born?”
“No mark.” King Taric used his free hand to lift his wineglass. “Still, she can’t bear children unless her heartmate is found, and the insanity threat is always present. So the curse is the same, just without scarring.”
Darach frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Women never get the mark, men do.”
“Strange.” Darach angled his head in thought. “If your heir had been female, would her heartmate then become king?”
“No. Inheritance is foremost. My wife’s title is officially Queen Consort, as she married me, but I rule. If a woman inherits the crown, she becomes queen and her husband is called the Prince Consort, though she may take his name. Not all queens do. She is queen first, wife second, and no man has authority over her, not even a husband.”
“Before a Segur ruled, what name carried the crown?”
A slow breath raised the king’s chest, then he shook his head. “History isn’t my strong point, I don’t remember.”
“Ooman,” Papa snickered. “Cator Ooman was the king before the first Segur. I love it that I know more about the royal lines than you do.”
King Taric glared. “Stop being a smartass.”
Jana turned to the bookshelf, hiding her smile. Her father and the king squabbled like boys over the smallest things but they were closer than brothers.
“The bondmark, Batu said it is a line above his heart. Yours is the same?” Darach asked.
The king shifted in his seat, as regally as if sitting in his throne. “Yes, as was my father’s. It’s just a scar. If a bondmate dies, it turns black.”
“May I see it?”
He nodded and Jana slid toward the door, wishing to give the king some privacy. “I think I’ll go to the gardens, check on Feena. She managed some tea and toast. Argot and Batu took her to get some fresh air.”
Darach whipped his head around. The feral possession in his gaze stuttered her heartbeat but she gave all the men a sunny smile and slipped out of the study.
The garden entrance was small, only a single door that opened without sound. Whistling wind blew as Jana cracked it and she paused, wondering if she should take time to grab a mantle. But she’d only be a few minutes so she wrapped her arms tight to ward off the frigid air. A curl of dark gold fluttered across her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear while dodging around a group of topiary. The air grew louder, filled with a strange broken hiss. She looked up and froze.
The hisses came from arrows raining down from the top of the kirk, hurtling from the northern sky. One tore through the skirt of her gown. She instinctively crouched low, making the smallest possible target. Another whizzed by her ear. Twenty feet ahead, flat on the ground, Batu shielded Feena, lying atop her. At least one arrow protruded from his back.
Argot crouched on all fours, hovering over the couple. Multiple fletchings sticking out of his body quivered. He raised his bleeding face.
“Sound the alarm! Attack!”
Another arrow sank into his thigh and he jerked. She ran. A singing arrow flew past her, clipping the top edge of her ear. Fright erased all pain. She thrust open the heavy door. Inside each outer doorway was a rope snaking through the walls unseen to a set of master bells. The raw hemp burned her hands as she tugged, screaming for help.
Thunder filled the hall as soldiers flooded in. Three darted down the short stone steps, then fell, cut down before they made it into the garden. One man grasped his pierced throat, blood spurting into the air for two high arcs. Then it ceased, oozing slower into the ground and his hands fell away.
The Master Sergeant shoved Jana out of the way. “Shields! Turtle formation! Alpha crew, to the kirk top!”
Soldiers scattered as her father slid into the hall. “Report.”
“Don’t know,” the sergeant spat. “Three down and arrows are pissing from the sky like rain. All from the north.”
“Feena!” Jana cried. Her father whirled to her. “By the
“No mark.” King Taric used his free hand to lift his wineglass. “Still, she can’t bear children unless her heartmate is found, and the insanity threat is always present. So the curse is the same, just without scarring.”
Darach frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Women never get the mark, men do.”
“Strange.” Darach angled his head in thought. “If your heir had been female, would her heartmate then become king?”
“No. Inheritance is foremost. My wife’s title is officially Queen Consort, as she married me, but I rule. If a woman inherits the crown, she becomes queen and her husband is called the Prince Consort, though she may take his name. Not all queens do. She is queen first, wife second, and no man has authority over her, not even a husband.”
“Before a Segur ruled, what name carried the crown?”
A slow breath raised the king’s chest, then he shook his head. “History isn’t my strong point, I don’t remember.”
“Ooman,” Papa snickered. “Cator Ooman was the king before the first Segur. I love it that I know more about the royal lines than you do.”
King Taric glared. “Stop being a smartass.”
Jana turned to the bookshelf, hiding her smile. Her father and the king squabbled like boys over the smallest things but they were closer than brothers.
“The bondmark, Batu said it is a line above his heart. Yours is the same?” Darach asked.
The king shifted in his seat, as regally as if sitting in his throne. “Yes, as was my father’s. It’s just a scar. If a bondmate dies, it turns black.”
“May I see it?”
He nodded and Jana slid toward the door, wishing to give the king some privacy. “I think I’ll go to the gardens, check on Feena. She managed some tea and toast. Argot and Batu took her to get some fresh air.”
Darach whipped his head around. The feral possession in his gaze stuttered her heartbeat but she gave all the men a sunny smile and slipped out of the study.
The garden entrance was small, only a single door that opened without sound. Whistling wind blew as Jana cracked it and she paused, wondering if she should take time to grab a mantle. But she’d only be a few minutes so she wrapped her arms tight to ward off the frigid air. A curl of dark gold fluttered across her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear while dodging around a group of topiary. The air grew louder, filled with a strange broken hiss. She looked up and froze.
The hisses came from arrows raining down from the top of the kirk, hurtling from the northern sky. One tore through the skirt of her gown. She instinctively crouched low, making the smallest possible target. Another whizzed by her ear. Twenty feet ahead, flat on the ground, Batu shielded Feena, lying atop her. At least one arrow protruded from his back.
Argot crouched on all fours, hovering over the couple. Multiple fletchings sticking out of his body quivered. He raised his bleeding face.
“Sound the alarm! Attack!”
Another arrow sank into his thigh and he jerked. She ran. A singing arrow flew past her, clipping the top edge of her ear. Fright erased all pain. She thrust open the heavy door. Inside each outer doorway was a rope snaking through the walls unseen to a set of master bells. The raw hemp burned her hands as she tugged, screaming for help.
Thunder filled the hall as soldiers flooded in. Three darted down the short stone steps, then fell, cut down before they made it into the garden. One man grasped his pierced throat, blood spurting into the air for two high arcs. Then it ceased, oozing slower into the ground and his hands fell away.
The Master Sergeant shoved Jana out of the way. “Shields! Turtle formation! Alpha crew, to the kirk top!”
Soldiers scattered as her father slid into the hall. “Report.”
“Don’t know,” the sergeant spat. “Three down and arrows are pissing from the sky like rain. All from the north.”
“Feena!” Jana cried. Her father whirled to her. “By the
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