring her face. Tucking the cloth tighter around her bleeding hand, she reached into the shallow depth. The largest stack she set aside.
“These are just recipes, accounts of spells for healing or restful sleep.” The next stack took her a moment longer to examine but were simply friendly correspondence with friends and held no secrets. The last pile was thinner and held her attention the longest.
“These are from the time around her passing. Here she speaks of carrying her child, her wishes and plans for him. She knew he was to be male. She dreamt of her death and sought to prevent it, seeking different potions and spell wordings. There were none found. When it proved fruitless, she turned her search to protecting him.” Wide feline eyes rose to Balic’s, studiously ignoring Taric. “Queen Tarsha writes that you fought her plans to create a guardian, exchanging angry words and bitterness.”
“Yes, forgive me, I’d rather have had a live mother for my son than a puff of smoke.” The acid in Balic’s tone clipped his words.
In her innocent nature, Myla took no offense but bowed her head to his statement, accepting it. “There is nothing here which I have not already told you, except for a listing of some d
ifficult-to-find herbs and payment rendered. None of the responses gave her hope in finding a preventative method. There is nothing about how she chose to call for me.” Woodenly she turned to him, eyes still downcast. “If you have no further need, I shall return.”
“I’ll always need you, Myla. You can’t lie to me, can you?” Although she didn’t move, she went even more still, as if bracing for a blow, and his heart twinged.
“No. I cannot lie.”
“Then answer me. If there were a way, would you choose to stay with me as my bride or would you prefer to remain as my guardian?”
Inch by slow inch, her gaze rose until it caught his. The same pain he felt was reflected in gold-green, and he bit his tongue to stop from begging her to stay with him. She had to choose for herself, freely and without coercion.
Her dewy pomegranate lips moved but he didn’t hear the soft words that left them with his ears. His heart heard them, loudly. “There is no choice. But if there were, I would be your bride.”
Aware that his father and stepmother were watching but not caring, Taric pulled her into his embrace.
Her soft gasp sounded wet with hidden tears and she stiffened. “It cannot be, Taric.”
“It can. We can.” Cupping her head, he tilted her face to his. “Hear me. You trusted me before, trust me now. Be my princess while I search for a way to make you fully human. Return to me as you need. Do whatever you need to do. I don’t want you to change who you are. Just let me be with you while I find a way to change what you are.”
“I cannot give—”
“We’ll figure all that out. I’ll find a way, I swear to you. Marry me, Myla?”
Hope brought roses to her cheeks and a gleam to her eye. On his arm, her fingers tightened, gently at first then with increasing strength. A deep inhale lifted her chest and her lip inched up on one side. Her trembling fingers left his arm and stroked his cheek, her touch barely grazing his skin. She nodded then giggled.
Taric tossed his head back and laughed. Absolute joy bubbled from deep inside and his bondmark tingled. I’m going to marry Myla. My guardian, my love, my wife. Myla.
