Bryton faked a smile. “Your wife spoils you and me with you. I’ve not eaten so well on a trail before. I’m going to walk for a while. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He barely heard a reply. Motioning to the guard standing watch, Bryton headed straight into the darkness. He had no clue where he was going but followed the call of the wind. Grasses, tree roots and brambles grabbed at his boots but his feet never slowed. Fear did not touch him. Concern for his path never crossed his mind. Only the song mattered, the mournful lilting of wordless melody.
Prairie gave way to forest. The forest grew thicker then thinned to sparseness. The gusts dried his eyes and he blinked. A taste of honey burst onto his tongue when he licked his lips, the sweetness blending with the bitter drink. Without thought, he opened his mouth to draw more of the flavor inside.
“I am called for you. I come to soothe the ache inside. I come to give you peace.”
Bright in the satin sky, the moon shone full with a throng of stars twinkling like torches. Bryton scanned the heavens but could see nothing but light and dark. An outcrop jutted over a vale. The funneled wind pushed at him until he stood at the precipice, the forest tops silvered below him. Icy-green leaves frosted by moonlight didn’t move, though his tunic snapped like a sail.
“I am called for you.”
“Who are you?” he yelled into the night. “Who sent you?”
“I am called to heal your wounds.”
His ragged breath battling the gale, he fisted his hands. “Show yourself to me then.”
The wind calmed but his pulse pounded with a vicious thud. His bones quivered, not from chill but anger. He only knew one person with the power to call a magic spirit—his beloved pain-in-the-ass queen. A dark spot grew larger in the moon’s circle. It flapped powerful wings once and then glided to descent. A fragile second before the owl landed beside him, a swirl of lilac shimmered along the golden brown feathers. A woman stepped off the air and stood before him.
Moonglow dazzled on long hair the shades of the owl’s feathers. A thin gold braid secured it low on her nape, but full waves fought the hold. Wide gray eyes scrutinized him and a tiny smile bowed her pink lips. Her chin was a touch too pointed to be beautiful but it elongated the graceful column of her throat, and his gaze slid down to her one bared shoulder. The delicate exposed curve glistened like cream. Myla’s chiton had been a draped length of ruby red silk affixed at both shoulders. This woman’s chiton shone like blazing fire, sunrise against an ebony sky.
With her hands clasped lightly before her, she bowed her head. “I am Salome. I am called for you, Bryton Haruk.”
“I don’t need a guardian,” he snapped.
“I am not a guardian.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am a peacemaker.”
Snorting, he shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’re shit out of luck then, because I don’t want peace. I want bloodshed and a lot of it. So just fly back to wherever you came from and leave me alone.”
“I cannot do that. I am called for you and am bound to you until you find respite.”
The formality of her words reminded him of Myla when he’d first met her. And that irritated him even more. She’d been a pain in the ass and this one could be no different. Frustration tore through him with a growl. He spun and stomped away from the crag edge only to return and point a finger at her. “I don’t like birds. Go migrate or something.”
“I cannot.”
“Myla needs to keep her magic nose the hell out of my life. Go tell her that I sent you away.”
“I cannot.”
“Cannot! Cannot! What can you do? Besides be a bird and a lullaby in the wind.”
Her smile transformed her face, rounding rosy cheeks and crinkling her eyes. The pretty but unremarkable features turned to glorious beauty and his breath caught. “I can help you lay your pain to rest.”
Arms spread wide, he glared at her. “So do it, birdie. Do your damnedest so you can fly into the night.”
Like petals dropping from a full blooming rose, her smile fell. Her head shake spread her hair along her back in ripples of maple cream. “Peace does not come like a ship on the water. You must open your heart and be ready to accept it.”
He crossed his arms and shifted his jaw. “My heart is dead. I have no use for pretty words or pretty women unless their legs are spread. Are you offering?”
“Is that what you require? ’Tis an easy enough request.” Salome slid her feet apart, widening her stance on the rocky outcrop.
Her naive compliance with his brash proposition ripped a grunted laugh from him. “Go away, Salome.”
The scent of wild honey assaulted him as she stepped closer. The elegance in her movement melted her gown to her skin, caressing curves hidden beneath silk. His thighs tightened and his gaze dropped to her throat. His body responded but that was easy to ignore. He’d always liked beautiful women, admired their form even when he had no intentions of acting on those thoughts. She was small, tiny compared to him, barely reaching his Adam’s apple. A long-fingered hand moved toward him and his knees locked to prevent stepping away. Her touch, light as a feather, landed above his heart.
“Your heart is not dead, only wounded. Only you have the true power to let go of your anger, your hate, your pain. I am but a tool to aid you.”
“I have enough tools. I have this.” Metal rasped against the scabbard as he drew his sword. The leather-wrapped grip felt right in his hand, familiar and soothing. He refused to think about her palm pressed to his chest feeling the same way. “I don’t need anything else.”
Starlight danced along the blade, highlighting the sheen, the scratches, the lethal edge, the etched word
Salvation
.
Her gaze traced from tip to hilt then returned to his face. Twilight-gray, her eyes held infinity and he fought against getting lost in them. They stared with never-ending patience. “You need me.”
“I don’t need you. I don’t want you.” He snapped her hand from his chest, tossing it down like a stray leaf. She tried to pull back but the force of his thrust sent her hand outward and into his blade. Her soft gasp sliced him as deep as the cuts that spewed blood from the backs of her fingers.
“Oh, shit! Come here.” The sword clattered to the rock as Bryton grabbed her hand. Her blood was warm, pumping with force. Three fingers were cut to the bone, white shining through the slashed flesh. He clamped a strong palm around them and squeezed.
She hunched her shoulders and tugged at his grip. “Ow! Do you wish to break my bones?”
“I wish I’d never met you but no, I’m trying to stop the bleeding. Stop fighting me.” His mind raced.
Myla. Myla had bled. She’d had to return to Taric to heal.
“Will this heal if you become a bird or the wind again?”
“The wind, yes.”
“Do it.”
“No.”
Bryton gaped at her. “No? What do you mean, no? This is bad, Salome. Either you shift or I’ll have to stitch it and I’m not that good with a needle.”
“What do you care if I bleed? You care not if your blood spills.”
Curses that would make his mother blanch brewed in his mouth but he gritted his teeth. “Are all the women where you’re from pains in the ass?”
“The pain is in my hand and you are not helping by being cross.”
His jaw released and swung open in stunned silence.
A gentle smile curved her lips. “Release my hand. Take your blade and slice a piece away. From the chiton, not me, if you please. I shall wrap my hand in that.”
He drew her to sit on one protruding crag then knelt at her feet. The silky fabric cut smoothly with barely a whisper. On her feet, tiny leather sandals laced up across the delicate bones of her ankles. His eyes skimmed along the high arch of her foot, the hollow above her heel, the curve of her calf. Only the warm drop of blood that fell with a soft splat to the rock beside him tore his gaze away. He reached for her hand.
The orange material soaked the blood like a dry sponge. The first layer molded to the wound like skin and he looped the long piece again and again until not one drop of red bled through. Tearing the end with his teeth, he tied off a crude knot.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It was an accident, two forces moving in opposite directions that clashed at the wrong moment. There is no blame, my charge.”
“Your charge?” His eyes snapped wide. “Birdie, I
have
charges. I am
not
a charge.”
“You are. You are my charge. I was asked to come for you and I came.”
“I didn’t ask for you.”
Serene dove-gray eyes did not blink as she leaned closer, cradling her injured hand to her stomach. Steady soothing fingers did not tremble as she stroked his brow. Her gentle voice whispered over the sounds of night insects, a sweetly composed song vibrating in her words. “This I know, but you need me and I am here. I was called by those who value you. Do not dishonor them.”
His spine jerked straight and his vision narrowed until the world faded away. Only her face, tranquil and delicate, remained centered.
“I have never in my life brought dishonor to the House of Segur and I won’t start with you. Fine, I’ll be your charge. But hear this, birdie, stay out of my way. Karok’s time grows short and I’ll mark the end.”
Her hand dropped from his forehead like a stone from a rooftop. Her eyelids closed and a small nod bobbed her chin. “If that is where your destiny leads, I cannot stop your path. I simply wish to bring peace to your soul…before the end.”
This Bryton could accept. He knew his goal, accepted the only way to ease the ache that never left his heart. His family, Taric, his men, none understood how hard he’d struggled to find other ways. The pain, the guilt, weighed more than a castle stone.
The most important battle of his life and he’d failed. He’d failed his child. He’d failed his bride. He’d failed himself. There was no absolution. He’d have fallen on his own sword had honor allowed it. Instead, he’d thrown caution and safety to the wind, taking every dangerous and deadly position he could. Still, he was stuck in this mortal plane, bound by chains of misery and grief.
If it comforted those left behind to think they tried, then he could give them that small relief. He only wished there were a way he could slough off the anguish. A part of him wished with all his strength that Salome and her magic could restore him. But wishes were for children and he was long grown.
“That type of peace, I will accept.”
“Then we have a beginning.” Her smile eclipsed the moon.
Salome watched, nestled in the branches of an oak tree. The camp slept, except for the one guard sitting by the fire. He’d feed bits of wood to the blaze then make a slow trek around the grounds every quarter hour. Sixteen trips and he woke his fellow guard, who began the process anew. Bryton slept fitfully, his eyes snapping open at the beginning of every circle. His sword lay under his blanket, on the bedroll with him. Her owl’s wingtips quivered with the desire to stroke his brow and soothe him into deeper slumber.
She’d chosen her moment to reveal herself to him with great care. She’d studied him, learning his mannerisms and familiarizing herself with his emotions. Turmoil and tension hardened every muscle in his frame, never letting his soul rest. With each moment in this world, her magic wove deeper into her essence, deeper in tune with him. His unease vibrated under her skin, churned in her blood, knotted her belly. Pain and remorse weighed down on his shoulders and her back bowed. The slice of his blade had surprised her but it did not touch the agony in his soul.
Why? What fueled his devotion to this wife he could not see? Why did he spark something in her that made her want to reach out to him, to run her hand down his cheek or shake him until his brains rattled? The hard pads of his fingers attested to his time handling a sword yet he’d gently wrapped her bleeding flesh as if she were a brittle leaf that might crumple with a breath. The song in her magic grew a new melody, an undercurrent of strange and haunting longing she did not recognize. It had not changed until he touched her. What would it sound like if his hand lingered?
Bryton rolled, his eyes open, staring at the star-strewn sky. His steady rising chest belied the thunder of his heartbeat but Salome heard it clearly. He turned his head, his gaze locking with hers. Heat arced between them, not the scorch of summer or the sting of fire but a low, brewing storm that gathered strength and power. One wing twitched and she blinked. No clouds darkened the night sky but a primal tempest was coming. It would not sway the trees, it would not feed the earth. It would affect only the two of them, and the outcome would sizzle with the kiss of lightning.
Taric’s arm lay heavy on her hip but Myla’s mind was weighted with far more than the slumber-relaxed muscle. Blue-white moonlight streamed through the open window, sending a river of light along the chamber floor. Memories drifted along that moon-drenched brook, memories that had once given her joy. Now they spiked fear in her breast.
“Will you attend me, Sir Bryton?” The formal way she’d spoken had straightened his back. With a curt nod, he’d 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.”