Salome at Sunrise

by Inez Kelley

  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.”

  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 had broadened her grin.

  There was no grin on her face now. Now, worry wrinkled her brow and squeezed her eyes shut. Bryton had left a daughter in her and Taric’s care. One child. He had no others…yet. Although the love he’d shared with Katina had been powerful, they were not bound by the mysterious bonds of heartmates. Few were. She’d hoped he would heal and one day find a new love, a new mother for another child. But if he died without second issue…Her mind shivered in terror.

  “Myla, if you think any louder, you’re going to wake the children.” Taric’s voice husked with the rough edges of sleep, his breath warm against her shoulder. “What has your mind so troubled?”

  “Thoughts beyond my power,” she murmured, rolling to him. His face was hidden in the shadows but she needed no light to see the tawny cut of his brow, the ridges of his cheekbones, the thrust of his jaw. All this and more were carved into her heart decades ago. Her fingers strayed to the thick line above his heart, her mark, the brand of bonded heartmates. The falter in her caress drew his hand and he squeezed the trembles away.

  “Like what?”

  “Batu.”

  Taric snorted. “He’ll be okay. I’m sure he’s not the first child to eat soap.”

  Myla tugged her fingers from his grasp and stroked the wide bondmark once more. There was none she could share her troubles with but her mate, her husband. Night hushed her words but concern tightened them to a sharp whisper. “I worry Batu will never find his heartmate.”

  “He will, we just have to believe that. It’s hard enough thinking of him as anything other than a little boy but one day, when he’s grown, he’ll find his mate.”

  The bed ropes creaked as Taric moved to his back. For a long moment, slow ticks of time, he did nothing but breathe. Tensions crept into his frame, each minute stiffening transferring to her through her palm on his chest. “We can only hope. It’s beyond our control. For all the power of the crown, I can’t make his heartmate appear.”

  “She has yet to be born.”

  Her murmur jackknifed him upright in bed. “You know who it is?”

  “Not her name,” Myla hedged. “Only that she has yet to be born…and may never be.”

  Chill wafted in the room as Taric swallowed in fear. His hand gripped hers and he held it tight to his bondmark. “If she’s never born…”

  “I know. The monarchy dies with Batu and he’ll be forever alone.”

  In deliberate moves, his eyes darkened in contemplation, Taric settled back to his pillow. Myla needed no magic to sense the unease coursing through his veins. She felt it in his pulse, in the beat of his heart beneath their clasped hands. In sharing her burdened thoughts, she’d reminded him how rare their love was, how priceless and how fragile.

  Some enchantment in his ancestry had forged the need for heartmates, to find that one person they could unite with, to love, to have children with, to coexist throughout eternity. That tie, that wondrous silken cord which joined her life to his, could also be a curse. No heartmate meant no children and no love. If Bryton died, Batu would be sentenced to an eternity alone, never t
asting the splendor of true love, the joy of fatherhood.

  Parental concern borrowed from painful experience and gnawed deep into their shared soul. Taric whispered, “It won’t help Batu. We can’t do anything about his heartmate, but we can insure the crown.”

  “How?” Myla stroked the furrow between his brows.

  Taric tugged her hand down and pressed his lips to her fingertips. “We could have another baby, a second heir. It would give the Segur bloodline another chance to continue.”

  Myla nodded and welcomed him into her arms. Their loving was bittersweet, tinged with the frantic prayer of parents for their child’s happiness.

  “You’re not going to the market?”

  Bryton tightened his sword strap, grabbed his pack and moved to saddle Jester. “No. You’ve given me enough to start my mission. I head straight to Sotherby and Marlo’s Pass. Domic, can you take the mule? Sell it if you like, or keep it. I’ve packed what I can carry. Speed is more important than comforts now.”

  The graying head nodded. “Yes, I’ll see to it. Javon, listen, these men…You shouldn’t go alone.”

  “A lone man can follow a drunk Skullman to a hidden hideaway better than a band of men could.”

  “If you want to die there.” Leather creaking on leather was the only sound. A loud breath blew out and Domic shook his head. “You don’t look mad but you certainly act it.”

  Bryton secured his labrys to the saddle and paused. “After the Spring Market, where are you headed?”

  “I’ll keep north for a while, why?”

  “Could you do me a favor?”

  “If I can help you, I will. What is it?”

  “I need to get a message to someone in Thistlemount.”

  Domic shrugged. “There are no festivals near there this time of the season but I could do that on my way to Hillcrest. Who do you need me to see?”

  Bryton weighed the words, anticipated the impact. “The king.”

  Domic froze, his eyes locking fast on a face Bryton made sure did not betray a single thought. “And you think I can just waltz into Thistlemount Keep, announce I want to talk with King Taric, and the castle doors will simply open?”

  “Yep.” Bryton grinned.

  A fist rubbed his mouth as he studied Bryton. “Who are you, Javon?”

  “Just a hunter.”

  He swung onto Jester’s back and Domic’s wife appeared at his knee. “Here, my lord. This should hold you until nightfall.”

  The bundle she handed him was still warm and carried the spicy scent of the sausage and biscuits she’d made for the morning meal. An inexplicable blush warmed his cheeks and he nodded. Her first name would not leave his lips. “My gratitude, Lady Gerog.”

  “What’s the message?” Domic asked as she stepped beside him. His arm went around her shoulder in an easy familiarity that struck at Bryton’s chest.

  He turned away, stared into the rising sun and chose his words with care. “Let the king know about Gamot’s idiocy. Hold nothing back. Tell him where I head and what you told me. Tell him Myla’s little present doesn’t change a thing. Tell him…in chess, the rook falls and the king stands alone.”

  Nudging Jester toward the south, he dug in his heels and left them without a wave. Once clear, with the road before him and brilliant cloudless blue stretching from mountain to mountain, he gave the horse freedom to run. The thundering hooves ate into the soft earth, churning up clods of dirt and grass. Bryton hunched, weighted himself in the stirrups and pulled his rump from the saddle, letting the mount fly. Powerful muscles thrummed in a furious gait, the moist horseflesh gleaming in the sunshine. Wind, from his speed and not from a magic spell, whipped his hair and stung his eyes. The familiar heavy press of his sword to his back bounced and jarred. Nothing touched the empty void in his heart.

  A flutter of color flickered in the corner of his eye. Beside him, at a height even with his head, Salome flew. Sun dappled on her feathers. The tiny head cocked, caught his gaze and her neck elongated. Bryton spurred Jester faster. They raced, neck and gullet, feather and nose. Every downbeat of her wings sent a charge through him. Spittle and lather foamed at Jester’s bit and still Bryton pushed on. The animal stretched its head and summoned a burst of energy that pulled him ahead. The wide flaring nostrils blew noisily and Bryton grinned.

  Salome snapped her wings and shot like an arrow straight ahead by a good twenty yards. Swallowing defeat, nearly as winded as his mount, Bryton tugged the reins and dropped back to his seat. He allowed the horse to slow naturally from gallop to canter to trot to a walk then to a wheezing standstill. Salome circled and dipped above him.

  “All right, you won,” Bryton grumbled, although he wasn’t really surprised or irritated. “I don’t like talking to a bird. Give the feathers a rest.”

  The falcon pitched at a steep angle, spread her wings wide and coasted to a landing just in front of him. A cloud of lilac appeared, then the woman turned and smiled. “I liked that.”

  “Flying or racing?”

  “Both.”

  A noncommittal sound growled in his chest as he climbed down. “You’re fast, I’ll grant you that.”

  “I am. Much faster than you, but that is nature. You are stronger.”

  Bryton strolled, cooling his mount as an itch settled into his blood. He needed movement. Salome fell in step with him, her tiny hands clasped lightly in front of her.

  “How’s your hand?”

  “All is well, see?” A delicate palm thrust in front of his face, stopping him abruptly. She was pushy for a little thing. He turned her hand over to examine the backs of her fingers. Not a scar or bruise marred the slender digits.

  “Good,” he murmured, dropping her hand.

  Dust and pollen kicked up as he strode along the pathway. Salome kept pace, her eyes darting left and right, from insect to plant, flower to weed. Scarcely harnessed energy vibrated from her. A rabbit scurried out of a hole and hopped across their path. A laugh trailed as she ran after it for a few paces before something else caught her attention. She squatted, tucking her silk gown between her knees and peered into the grasses. Lightning fast, her hand shot out and grabbed a small garter snake. She held her prize high, a smile curling her lips wide. The snake flickered its tongue and squirmed in her hand. Those uninjured fingers caressed the shiny skin before she released it back to the ground.

  “You shouldn’t pick up snakes. Some are harmless, others aren’t.”

  Sunshine sparkled on her chiton, the hue glowing more golden than orange as she stood. “Nature cannot harm me.”

  “It can’t?”

  “No. I am a windsinger. The rhythm of nature fuels my blood and my magic.”

  She matched her gait to his, skipping a step or two and trying to move in tandem. His legs were too long. A frustrated frown wrinkled her nose. A twitch above his lip threatened to erupt into a smile. He forced it away, firmed his jaw and lengthened his stride. She quickened her pace. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her brow twisted in concentration.

  Bryton increased his speed, she matched him. He doubled his pace and she scurried to keep up. Dropping the reins, he took off at a run. The flap of her gown on the air smacked loud as she mimicked his tempo. He pumped his arms and threw every ounce of strength into his leg. She blew past him with a laugh. Thirty feet ahead, she turned and waited for him to catch up. The curse he ground out was harsh and short.

  His chest heaved but she simply smiled. “Shall we race more? You will not win.”

  “Yeah, okay, so you’re faster. But you said I’m stronger.”

  A slow nod ruffled her hair. It spilled across her back, thin tendrils streaming in the soft breeze. He almost raised his hand to smooth a lock behind her ear but caught himself, tightening his fist.

  “Yes, physically, I believe you are stronger.”

  “You believe? But you don’t know it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come on.” Bryton motioned at a tree stump, aged and hard,
weathered to gray in the bright spring grass. Salome trailed after him like a sunbeam. He knelt on one side of the stump and pointed across from it.

  She lowered to her knees with a confused crease scrunching her nose. “What is it you wish to do?”

  He put one elbow on the wood. “Arm wrestle.”

  “Wrestle?” Those smoky eyes squinted at him. “You mean like a bear? Why would I wish to wrestle with you?”

  His gaze fell to her bare shoulder and a knot tightened in his chest. The rounded bone seemed delicate under the creamy skin. He wasn’t about to be shown up by a female. Never in his wildest, drunken ramblings would he have challenged a woman to an arm-wrestling match but Salome was not a woman. He forced into his mind the image of that limb shifting, shortening, sprouting feathers. She was magic, damn it, an incantation. So why was he prodding her? “I just need to win.”

  “Why?”

  Why? He didn’t know why. He just did. “Salome, put your arm up here, damn it!”

  She put the wrong arm on the wood and arched her brow. “Now what do we do?”

  “The other one,” he growled. One slender arm replaced the other and she parroted his stance, leaning forward and scowling. Her nose was scant inches from his. Her fiercely puckered mouth and overdrawn brows tugged at his humor but he pushed it below his ego. One was too bruised to let the other free. Positioning her hand in his, he tightened his grip. Small fingers clasped around his and she squeezed.

  Velvet, her hand in his was like warm velvet. Their eyes met. A metal clank sounded in his head, a lock closing, binding him to her as surely as if her touch were iron chains. His parched tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Waved and sweeping brunette hair framed a face his hands suddenly itched to cup, to bring closer to his own so he could breathe in her sweet scent. Honey wafted on the breeze, wrapped around him like a blanket on a cold winter night. Warmth from her gaze battled the sunshine, and heat spread along his bones. The gentle curve of her rosy lips snagged the breath from his lungs. His thumb slid along the back of her hand, each soft inch searing into his mind with a sizzle. The harsh calluses on his hand tingled.