by Inez Kelley
Tarsha pulled Balic deeper into the purple waterfall of enchantment and touched his mangled shoulder. He jolted and her mouth worked in silent charm. Taric’s heart clenched, fighting the cry rising from his gut. A wide red stain spread on his father’s already bloody tunic. The king gasped and collapsed bonelessly to the cold stone floor. And yet, he still stood beside his wife.
The Balic which remained upright was younger, stronger and unharmed. He glowed with the same transparent hue as Tarsha. Bathed in lilac splendor, joy shone from his unlined face and he wrapped two working arms around his bride.
A soft-pitched intake of breath yanked Taric’s gaze to the floor. Beside his father’s shell, Myla’s foot moved. Fierce heat gripped his heart and he tried to inhale but his chest was paralyzed. Myla’s bondmark glistened with lavender glitter and the black faded to flesh. Within the charmed glow, her eyes fluttered and blinked. Her breasts heaved harshly then slowed to a steady rhythm.
Feet frozen to the ground, Taric gawked and his incredulous heart surged to a gallop.
A maternal whisper slid across his spirit. “You shall never be alone. This is your mother’s first, last and most binding promise.”
A masculine tone echoed behind it. “We are always with you. We watch and you make us so proud.”
Gratitude released his lungs and he laughed and sobbed with one breath. Myla pushed up to sit and looked around. Feline-slanted eyes landed on him and joy colored her face with a blush. Bryton stepped aside as she rose. Her short run to him was made in a leap and she crashed into him, her arms around his neck, weeping and laughing with him.
The depths of Taric’s despair welled with a flood of tender love and burst through his grief with a rushing tide of joy.
Myla.
Disbelief fled and blackberry sweetness flowed from her lips to his. Death had left no taste and Taric feasted on the luscious wine flavored with the salt of both their tears. He cradled her head, stroking the wind-knotted chestnut hair, staring deep into her eyes, afraid to let her escape his sight. She’d come back. She was here, with him, alive and warm. His father had given her back. First his mother, then his father, both had given him the most precious of gifts.
“Are you really here or have I completely gone mad?”
“I’m here, my prince. I’m here and I’m real.” She pulled one hand from her hair and pressed a kiss to his palm.
Unable to stop touching her, he slid it along her cheek. “Real? You’re…real?”
“Real. I can’t mist any longer and never again can return to you.”
“I don’t care. You’ve been returned now. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.”
Air could not fit between their embrace. Taric buried his face in her hair. He looked up from the curve of Myla’s neck and his parents looked at him. Tarsha blew him a kiss and Balic nodded, love so bright on both translucent faces it was nearly too pure to gaze on. The mystic luminosity began to dim. Fainter and fainter the light faded until the scent of jasmine bled away. At last, nothing remained but the watery moonlight.
The silent void hung heavily, a tapestry of nothingness where a masterpiece once stood. A sudden breeze lifted Taric’s hair and returned the rooftop to the realm of everyday; even the dead torches sprang to life. Dancing light flickered over them, banishing any hint of enchantment that lingered and highlighting the bloodshed.
The magic left no traces except for two hearts that beat when they shouldn’t have. They beat for each other.
Myla gasped and pulled from him, whirling within his embrace to view the battered body of the king. “Your father—”
“It was his choice.” Taric couldn’t help the crack in his voice. Balic’s tunic was mostly blood soaked and his sword arm lay at an awkward angle but his face was serene in forever-peaceful sleep. Taric couldn’t force himself to release Myla so he pulled her with him and stepped to the body of the only parent he’d ever known. No longer highlighted by magic, the gruesome wounds screamed in ugly menace, a remnant of a war now over.
Taric knew he was blessed beyond any man alive tonight. At the moment of his death, he’d been surrounded by those who loved him most, whom he held most valued—his beloved, his father and his brother of choice. The woman who died giving him life had appeared. The woman he cherished had given him life and disappeared. His father had given the ultimate sacrifice out of love. Both his life and his love had been restored to him, assuring a future that wouldn’t have been, a future that began this moment.
A soft murmur drew his gaze to the left. His captain held a weeping charmist and whispered soft words into her hair. She nodded and stepped away from him, both obviously reluctant to part. Katina wiped shaky hands down her wet face and hurried to the opened roof doorway. She paused to sob once more while gazing at the queen’s body then hurried from view.
Bryton knelt before the king. He bowed his coppery head and murmured low words of ceremony. The code of the bodyguard was sacred and Bryton had done his duty. There was no shame in this night but still, a monarch had died. He moved to pick up Balic’s remains and Taric stopped him.
“No, Bryton. I’ll carry him. It’s my duty as his son.”
Taric knelt beside the chilling body and placed his hand on the silent chest. A painful eulogy whispered out, private, but he knew it was heard. “Goodbye, Papa. Thank you, for my life, and for Myla’s. I won’t let you down. I swear it.”
Taric’s warmth left her and Myla wrapped both arms around her middle. Her bones rattled in her skin with all the joy coursing through her but one look at Taric’s solemn face reminded her of tonight’s cost. She read him as only a lover could, even without a magical tie. He’d rather be holding her, basking in the joy of reunited love but his title prevented that. He had his honor and his duty and she had hers.
Digging into her warrior’s spirit, she laid her palm on his bare shoulder. He turned, locking his eyes with hers. Responsibility and sorrow rimmed the oaken color and filled them with deep weariness. She nodded with love and understanding. Mourn now, celebrate later.
A soft percussion began and grew rapidly. Katina had spread word of the rooftop experience. Under Myla’s palm, steel formed in Taric’s spine and he scooped the limp form from the stone. He rose with a somberness etched deep into his soul and a beloved father clutched to his chest.
Bryton stood before him carrying the queen with a matching expression. Lord Myrtlewood shot through the door, bootless and with his tunic inside-out. On his heels were the majority of the Elders, the Royal Guard, and others Myla had no knowledge of.
Myrtlewood gaped at the death and bloodshed on the rooftop and a frown of disbelief tugged at his mouth. The quiet exploded into frantic conversation and confusion. From behind Taric’s shoulder, Myla kept her gaze on Myrtlewood’s thoughtful contemplation. He would set the tone. His eyes flew to Taric holding the remains of the king and he went to his knees. The silent move hushed the crowd and his deep respectful voice pealed firmly in the night.
“The Elders wish to express our deep and sincere regret at the tragic passing of your father, My Lord Justitium.”
Taric froze. He was now Lord Justitium, the Regnant Presumptive, ruler of Eldwyn until his coronation. Every person followed Myrtlewood’s lead and knelt. Panic hit and Taric’s fingers tightened on his father’s frame. Myla laid her palm against the small of his back. Tension flowed from him to her arm and dissipated into the night. She gave him her calm as easily as she did her love. Pride rushed her soul when he spoke in gracious lordly tones.
“Thank you. Please, see that Lady Marchen’s remains are taken care of and given the proper respect. She was an innocent of this evil and deserves reverent care. Emeric can be found in the rocks below the north wall. Bring him inside. Emerto Marchen…see to all three burials, if you will. They were citizens of Eldwyn no matter the crimes. It’s not fitting to leave them to the vultures.”
“I’ll see to it myself, milord.” Myrtlewood bowed his head and every soul on the roof follow
ed.
A warm essence tingled Myla’s arm. Balic’s spirit had laid a hand on Taric’s shoulder. She fought tears as Taric fulfilled every hope and vision she’d had for him. A king had been born.
A smile inched outward. She had so much to tell him when the night finally ended. It would be a while, maybe not until dawn, but her tale would keep. Although now fully human, she was not completely without magic. Her warrior’s strength might have faded but the fierce heart remained. She would always hold and protect him, but now she would have to let more of that duty fall to Bryton. She had other concerns.
Tarsha had given Myla one announcement for her son. Those magically imparted words fluttered her heart. Two queens and a king had shown Myla how generous a parent’s love is, how selfless. It was knowledge she would need.
Her free hand strayed to her belly. Two lives had been reborn by magic this night. One had been created by love.
Epilogue
Deep shadows ringed Taric’s eyes. He paced in poignant silence. He’d pulled on the tunic from earlier and found his boots but still, he looked unkempt. Dying, being reborn and becoming a ruler in the span of an hour weighted his shoulders but did not bow his back. Not even his somber duties dimmed the mantle of royalty. Every word, every action, every gesture from him had been that of a man in full readiness for his position. After entering the quiet room, he’d given his first command as acting king. He’d had Balic and Lunian wrapped in fine linen to be taken home to Thistlemount at first light.
Myla stood before the bed in reverent peace. Two jeweled crowns rested on the chests of two shrouded bodies, shells of the loving monarchs who wore them. Their sovereign headdresses would remain with them for five moons and then be passed—first to Taric, and later, to her at their wedding.
Candlelight flickered on Lunian’s tiara and a burning began in Myla’s eyes. Lunian was the closest thing to a mother Myla knew and it suddenly occurred to her that she would never talk with the queen again. Pressing quivering lips to her teeth, she whispered a farewell. An ethereal touch warmed her cheek and she smiled. Lunian was watching and Myla hoped to make her proud.
There was but one duty Taric had not attended to and she knew the moment he realized it. His feet stopped on the woven carpet and his eyes sought out his captain. Bryton leaned against the open door of the king’s—of Balic’s—antechamber and watched all who entered. The steady stream of mourners had not ceased through the night. Now the moon rapidly faded to the sun’s first golden touches and stars were plucked from the sky by dawn’s fingers.
Taric strode to the doorway and crossed the threshold. Bryton kicked off the door to follow but Taric halted him with a look. “Stay. Stay with Myla. I’ll take Henic with me but you guard her.”
Bryton stared after his charge with anxiously drawn brows but did not leave his post. Hiding a smile, Myla gathered the full blue skirt of her simple gown and turned. Her motion pulled his eyes.
“Will you attend me, Sir Bryton?” The formal way she spoke straightened his back. With a curt nod, he approached and stood before her.
“King Balic gave me his life as I gave mine to Taric. But you pledged your life and your service to him long ago.”
“If I’d had the power to take Taric’s place up there, I would have,” Bryton snapped.
Myla shook her head. She did not berate him, rather she honored him. “Peace, Bryton. I meant no slight. I simply wish to thank you for your service. Because of Balic’s gift, I am human. I am able to give Taric an heir. I will give him the child he has given me.”
Sky blue eyes widened, dropped to her stomach then shot to her face. “You’re… He’s going to be a father?”
“Yes. His throne, his line is secure. I am no longer his guardian. You are, Bryton. His life is in your hands now without my…interference.”
His lip twitched but he could not hide the twinkle in his eyes. “You were a bit of a pain in the ass at times.”
“I’m sure I will continue to be such.” She tipped her head to the right. “Your issue will one day sit on my throne but I would prefer you and I keep that secret from Taric. He will be far too protective and indulgent a father as it is.”
His eyes widened even more. “What?”
“Your daughter…not your first one, the second, shall be the bondmate of the son I bear. I may be fully human but I have not lost my gift of foreshadowing.” Myla cupped both hands in front of her, one over the other. A warm light grew in her palms until it leaked through her fingers in pale lilac shimmers. “I should like to give you a gift, a bit of my essence. Taric is my heart. Please accept this and use it to keep him safe.”
A harsh gulp moved the cords of his neck but he nodded. A fiery orb held in her palm, Myla stepped closer and touched it to his heart. The effervescence was sucked into his chest and prognostication bathed his soul. For an instant, his bright blue eyes glowed with gifted enchantment as his blood accepted her magic then they soothed to clear ocean.
“Well, shit.” His stunned whisper broadened her grin.
Taric entered with Katina and five men behind him. A gentle smile curved her love’s lip when his gaze fell on her. Myla’s now-permanent heart increased its beat and her cheeks heated. How she loved him.
Taric cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “Bryton Haruk, son of Mactog and captain to Crowned Prince Taric Batu, now captain to Lord Justitium, Regnant Presumptive of Eldwyn, stand before me and accept your reward and my gratitude.”
The rich timbre of his formal cadence sent a shiver through her blood. Bryton blanched and turned. The men behind the uncrowned king bowed their head in a show of respect. A charmist of the third level smiled at him while holding a wickedly long dagger.
Bryton saw the blade in Kat’s hand and whipped his head to Taric, brows raised in stunned incredulity. “But you’re not dead.”
“I was.”
Bryton’s face was a slab of hardened shame. “Don’t, Taric. There’s a dead king on my watch and I killed a woman. Don’t try and reward me for that.”
Taric placed both hands on his shoulders. “You did your duty. I was your charge, not him. Yet you kept him safe while I fought Marchen. You shielded him from Elora. Woman or not, she was an assassin. His death was nothing you could have prevented. There’s no shame here, only honor…the highest honor. You’ve earned your full mark.”
Taric stepped back and two members of the Royal Guard poised on either side of Bryton. Two other men, nobles from the providences of Hillcrest and Shawton, stood as witnesses while the last man carried a bowl of ground ash and salt.
Bryton swallowed once then a stoicism fell over him. He pulled the tunic over his head, dropped it and stood tall before Taric. Their eyes met and Myla sucked back a sob. How powerful this warrior branding was. It stirred the soldier in her soul.
Bryton spread wide his arms and a guard on each side took hold of the thick limbs. Taric murmured to Katina and she licked her lips before whispering a charm. A ball of fire surrounded the dagger blade until it shone bright glowing orange. At the peak of heat, she blew and the flame faded away. Only then did she offer the hilt to her new king with a curtsey.
Without pause, Taric laid the glowing dagger blade full on Bryton’s upper chest. Only the faintest grimace twitched Bryton’s lips as he received the highest honor a captain can achieve. His fists clenched but the men gripping his arms did not have to struggle to hold him still.
Myla’s soul sang with the tribute to a fellow warrior. Bryton accepted his reward with grace, bravery and valor. Katina gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. The scent of burnt flesh scorched the air. Taric kept the blade steady until the mark was set. Long and raw, the full-blade-shaped wound oozed watery blood when the metal left Bryton’s skin.
The final man stepped forward with his bowl. Taric scooped up a large handful of the dark powder and quickly smeared the mixture across the fresh burn. Bryton hissed and his thighs and forearms tightened visibly but he did not jerk away
. When the physical part of the ritual was complete, the guards released their hold.
Bryton drew a shaking breath. “Please don’t. This is more than enough.”
Bryton broke protocol with his whisper but Myla knew Taric would not deny him his full honor. Duty and rank were Bryton’s life, not simply his credo. Bryton had never asked for special treatment based on their friendship and Taric had given none. Taric wouldn’t give it now and demean his captain’s accomplishment. Bryton had more than earned his reverence and his admiration. And hers.
Taric looked over Bryton’s shoulder and Myla met his gaze. As always, Taric needed and she served. She served now at his side, an equal rather than his guardian. She walked around the men and stood proudly beside her beloved. The devotion shining on his golden face entranced her. As the Crowned Prince, Taric had only knelt before one man, one he’d loved dearly. Now he would be required to kneel before no one. But it was clear to her the man before them held no less importance in Taric’s life than the one who’d sacrificed everything.
Spine straight, Taric dropped to one knee before his captain and bowed his head. Myla followed suit and sank to the deepest curtsey she could. Taric’s hand found hers at their side. Before witnesses, together, they honored his avenger. Above their bent heads, a deep shuddered breath sounded.
Taric’s voice rang clear. “In honor of your sacrifice, we commend you. In honor of your friendship, we thank you. In honor of your service, we reward you. The Crown, Eldwyn and we salute you as is your due. Wear your mark with pride for you’ve earned admiration above all others. Speak your price and it is freely given for the gift you give to Eldwyn…to me, can never be purchased.”
For one beat, Bryton didn’t breathe and then his deep tenor rang with ritual response. “Segur!”
