Myla By Moonlight (18 page)

“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?”

Heat flamed across his cheeks but Taric nodded. “Yes.”

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 difficult-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
.

Balic and Lunian began speaking at the same time but he ignored them both to take her mouth. Her fingers slid into his hair, bringing a shudder to his soul. He’d nearly lost her before claiming her. Never again would he let her go. She was his.

Nothing penetrated the singing joy in her kiss until a clamped hand on his shoulder shook him.

Bryton stood grinning like a cream-fed cat. “Did I miss it? Did you do it? Is she real?” Without thinking, he used one hard finger to poke Myla in the shoulder. The weapon in Myla leapt forward, grabbed the finger and bent it back toward his wrist. Bryton dropped to his knees in agony and Taric laughed. Balic’s chuckle echoed along with Lunian’s giggle.

“Myla, don’t abuse my captain,” Taric teased. “It’s bad manners.”

She released her grip with a fast snap and Lunian clapped her hands. “We have a wedding to plan! When? I think I can have everything arranged by late winter.”

“Next new moon, Stepmother.” Taric helped Bryton to his feet and grasped his shoulders. “I’ll need a second to stand with me at my wedding.”

Bryton glared at the bride-to-be and rubbed his hand. “You’ll need a second to survive the first summer being married to her and I am
not
helping you there. I like my balls attached to my body.”

“Bryton, mind your mouth!” Lunian whirled to Taric, raising her brows in a stunned and horrified look. “New moon? Taric, there’s no way I can—”

“New moon,” Taric insisted. “It’s nearly twelve days away. If it can’t be done in that time, then don’t do it. All I need is Myla and a priest.”

“Leave the wedding to the women, you have a Council trial to get through. Marchen won’t stop his evil because of a ceremony,” Balic cautioned before turning to his wife. “Lu, do you think you could find her some proper clothing? She should be there by his side.”

The queen twisted her brows in determination and hurried to Myla, muttering, “You never said being your queen meant scrambling like an egg. I’ll do my best, with the gown and the wedding.” She pursed her lips at Taric. “New moon, ha!”

With that exclamation, Lunian attempted to pull Myla into her bedchamber, but Myla resisted, yanking her hand out of the queen’s grasp. “I will not leave Taric’s side. Whatever you must do for a gown, do here.”

Her hand propped on her hip, Lunian blew out a taxed breath. It was clear she’d had all she could take and Taric hid a grin. “Oh, you’re going to fit into this mule-headed family just fine. I’ve been given a task, milady, and I’ll see it through with or without your help. You need a gown, several in fact. I need measurements. You don’t want to leave, very well. Strip. Here. Now.”

Myla reached for her belt to comply and Taric’s eyes bulged. She would follow any order to remain with him. She had her belt unfastened before he stalled her hands. “Myla, just go with my stepmother. I’ll be right here in the next room with my father and Bryton.”