A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “Because it looks like a man, you’d feel uncomfortable?”

  “Funnily enough, I think I would.” Ryanac straightened up and then got up from the desk, taking hold of the small book and slipping it into a pocket. “And that’s the only confession you’re going to get out of me today.”

  Moving around the desk, Ryanac scribbled something onto a slip of parchment and then handed it to Antal.

  “What’s this?”

  “Time off. Take a break.”

  Antal sniggered, trying to put a sense of incredulity into the sound. “I’m not going --”

  “I don’t care what you do with the time,” Ryanac interrupted, although something in his tone said otherwise. “It’s an order.”

  The tone Ryanac used meant Antal couldn’t doubt that. So it came down to dismissal -- not a permanent one, and he supposed he should be grateful for that, but a dismissal nonetheless. Something cold crept through Antal, icy fingers curling in his scalp. If he didn’t curb his emotional state, then one day he could be sitting here listening to a true discharge. He couldn’t have that. The shame of it would be one thing, although no doubt Markis and Ryanac would wrap it up in some nice words and reasons to explain it all away and let him save face, but it didn’t matter what the rest of the world thought or believed. Antal would still know he had failed everyone, including himself.

  “I want you to sort yourself out. I want you to take some time. You’re lacking inner peace right now, and I believe you need to go take yourself off some place and give yourself time to think. I know what you think of my idea, but the fact is a hike into the woods, going to the glade -- which is undeniably peaceful and beautiful even if you don’t believe in the legend -- could be good for you. It could help clear your mind.”

  Under the circumstances, Antal snapped off any words of complaint. “And that’s why you mentioned the ritual as part of that?”

  “Finally the brain begins to work.”

  Antal ignored Ryanac’s sarcasm and just looked at him. Ryanac sat back down in the chair and stared across. “The ritual is akin to meditation. I think a little solitude, peace and quiet, and yes, meditation, could be good for you right now. I think you need to look inward, not outward, for your answers. I think you need to reconnect to your body. You need to relax. I know you think I’m toying with you, but whether you have sex with an object or another person, I don’t think it would hurt you to feel something.”

  Antal considered refusing and then changed his mind. When it came down to it, with Ryanac he had no need to feel embarrassed. Ryanac wouldn’t suggest something without good reason. The man wasn’t being facetious, and Antal simply wanted to refuse just to be stubborn.

  “Does anyone ever get to argue with you?”

  “All the time,” Ryanac replied. “Nothing wrong with a good argument.”

  “Do they ever win?” In reply, Ryanac just grinned. Antal shook his head. “If I go, it doesn’t mean I’m going to…that I will…” Words failed him. Ryanac laughed.

  “Do what you will. I won’t even ask for details. Just take some time off and come home in a better frame of mind. Actually, maybe you should keep this for now.” He reached into his pocket and moved to return the book.

  “Wasn’t there something you wanted to read up on in there?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Antal shook his head. “Whatever I’m going to do, I’ll not do it tonight. I’ll let you know if…” He smiled ruefully. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go, so you can make arrangements to cover my duties while I’m gone.”

  “There’s no need to worry. I’d take your place and take care of Uly if you wanted to go tomorrow, in fact.”

  “I know, but it’s not necessary.” Antal hesitated. “I’m not…ready.” He wasn’t. He needed to reach a certain frame of mind to set out on this little sojourn. He didn’t think the time was far off, maybe in a few days only, but he would know when the time was right.

  * * *

  Kilan should have felt surprised when a large hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his head down onto the desk, but he didn’t. What surprised him was that his captor did it in such a way that it failed to break his nose. Kilan made a halfhearted attempt to struggle free and then gave up. He snorted and snuffled a bit, considered reaching for the comet, and then changed his mind. Ryanac had caught him snooping. Fair enough.

  “Do you usually read personal papers?”

  “I’m the prince,” Kilan complained, although it came out sounding more like “Himahince” being that Ryanac’s grip held his nose and lips mashed against the desk on one side. Ryanac let him loose. Kilan stood up, rubbing at his neck and stretching his mouth to get it working properly. Ryanac may not have broken his nose, but Kilan felt tempted to touch his face to make sure none of his features were twisted.

  “I’m the prince,” he repeated, straightening his clothes. You’d think people would get their facts straight. Either he was royalty or he wasn’t. If he was royalty, they should treat him as such. Kilan ignored the small voice that told him they treated him according to his behavior and that mostly he provoked them to it. He didn’t want to study those feelings too closely because he wasn’t entirely sure why he provoked people. “I didn’t think anything to do with the guards was private when it came to my eyes.”

  “Not when it comes to Markis, but as for you, the guards are not your responsibility.”

  Kilan couldn’t help himself. He glared. “Implying you hope they never are.”

  Ryanac stared him down, stared for so long, in fact, the time that elapsed said more than any number of words. He’d clearly revealed too much, something he’d have rather kept hidden. Some would have called his behavior petulance, but it wasn’t nearly as simple as that, and Ryanac possessed too much acumen not to know it. He stood trapped under the heat of Ryanac’s all-seeing and too-knowing dark gaze, blazing as surely as the ice of the comet sometimes seemed to burn. The power could produce heat, but usually ice flowed in the comet’s wake. That ice scorched you just as effectively as fire. Ryanac’s gaze could feel as devastating. Finally, Ryanac appeared to take pity on him.

  “Did I say that? Kilan, you’re a good man, a good prince, and one day you’ll make an excellent leader. I simply hope you only have to do so at Markis’s side rather than in his place, and not solely because it would mean that I had lost someone I loved and a good man.”

  Kilan would only take Markis’s place as king if Markis were to die, and then only until one of Markis’s children -- when the man had them -- was strong enough to rule in his stead. That was the bane and the privilege of Kilan’s position. He wasn’t the oldest or the strongest of the royal line. The chance of him ever ruling as king was a distant possibility. He was glad. He didn’t want to lose his brother, thought Markis a good king, and he didn’t want that level of responsibility.

  “Besides,” Ryanac continued, “you know as well as I do that duty had nothing to do with you looking at this particular form.” Ryanac picked up the document in question and flapped it in the air. “Yes, Antal has taken some time off.” Ryanac sat down and leaned back, linking his hands behind his head. “Just what is your fascination with Uly’s Sonndre?”

  “There’s no fascination,” Kilan replied, wondering if that sounded at all true. “That is, it’s not fascination, just…”

  Ryanac raised an eyebrow. Feeling as if his strength seeped from his legs, Kilan wanted to sit down but he didn’t quite dare. He didn’t think he’d find the control to stand up again. He decided to try for some truth rather than none.

  “Antal’s always been so self-assured. I’ve admired him. I’ve never seen him so out of sorts before. I can’t help wondering if…” Words failed him, and then clarity rushed in. “Uly’s looking for his rightful place in the world. Love isn’t enough. He’s seeking a way to be his own person as well.”

  “What does Uly’s state of mind have to do with Antal?”

  Good question, but K
ilan saw the connection clearly. While Uly didn’t have to work, he wasn’t and didn’t want to be nothing other than Markis’s lover. He wasn’t a fighter. He was skilled enough, but he didn’t want to become a guard. He lacked the temperament for battle, and besides, the necessary training and subsequent duty would take him away from Markis for too long a time span. Markis’s duties were enough to contend with in that respect. So Uly had taken steps to find what he was good at. He’d continued his education -- something his previous life hadn’t allowed for -- flitting from subject to subject in many respects but gradually weaning them down to things that genuinely captured his interest. Begrudgingly, Kilan admitted that maybe he could learn something from Uly.

  “I thought maybe just Uly felt that way, especially being as he’s from another race. Then to see that Antal is floundering… Well, I guess I couldn’t help but liken what’s happening to them to my own situation. I’m a prince. I’m studying the comet. I’m happy to live in Markis’s shadow, but as to who I am and what I want from life…” He shrugged.

  “That doesn’t mean you won’t find your rightful place by Markis’s side or that you won’t finally find some duty that suits you. It’s not a question of others not having faith in you but rather a question of you having enough faith in yourself, something you and Antal appear to have in common.”

  Kilan blinked. He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing emerged. As for what Ryanac had said about Antal, he carefully filed that away. “It’s not just that,” he added. “Truth is, I need more fulfillment. Something for myself.” It took a great deal of personal strength to finish his line of thought out loud, but he did, felt rather proud of the accomplishment, and then childish for feeling that way.

  Ryanac slanted back to regard him. “What makes you think you won’t find that, given time? Or are you genuinely that impatient?”

  He was, but that wasn’t the reason. Ryanac’s first comment hit closer to the truth. Kilan believed this was his lot, to drift through his existence, never feeling anchored.

  “As prince, even if you’re never to become the Swithin king, at least some of your life has been mapped out for you. Not all of it, though, and you’re particularly lucky in that Markis is more understanding than most. He’ll remind you of your responsibilities when necessary, as will I.”

  Ryanac’s tone almost made Kilan shiver despite knowing that although Ryanac meant what he said, he said it without animosity.

  “Lucky for you, Markis will let you have a life,” Ryanac added. Kilan met the man’s all-encompassing gaze. “He’ll let you follow your heart.”

  Kilan didn’t know what his heart wanted. Despite this, the truth of Ryanac’s words suddenly came home to him. He was lucky: lucky to have Markis in his life, as his ruler, as his sibling. He was lucky to have Markis period. Markis represented hope for the Swithin, freedom for all, and even though that applied to the populace, it had never pertained to the royal line before. Kilan was the Swithin prince, but he could also be something else. He could be a guard, scholar, artist, physician, laborer, farmer, husband, and father if he so chose. Markis would allow -- no, insist -- that he marry for love instead of duty. He could have a life. As long as he didn’t disregard his duty to the realm, he could have a life alongside his royal responsibilities. Kilan couldn’t help the smile that manifested. It just crept over his face. No doubt that smile looked a little rueful. He could have and do practically anything if only he knew what he wanted.

  “Give yourself time,” Ryanac told him as if he’d understood that smile. “Don’t waste any more of it listening to me. Get out of here. Go. Have some fun.”

  Kilan nodded but had one more question. He risked much asking it, but he knew Ryanac well, and the man didn’t just leave papers lying out on top of his desk. Ryanac understood people more than they liked him to. It suddenly entered Kilan’s mind that telling him to leave Antal alone was sure to guarantee that was the one thing he wouldn’t do. He wasn’t sure he cared for Ryanac analyzing him so well, but he couldn’t resist testing the theory. “If I wanted to take off for a few days, maybe just… Oh, I don’t know. Go hike in the woods maybe. Do you think Markis would mind? Would you tell him not to worry where I am?”

  That dark gaze twinkled while studying him. If the man felt amused, he kept it from his expression, but even so, Kilan sensed that the moment he walked out of the room and the door closed behind him, Ryanac would erupt into laughter.

  “I can’t imagine why you would want to go hiking, but I’ve just got through telling you you’re a free man. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

  Chapter Five

  As fluid as he was with a sword in his hand, Antal couldn’t match Ryanac as a woodsman. Ryanac held many titles, one of them being Silas, meaning forest dweller. The man knew how to survive in rough terrain and was the epitome of stealth.

  As Antal slipped and made a wild grab for a nearby tree to stop himself tumbling over and almost landing flat on his face for a third time, he looked around, a little embarrassed, even if nothing but a few birds and squirrels watched. The caw of a nearby crow sounded rather similar to laughter.

  “If I had wings, I’d laugh too,” Antal muttered. In his defense, the slope was brutal. Last night he’d camped just a few miles from the glade. He’d considered carrying on -- one could reach the glade in less than a day -- but now he felt glad he’d stopped when he had. He might have broken his neck in the dark. His reason had been personal. He’d wanted to recover from the day’s hike, reach the glade refreshed. No chance of reaching it refreshed now. He sweated profusely. Ryanac should have at least warned him he’d find the hike difficult.

  It crossed his mind to wonder what else Ryanac had failed to warn him about.

  * * *

  “I found it…intriguing.”

  If Ryanac had ever said anything inadequate, that was it. Antal had stumbled into the clearing approximately an hour ago. Feeling irritable, he’d avoided uncovering the statue a while longer. Instead, he’d tackled setting up camp, locating the nearby cave that every visitor used. Accumulated goods and provisions made the cave homely. Several pallets lay spread out on the ground, and there were even a few chairs, including those set out at the entrance. From there one could sit sheltered from the weather and still cast an eye on the outside world. Where you could still look at the statue…

  There was also a rudimentary table with several utensils and wooden platters laid out. Antal set his food supply there. A fresh water source nearby meant only food was a concern. He’d brought bread, cheese, dried meats, and biscuits, all wrapped in cloth and then an oiled paper, the scent of which would deter insects and at worst give the bread a citrus tang. He spread his bedroll on one of the pallets, which would feel considerably more comfortable than using it on the forest floor as he’d had to do the previous night. Next he set his pack aside. All it contained was a change of clothes and some soaps, oils…lubricants.

  It also contained the small book. Ryanac had returned it to him. Apparently, Ryanac had indeed found something useful in the pages, something that would help Markis wed outside of his union to the Swithin queen. Usually any and all involved in an extended relationship married each other; however in this instance Uly especially didn’t want to wed Tressa, any more than she wanted to marry Uly, and it had nothing to do with not liking each other. Tressa struggled with some aspects of the Swithin life, and Uly… Uly just didn’t want to marry a woman no matter how much he cared for her. Markis had been looking for a way to change their laws for months now, and something in the small book had led Ryanac to further research. Antal hoped the search succeeded, for he would be delighted if that was all that came of this. If his feeling out of sorts, purloining a book, and coming on this ridiculous venture… If all it did was lead to happiness for others, then that was all to the good.

  Antal closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. He was only delaying the inevitable. He hadn’t come all this way just to sleep here for one night and th
en return home. He rose up and walked out of the cave, taking the opportunity to cast his gaze up to the blue sky peeking through the overhead branches of the trees, of the towering trees themselves, and the sweeping dip of the glade. The day was warm, the air just the right side of cool. This place demanded peace and meditation; Ryanac had that right. Antal contemplated that he could happily spend a few days here, just on his own, just being quiet. He tried telling himself that the sculpture was now unimportant, but that was a lie. Curiosity burned in him like acid. The time had arrived to look at the statue.

  Ethereal, otherworldly, inhuman, and eerie: these were all things that passed through his mind. He struggled to remember crossing the clearing, hesitating at the figure’s side, raising a hand, pulling at the cover. Had he untied the four loops and the encircling rope that held the canvas cover in place? He must have. As far as he knew, the elements never seemed to mar the figure, but the Swithin covered the statue as a precaution. Antal had expected to struggle with the heavy canvas, but instead the waxed fabric had slipped to the side with ease. Where it might have caught, the wind seemed to know; the breeze kicked up and blew, lifting the canvas as though nature offered a helping hand.

  “Beautiful,” Antal whispered, but the word didn’t fit. Beautiful didn’t even come close to it.

  “I told you, whatever they created the statue from, it’s incredible to the touch. Trust me, Antal. You don’t want to go through life never having touched that thing.”

  Ryanac had said that, and Antal wanted to touch it. He just couldn’t. Glancing down at his hands, he frowned upon seeing that dirt marred his skin. He wiped his hand on his jerkin, at once knowing that even if the statue were sentient, it wouldn’t mind a little soil with his touch, but he wasn’t going to do it. He would touch it before he left. That he now knew, but he couldn’t lay a hand on it before bathing. No Swithin went to a lover without bathing first, and the thought almost made Antal laugh. Was that how he was seeing this thing -- as a lover?