Myla By Moonlight (26 page)

Intense warmth pushed at him, a fire without flame. Tarsha held out her arms, asking for his guardian with raised brows. Myla was so cold. He couldn’t warm her anymore. But if she was with his mother on the other side of life maybe the heat of remembered love would fill her. The thumb that caressed him hadn’t been cold.

Sucking back tears, he looked down into Myla’s slack face. Maybe one day she could come to him as his mother did now. Even one minute of her silent presence would be enough. Pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, he looked up into the caring, gentle smile of a mother he’d never known and nodded.

A slow motion of her hands and Myla floated. Letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done but he forced his arms away and she drifted toward the first woman who’d given him life.

Tarsha stepped back, beckoning, and Myla rose with her, carried in magic’s invisible arms, hair streaming from her head and arms hanging limply. The circle of lavender orbs blazed to brilliance. Tarsha held her arms wide and Myla righted in the air, chin to her chest. Taric soaked in every detail. There was a curl of dark hair snagged on her shoulder like a spider’s web clinging to a doorway. Her tiny toes pointed downward just off the stone floor, a dancer frozen in pose. The blood on her shift clung to her skin and molded to the curve of one breast.

Shaky with expended emotion, Taric pushed to a stand to see Myla better, wishing her head would tip to the side as it so often had. He wanted to see her face one more time. It didn’t happen. Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he breathed in a whiff of summer sunshine, the fragrance of her hair, and his chest lurched.

One ghostly finger circled and Myla slowly turned in the air. Held by unseen hands beneath her arms, her shoulders hunched. She rose higher until her knees were even with his sight. The slow spin billowed her shift and lifted her hair. Like the river current had spread the locks around him, the magical breeze wrapped the mahogany across her body with tiny flicks and whips. Pale violet light grew and pulsed outward until she shone with the same limned light as his mother.

A crackle of pink lightning from a calm sky jolted through her, her body jerking and shuddering. Her head thrust back and her arms flailed and Taric flinched. A lilac glimmer so close to the color of her mist swirled around her, streaks of magic licking every inch of her. She was returning to wherever she’d come from.

“Goodbye, my guardian,” he whispered. A fresh lash of pain struck, a whip of agony.

Tarsha slowed her hand, holding his protector still, then puckered her lips and blew. The wispy trails of mist faded away, enchanted pollen feathering in the blackness.

His teardrop scar itched and a quick glance showed the blackened skin fading to pale pink. It no longer housed magic. It was just a burn, a scar, a mark to remind him of what once had been. She was gone forever.

Myla’s feet touched the stone before Tarsha’s supernatural hands laid her to rest inside the sparkling circle. Taric raised his eyes to his mother. A tiny tear trickled down her cheek. Kissing her fingertips, she blew on her hand and a soft, warm circle landed on his forehead.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

Balic stepped between the spotlighted circle and Taric’s gaze. Emotion had darkened his father’s eyes to chicory and he gripped Taric’s shoulder with his left hand. The right hung limp.

Taric’s lower lip quivered and he fought the nearly overwhelming urge to bury his face in his father’s chest and weep with loss. How had Balic endured this torment? It was too much. He couldn’t face it. Life without Myla was too dark, too empty. He’d rather she’d left him dead than alone.

“She chose this.” The soft command in his father’s voice blended with the enchanted night. “Myla loved you enough to freely give her life for yours. It’s the most precious gift a soul can bestow. Gold can’t buy it, might can’t force it and lies can’t coerce it. Only love can give life, Taric. Remember that.”

He stared hard until Taric nodded and then released the clutch on his shoulder. Balic drew a deep breath and turned to face his spectral wife, who was weeping over the still form lying on the cold stone.

Taric swallowed and tried to press every detail into his mind. Myla’s fingers were half-curled. The shift folded up and left one knee bare. Her lips were almost puckered for a kiss. Desperation filled his aching soul and he grew terrified that over time he’d forget the curve of her brow, the slight upturn at the corners of her eyes, some small detail. He didn’t want to forget a single thing, not the softness of her hair or the scent of her skin or the taste of her lips. He wanted to keep it all.

A sparkle shimmered and his eyes widened at a sight he never thought to see. Before him, bathed in lilac radiance, his parents stood together within the cascading light. Balic cupped Tarsha’s cheek and his mother tilted her face to his gentle touch. Her thumb caressed his face with a slow, tender motion. Silver blended with soft violet, haloing them both in an aura of beauty. Long sunshine hair fluttered in the unfelt breeze and draped around the king’s shoulder. They smiled at each other, tenderly, reverently, longingly.

Taric’s shattered heart tightened. How much in love they looked. He now understood his father’s sad expressions and his silences growing up. To be parted from such devotion…was his future. Would Myla be in the otherworld waiting for him when he passed on? Did a non-real woman go to the other side or would he be alone through all eternity?

His parents’ lips touched, the barest of meetings, before Balic pulled back. He nodded silently to his long-ago bride and she smiled sadly at him. Turning to Taric, the king straightened his shoulders. He looked straight into Taric’s eyes.

“This is your time. I’ve taught you all I can. There’s but one thing I have left to give you.” He looked to his first queen and grinned sweetly. “Take me, my heart. I freely give this.”

“No,” Taric gasped in horror, realizing what his father proposed. He couldn’t lose any more tonight.
Please no more
. He rushed the circle of light but was caught by the brawny bare arms of his captain.

“Stop, Tar. This is his choice. Listen to what he gives you.” Bryton hugged him harder, preventing an interruption to the magic unfolding. No matter how Taric struggled, Bryton held firm.

“Papa, don’t go,” Taric pleaded. “I’m not ready for this.”

Balic faced his son once more. “You are. You’re more ready than I ever was. A king understands each decision is not just his will, but what is best for his people. Sometimes the best decision is a sacrifice. Only a king willing to die for his people is truly worthy to rule them. He must want what is best for them, not himself. A father is much the same way.” Tarsha stepped beside her husband and slid her hand into his but Balic did not drop his son’s gaze. “You’re ready, Taric. So am I. Be with your bondmate as I will finally be with mine. Love her with your every breath as I have mine. Delight in your children, cherish them…love them as I always have mine.”

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.