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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 tasting 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.