Taric’s firm hand fell on his shoulder with gentle strength. “I hunted through the darkness until I came to the light. I aimed for the kiss before it landed. Salome can be human, Bry.”
“What does he mean?” Salome clutched Bryton’s arm, her grip weak and faltering.
Hopelessness scalded the tears in his throat. “Tar, someone would have to die for that.”
Taric shook his bloody head and knelt beside him. “No, think about it. What happened on that rooftop?”
“You died, Myla died, you come back, Balic died, she came back and my ass got wet.”
“Wrong.” Taric’s whisper held full confidence. “At the point of my death, Myla freely gave me her life. She didn’t claim it for herself. She could have. That was what my scrambled mind realized too late. Myla always had the power to choose her path, just like she chose to become my guardian. Like Salome chose to become your peacemaker.”
Truth tinged every word and Bryton’s gaze flew to Myla. The queen cocked her head then nodded. “Yes, that was true. When the veil between worlds was thinnest, I chose to give my life away, as Balic did. It is not an inborn power but one that only stems from deep love. If Salome loves you, then she need only claim her life as her own…I hope.”
“Yes.” Salome’s voice cracked but her fingers squeezed his hand with determination. “I love you with every drop of my being. I
want
to choose my life, choose to remain with you. I must try.”
Bryton swallowed. Did he dare believe this was possible? What risks did she face if it failed? What risks were there if she succeeded? “If you do this, you’ll never fly again.”
“Yes, I will,” Salome murmured with a private smile. “In your arms.”
“It’ll mean, one day, you’ll die.”
“It will mean I can cross to the other side and be with you forever. Believe in me, beloved. Trust in me. I need your strength to do this.”
Trepidation boomed in Bryton’s soul. He had to believe Taric had figured it out. He had to believe Salome could be human. He had to give her all the control. A sudden comprehension shocked through him, stilling his quaking limbs. He didn’t have to give her anything. She already had the power over her life, the power over her path.
A small hope grew, flickered and heated. Faith inched his lip higher. “I’ve seen a dead man wake up, a king trade places with a corpse, and a jaguar live in a burn scar. Do it, birdie.”
The liquid ripple in her breathing as she struggled to sit worried him. Avoiding the arrow protruding from her ribs, he cradled her against his chest, praying it would not be the last time he held her. Her palm curled around his arm and she raised her pale face. A smile curved her bloodless lips. “The time is now.”
Blood loss left her too weak to stand. Bryton propped her shoulders against the cracked altar that still held his blood. Her knees bent and she curled her feet back. Taric’s arrow had struck bone, lodging deep and planting firm. Bryton was oddly grateful. Had it passed through the soft tissues unimpeded, Salome would have bled out before her body crashed to the stone. Now human death stalked but granted him a few moments to speak with her. Time for a goodbye or a last kiss or for hope to take root in a screaming soul.
For no reason other than to touch her, he smoothed her hair from her brow, his fingers lingering on the stubborn wave along her cheek. He straightened her hem and wiped a dust smudge from her chin. When there was nothing more he could do, he pressed his mouth to her forehead.
“Don’t risk yourself. If you have to go, go. I’d rather know you were alive somewhere than here and dead.”
A slender palm cupped his jaw. “Believe and grant me your strength.”
Myla crouched beside her, her emerald gaze glowing bright. “Stand back, Bryton. The veil is very thin.”
“She’ll be all right.” Taric gripped his arm, offering quiet comfort. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I should have known better.”
“Don’t do it again.” Bryton fixed his glare to dagger-like sharpness. “Would you have shot her if you’d known I was staying?”
“Yes,” Taric whispered. “You told me to, remember? I never second-guess when my captain tells me to do something. Death has to be close for her to do the spell. That was what your vision meant.”
Salome’s lids drooped in sluggishness but she forced them wide, her head angled slightly toward his murmuring queen. A slight nod bobbed her chin. Her tiny fists clenched tight as Myla gripped the arrow shaft. Bryton jerked when she ripped the missile from Salome’s chest. Scarlet spread rapidly along the bright silk and his pulse drummed with ache. Would he watch another woman he loved die? An unmanly whimper formed in his throat, fighting for air.
Myla pushed to a stand, leaving Salome alone in a pool of golden light. It poured over her skin like water. A pale pink tongue licked her dry lips before her chest rose with an inhale. Trembling arms raised toward the sky. A harmonized melody swelled from deep within her.
“Ancient magic, receive my plea, come now in this hour of need.
Grant to me a life of choice, let my soul and heart rejoice.
Grant to me a path swept clear, to walk with one whom I hold dear.
Each drop of life I claim for me, hear my call and let it be
.”
In the bright light of day, a storm cloud burst through the heavens, crackling with thunder and lightning. Sand shook from the walls and the stone beneath their feet heaved and swelled. A luminous beam of lilac descended in a fall of glimmer orbs. Debris skittered beneath the gusting supernatural breath, dust billowing around him. Bryton refused to tear his sight from Salome.
Magic lifted her, teasing through her curls until they licked at the whipping wind. Her chiton pulsed with golden light until the wet crimson stain faded away. Her body trembled, mouth open and eyes closed. Mystic pollen ripped from her skin. A cry reached Bryton’s ears, more whimper than scream.
“She’s too frail,” Myla whispered in horror. “That’s why she didn’t shift as soon as the arrow struck.”
Fear gutted Bryton like a deer. Salome had vented such power with her tornado, tossing grown men like rag dolls around a toy room. The cracks in the stone walls came from force of her wind. Twice in the span of a few minutes, she had bridged her realm and this one. Her magic had to be weakened. Added with the injury to her human body, it sapped her of the strength to survive the transformation.
Katina had been weakened by childbirth and not even her maternal fury could prevent her death. Horror-cold chills encased Bryton and gooseflesh erupted on his skin. This was his greatest fear. He was going to lose Salome, too, right before him.
A bolt of red-hot anger pierced him. No. He would not stand by and watch again. Fists clenched to white-knuckled hammers, he steeled his spine and strode into the curtain of lavender light. Electrified air sizzled on his skin. The center of the circle was flavored with a mix of wild honey and incense. It lapped at him like invisible water, eddying around his thighs as he reached high. His hand clamped around Salome’s sandal-strapped ankle.
She weighed nothing. Like pulling a kite from the sky, he tugged her floating body down until he could wrap his arms around her. There was no firmness in her muscles and she slumped in his embrace, lifeless.
Only love can give life but there is power in a kiss
.
He tilted her chin back and took her mouth. Slack lips did not respond and a terrified fizzle coursed through his veins. It wasn’t working. He deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue to stroke hers. Nothing. Was Queen Tarsha wrong? Wasn’t there power in a kiss?
“Salome, please, sweetling, please…” he pleaded against her cheek.
The tingle of enchantment danced along his scalp. A buzzing hum brewed in his gut, the bit of Myla’s essence responding to the call of magic. His gifted foreshadowing leaped stronger than ever and his remaining eye must have blazed white but this time, in this protected shroud of mystic power, he kept his human sight. He heard the song from above, felt its power wash through him. From deep under his sternum, familiarity bubbled. He unconsciously purred like a cat having its belly stroked.
Bryton tossed his head back and searched the heavens. Above him, a prism of pulsing color and light sang in a chorus of voices that grew stronger and closer. A strange sense of being surrounded by a multitude prickled along his nape. Hidden fingers touched him, smoothed over his back, his arms, his face. There was no fear in the circle, just an overwhelming impression of welcome, solidarity and union. Bryton smiled as he recognized the sensation—familial love.
“Is Salome your daughter? Are those that exist in your world your children? Do you feel? Do you love?” He cupped her head, bringing her cheek to his heart, holding her tight. “I have a little girl. I would kill for her, die for her. But one day, I’ll give her to another man. It won’t mean I don’t love her anymore, just that I want her to be happy. Please, give Salome to me. Let me love her. If you won’t do that, then take her home. Let her live in her world. Don’t take her magic away and leave her dead. Please.”
Pink lightning scored the veil, striking Salome in the back. She jerked in his arms and power swept through him in sparks and crackles. Her lungs filled with air. Her eyes stayed closed but her lips opened just a fraction. Bryton sucked in a grateful breath and pressed his mouth to hers. A timid tongue stroked his. Something opened in his chest, that soft, warm place she had touched before they flew. He felt her inside him. Every caress of his mouth funneled more strength into her body, and her arms rose to circle his neck. With the rolling timbre of a kettle drum, life roiled through her. Perfection existed in the kiss.
A fierce energy wrenched them apart, throwing him outside the charmed glow. It shoved him into Taric. Hard arms went around him, preventing his fall and halting his charge back into the circle. Taric’s clench held firm and his awed voice brushed Bryton’s ear.
“Wait! Watch.”
Salome rose high off the ground once more, her body shuddering. A roar sounded in Bryton’s ears, an otherworldly tune of a hundred voices in every octave. A slow smile spread across Salome’s face and a peaceful warmth infused her expression. Amazement washed through Bryton with a hearty laugh and certainty replaced all fear. He knew that look. Salome was basking in her family before joining with him.
Magic slowly lowered her to the stone. Her feet touched the ground and one last whispered lullaby echoed with melancholy. The supernatural light faded away and Salome took her first steps as a human woman. She stepped into his arms. A new type of magic pulsed from her. It wasn’t of song or light, or wings and wind, or of spells and charms. It was the undeniable, undefeatable magic of love.
“It’s time,” whispered Henic, his second in command.
Bryton peeked into the hall and his eye went wide. “Fuck. How many people are in there?”
Henic chuckled. “The hall holds two hundred and the servants brought in more chairs. It seems every lord and noble, knight and tradesman wants to see the wedding of Eldwyn’s conquering hero.”
“I hate this shit,” Bryton grunted, fingering the stiff new leather over his left eye.
His mother would have preferred that he and Salome wed in a church but this was more a state ceremony than a private wedding. He was on display. Bryton grimaced, thinking of all the praises heaped, the rewards offered and the accolades granted him. Although Taric knew, no one else was privy to the fact that Salome had had an equal hand in ending the Skullmen’s reign of terror. She wanted it that way and he could deny her nothing.
The Council of Elders had even given him a title and the plot of land it carried. Not that he would ever do anything with it. No, he wasn’t the Baron of Willowforge. He was the King’s Law and his Might. He was Salome’s beloved. He was Jana’s Papa. Those were titles enough for him.
Sunlight glinted off his medals, the dress sword belted at his side and the gold braid edging the black wool dress tunic. He hadn’t realized how many medals he’d accumulated until this morning when getting dressed. Now he felt like a braggart, showing off like a trained monkey.
He drew a deep breath, tugged his uniform straight and marched behind his second toward the priest standing before the king’s and queen’s thrones. A sea of guards, each one shined to a polish and dressed in royal livery, lined the aisle. Gleaming swords formed an arch above his head. Bryton looked each man in the face. These were the cream of his soldiers’ crop, the best of the best, and they stood in perfect formation to honor him. That tribute meant more than every medal on his chest.
The deep blood-red of Henic’s tunic striding down the aisle quieted the seated guests. Before Taric’s coronation, Bryton had taken one look at the Royal Guard’s colors and put his boot down firm. No way in hell’s asshole was he wearing ruby red with his hair color. He alone wore ebony with the small Segur crest in ruby on his chest. His mother fussed it made the white in his hair stand out too much but it was better than looking like a human torch. He lifted his chin and faced the assembled visitors.
A trumpet blast shot through the room, raising the hair on the back of his neck. Taric entered with Myla on his arm and the vaulted crown of his position high on his head. The gashes Bryton had inflicted had healed, although he was certain there were probably still a few lingering scabs. This sideshow of a wedding had been slapped together too quickly for there not to be.
“Congratulations, my captain.” The royal timbre of Taric’s words was laced with honest emotion. “We wish you and your bride a lifetime of peace and harmony.”
Bryton bowed but caught the ghost of a smile curving Taric’s mouth. He placed one palm on Taric’s shoulder and dropped his voice to a private whisper. “Give me a wedding gift and shave the goatee. You don’t have to become your father. You’re a damn fine king in your own right.”
A hard swallow worked Taric’s throat and his eyes glittered. “Thank you, my friend.”
Bryton grinned. “Don’t mention it…Your Maggoty.”
Myla and Taric took their thrones. The minstrel master waved his baton and a smooth song wafted through the hall. Batu entered first, a velvet pillow clutched in his hand, small diadem of sapphires around his head. The little Crowned Prince glanced around in shyness but raised his chin in bravery. The jeweled dagger on the pillow bounced as he barreled straight down the center aisle. Shoving the pillow at Henic, he ran to his mother’s side and buried his face in her neck. The crowd twittered in amusement.
Jana toddled in next, her wobbly steps guided by her nurse’s hand. The golden curls framed her round face like a sunbeam topped with a looped pink bow. She filled his already bursting heart with happiness. Although she carried a basket of wheat to sprinkle, Bryton knew she was too young. Still, when she took the first step and dumped the contents in a pile before falling to her rump, he laughed out loud. Most others joined him. Forgoing tradition, he walked back the guard-lined aisle and took her hand. She jabbered as they slowly trekked toward the dais. His mother pulled the little girl onto her lap, smoothing the pale pink ruffled gown over her diaper.
The minstrels chimed a bell. That single note spiraled through Bryton with nerves he hadn’t felt until now. His gaze shot to his father in the front row. Mactog was completely silver now and growing thick along his waist but his blue eyes sparkled sharp as ever. His red tunic was weighted with his own medals marking his station as former High Captain. With a solemn nod, he rose and faced the crowd, ceremonial words steady and strong.
“This is my son. I christened him Bryton Waru, Warrior’s Pride. Our king calls him his Might and his Law. Eldwyn has named him the Baron of Willowforge. He has sacrificed much for us all and proven himself a soldier of valor, a captain of honor and a man of integrity. Come now, bride of his choice, and be joined to him in the eyes of his king, his countrymen and the law.”
Salome had no male relatives, no relatives at all, so she would enter alone. Bryton’s breath stuck in his chest as he waited, watching the archway. A glimmer of gold forced the air out with a whoosh. Salome wore a gown of sunlight yellow beneath a full-length shroud of transparent metallic gold. She floated, barely seeming to walk, to the end of the aisle before raising her chin to look at him. Through the translucent veil, her dove-gray eyes found his and she smiled. Bryton’s heart ached with love as he noticed what she held. Most brides carried a symbol of their love—flowers, a candle, maybe a jewel.
Salome carried a spoon.
Mactog’s voice boomed with command. “Who is this woman and who claims her?”
From behind him, Taric spoke in place of her family. “She is Salome Auroran Pacifico and she is claimed by the crown, family to my queen. We grant her dowry of a meadow of eternal golden peace. Her bride price is returned in honor of Eldwyn’s hero.”
Bryton swallowed. He needed no dowry and would have paid his last copper coin for her hand. He hadn’t expected Taric to name her or claim her but he had, named her for the morning serenity and claimed her as family. The magnitude of the gift settled like a warm spring breeze, surrounding Bryton in brotherhood. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Myla’s gaze. She winked a feline eye and smiled in secret knowledge. Bryton supposed Salome and she were sisters, of a sort.
“She is welcomed.” Mactog crossed to her in two brisk steps, lifted the veil from her face and took her hand. He led her to Henic. “My son’s bride has been presented and accepted. I entrust her to your care.”
Henic bowed and drew the dagger from the velvet pillow before taking Salome’s hand. He turned to Bryton, not even trying to hide his joy. “Shall I stand in your stead or will you claim her as your own?”
“I claim her.” He had claimed her long before this, in a dimly lit cavern in a faraway cliffside. This binding was for show; she was already his wife in his heart, in his soul.
The dagger point pricked his middle finger then repeated the bite on Salome’s. Henic pressed their fingertips together, mingling their blood and sealing their union. Bryton wrapped his fingers around hers as the priest began his long-winded speech of marriage and duty. There were no two people in the world who understood duty more than he and Salome. Their eyes never parted, exchanging silent, private vows heard only by their hearts.
“Pa-a!” Jana’s tiny grip tugged on his breeches and he glanced down. His mother’s face paled in shock. Apparently Jana had crawled away and was now interrupting the grand ceremony. The priest faltered but Bryton waved him on. He wanted this stupid public wedding over with.
Jana walked around his knees, chewed on his tunic edge then lunged for Salome’s gown. Joy sparkled from his bride as she lovingly allowed the tiny hand to wrinkle the sunshine silk. Jana played peekaboo through the transparent veil, delighting the crowd. Salome looked down and made a silly face, causing the little girl to erupt in laughter. Salome was a wonderful stepmother for his daughter and already the two were fast friends. The priest studiously ignored the antics but Bryton smiled until his cheeks ached.
Jana tilted her little head back and reached up to smack Salome on the stomach. “Baby!”
Bryton chuckled at the very clear word and cast a glance at the babbling clergyman. He shook his head at his daughter and whispered, “Give Papa some time, buttercup.”
“Baby,” Jana insisted, smacking Salome’s tummy once more. Her tiny china-blue eyes flashed with magic luminosity. “Sister.”
Salome’s eyes grew round. She turned to Bryton. “Did she just…?”
His mouth hung open but he nodded as the priest pronounced them married. A self-satisfied grin twitched at Bryon’s lips. “You’ve been human for less than a month. Damn, I’m good.”