The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “Markis.” A soft female voice broke in. Meira had taken hold of his wrist. “Uly’s not breathing. His heart no longer beats. Let him go.”

  He looked down once more at the now quiet being nestled in his lap. Uly’s face shone with an inner light, the perfect embodiment of peace, but it was of a peace come too soon in his young life. Uly was not ready to die, and Markis was not ready to let him go. “Not yet.” Even as he thought it, the answer came to him.

  “Let him go, Markis.” Ryanac said it gently enough, as though afraid something inside him would break. Still, his voice wavered, and Markis had never heard the big man sound that way before, as though something inside his guard had broken already. Still Ryanac flinched as Markis glanced at him; worse, he flinched from whatever he saw in Markis’s eyes, on his face. Markis didn’t even try to guess what expression he wore.

  “Saysiah,” Markis whispered. Harton had given him the answer.

  Ryanac frowned, shaking his head, trying to be the voice of reason. “Even you can’t bring him back from the dead.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “No, you ca-ahhhhh.” Stargazer’s protest cut off on a cry.

  “Don’t you ever learn?” Ryanac said, twisting the old man’s arm so hard that he might have collapsed if it weren’t for Ryanac’s grip.

  “That doesn’t really exist. Does it?” Antal sounded more interested than shocked by the idea Markis had voiced. Meira placed a hand over her heart, and then reached for Tressa’s hand. His queen hesitated, and then slipped her small hand into Meira’s larger grip. It didn’t take much for Markis to sense the unease they shared.

  “This is evil,” Stargazer hissed, bearing the pain of Ryanac twisting his arm up his back.

  “Is it?” Markis asked, as though from a distance. It should have taken effort for him to talk while he did this, but it didn’t. It didn’t seem right that it cost him so little. “The comet can heal an unnatural death. Mairtin stole Uly’s life, and now he’s going to give it back. This isn’t up to me. If the comet didn’t want this, it wouldn’t let me do it.”

  He had closed his eyes, but now he opened them. Stargazer gasped. Others placed a hand to their mouth, or turned their heads. Even Ryanac backed up a step. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what they saw in his eyes. The stars had come out. “I understand now, something none of those who trained Shavar ever did. The man is the comet, and the comet is the man, and we don’t like being used badly.”

  Saysiah: resurrection. It was just a word, a story, a legend…until now. Markis now knew that everyone shared the abyss. It was where life started and where it would end to begin anew. Their planet was one among the stars. Ryanac had once told Uly that some people believed all life was made from the stars. That statement was truer than they realised.

  Still, it should have cost him, but he sought out the threads of his brother’s life, drew on them, and pulled them into the abyss where Uly lay waiting, ready to live. As Uly gasped and opened his eyes, Harton pulled the blade from his stomach, choosing to die. Maybe for Harton, it was easier than living with the knowledge of what the man he had loved had been capable of, as well as his part in all this. Still, Markis wasn’t certain the man deserved to die, but he could do nothing about it. He was too busy saving Uly’s life.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Markis had left the council arguing amongst themselves. For the most part, it seemed they would take his word. Perhaps the sight of Tressa dressed in only a robe over her underclothes and splashed with blood had silenced their complaints. Some of the blood was hers, some belonged to the men she had killed. She had a couple of cuts, none too deep. Markis had offered to heal her, though he felt bone weary. She had refused immediate attention, saying Meira could stitch her injuries after the council meeting. Only then had Markis realised she had not only spared him the effort, but kept her wounds as evidence for the meeting itself.

  Then again, maybe Stargazer confessing all had convinced them. He had kept his part in this to a minimum, of course. He made no mention of the book and set a scene of brother against brother. He had never realised that Mairtin’s ambitions stemmed so high as to take the throne. He berated the man’s arrogance. He portrayed a man who was not only so self-deluded as to believe his power outweighed that of the true Shavar, but a man who would use threat and terrorism when all else failed. As he only slightly deviated from the truth, Markis let him ramble. In exchange, he had promised to let him live. Two days hence, Stargazer would step down from the council saying that these events had proved too much for him. As to his punishment, that would have to be private, and Markis was unsure what that should be. Part of him wanted to strangle the man with his bare hands despite his promise, but he had looked genuinely shocked to see Uly die…and terrified to see him arise. Markis had no wish to rule in fear, but he took a perverse pleasure out of the terror he saw in the old man’s eyes whenever Stargazer glanced his way. Ryanac had suggested it might be more of a torture to keep him guessing and they might have use for him one day. He might not have many years left besides, and he would live them quietly, away from all he had ever wanted. Wherever Markis finally let the man reside, he would be as good as a prisoner for the rest of his life. Markis would put him somewhere he could do the least harm and arrange to have him watched…carefully. In exchange for his life, Stargazer had imparted a list of names. Even now, arrests were in progress.

  They would do the best they could with the woman, Tihea, but how well she could overcome her training remained in question. As for the Kita, Markis had kept his promise. He’d let him live. As to punishment, he couldn’t think clearly enough right now to decide, but watching the man’s face as they’d bound him in chains had told Markis the man might have preferred death to the loss of liberty.

  Making his way back to his rooms now, Markis ruminated that what remained of his brother might also have had something to do with the council’s decision to deem their king wise. If they were shocked, none could be more shocked than he was. Markis had no idea he could do such a thing; he certainly wasn’t sure if he would have been capable of it if he had realised exactly how the comet intended to carry out his wishes. He wasn’t proud of what he had done. He certainly hadn’t planned it. He could only hope he never had cause to do such a thing again.

  Some of this must have revealed itself on his face. He walked Tressa back to their apartments, where Antal rested under Meira’s attendance. The young man would be all right, Meira had said, but he’d suffered a nasty concussion. She insisted on taking care of him, and Antal ‑‑ after obtaining Ryanac’s promise to not let Uly out of his sight ‑‑ had acquiesced. Clearly, the young man’s head hurt, and apparently, none of them wanted more contact with anyone outside of their group than was necessary.

  Tressa stopped just inside. She turned and reached up to clasp his face. He had to dip his head to allow her to reach. She stared into his eyes as though searching. “Let it go,” she said softly. “You did not ask to be pushed into doing such a thing.”

  “No. But I didn’t have to finish it this way.”

  Her brow drew down in a slight frown. “Of course you did. You could not stand by and let Uly die if there was something you could do to save him. No more than I could. I will not have you punish yourself for the rest of your life over another’s infamy. You are a good man at heart. That is all I know and all I need to know.”

  He put his hands over Tressa’s where they touched his face. “Thank you,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “Markis, if anyone seeks you out, I will keep people away from you this night. When things are more settled, I wish to talk to you about arranging a visit to my homeland.”

  Markis almost groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was make the two-week journey back to the Azu Plains. Tressa patted his hand with a sardonic patience, as though she knew what he was thinking. “I wish to take a retinue to ensure my safety, although I do not believe that is strictly necessary, but most of all, I wish to take Meira with me.
” She flushed. “Are you angry with me?” she asked softly.

  “Not if Meira is willing, which clearly she is.” There had been no time for anything to happen between the two women, but Markis was aware of the attraction.

  She sounded relieved and then said in a rush, “I think it is time I showed Azulite women that they do not need the men, and taught the men that they should be a little more grateful for what they have in their lives.”

  Setting Tressa and Meira on the Azulite nation; now there was a thought. He nodded. They would speak of it another day.

  “Now go,” she told him.

  He opened his eyes wide in surprise. Tressa’s lips pulled back into a smile. “Go. Go to the thermai. Ryanac and Uly need you tonight. I just need my bed.”

  She swayed, and the movement made him realise that she was practically asleep on her feet. He understood. Ryanac had taken Uly to the thermai as soon as possible. Markis had agreed it was a good idea. He had dearly wanted to join them, but now that he could, he wasn’t sure he should. “I’m not certain I have the energy for anything more than sleep.”

  “I am sure Ryanac will think of something to compensate for that.”

  A twinkle in her eye made him suspicious, but she patted his cheek, kissed his lips, and turned away. Meira awaited her at the door of the suite. He had set guards on the apartments, and Antal would sleep within tonight, as would Kilan. The rooms were safe. He walked unaccompanied down to the thermai. Word was spreading of what had happened. He had no wish to rule in fear, but their enemies would think twice before attacking them now.

  A guard he recognised as one of Antal’s brothers bowed to him at the door of the thermai. He said nothing but returned the nod before stepping inside. Markis ignored the areas for preliminary washing, the rooms meant for acclimatisation to heat. His need and the hollow sound of water dripping, then rippling, drew him deeper in. He began to shuck his clothes as he advanced.

  Ryanac rose from one of the pools and ascended the steps, water cascading down his body. He gestured with his head, directing Markis to look over his shoulder. Uly lay on one of the padded tables designed for rest or massage. Apparently, he slept, but to see him lying silent and immobile gave Markis a start. A hand touched his bare hip just above the line of his breeches, which he had yet to remove. He looked down into Ryanac’s upturned face.

  “He’s fine. Just tired, as we all are.”

  The big man stayed where he was, knee-deep in the pool. The rest of him displayed a fine sheen of water that left little glistening trails and droplets. The man’s large hands pulled Markis’s final garments down. He had already kicked off his boots at the entrance. It was impolite to walk into the thermai in footwear. Indeed, clothes were almost as unsuitable, but he had been unable to wait. He braced a hand on Ryanac’s shoulder in order to step out of his clothes.

  He expected Ryanac to draw him into the water, but instead the large man ascended the last couple of steps and took his hand. Ryanac led him to one of the smaller pools where they used cleansers. Not such a bad idea. He carried the stench of sweat and other things on him. Markis knelt in the water, letting Ryanac unfasten his hair and then wash him. He closed his eyes and basked in the simple pleasure of the sensation of Ryanac’s touch. In many ways, this had nothing to do with sex. Much of the Swithin way was about contact.

  “You did this for Uly?”

  “Yes. He tried to help me get clean, but after we had managed to wash my hair, I finished the rest. I took him in to steam, and he fell asleep in the heat, so I carried him out and left him to rest.” The fingers stopped moving. “Washing my hair upset him. I told him his would grow back. He knows it will, of course, but he has every right to be pissed.”

  The hands began moving again, and this time the movement drew Markis back. Part of the cleansing pool had another level, a small shelf. One could sit in shallow water to groom or receive attention from another person. Markis usually shaved in the morning, but he allowed Ryanac to move the blade smartly over his skin. He dozed, coming awake and laughing softly when he felt Ryanac rub his face against his cheek. Their faces were as smooth as they could be.

  “I’m not finished with you yet,” the big man whispered as he slipped down into the water. Markis opened his mouth to enquire what he had planned, when a hand grabbed him at the back of both knees and pulled him forward. He gasped, eyes opening wide. Ryanac had set himself between his legs and the big man’s hips stopped Markis from slipping off the shelf. Ryanac was already applying lather to unusual places.

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Hush. This isn’t for me. It’s for Uly.”

  As much as he desired to know what Ryanac had in mind, the very fact that he had no idea what was going to happen, together with the mention of Uly, kept Markis from asking. He swallowed instead. Those dark eyes glanced his way. A smile played about the man’s lips. Ryanac set the soap aside and lifted the blade. His eyes grew a little more serious. “Keep still,” he said.

  Uly was aware that Markis had arrived some time ago. He could hear his and Ryanac’s voices, though he couldn’t make out the words. Although sound travelled in here, it echoed strangely off the walls, distorting the sound and direction. He put a hand to the back of his head and felt the ragged strands. His hair had looked worse than this once, and Markis wouldn’t care what he looked like. Others had told him he had died earlier that day, and they said Markis had brought him back. Some part of him had been aware of it. He had almost slipped away and only a thin thread had held him connected to the world. He had recognised the feel of Markis tugging on that thread. Then life had exploded inside him, making his body shake and his eyes open only to discover he was blind with sight, deaf with sound, awash in pain and pleasure, with sensation. He had told Ryanac he thought he could smell and taste chocolate in that moment. If Uly could believe them, and he had no reason not to, he had died, and now he lived. Markis wouldn’t care about his hair. Still, he fingered the strands and blinked away his tears.

  Raising his head, Uly searched the room with his gaze and made out movement in one of the cleansing pools. He sat up, and then stood, slipping from the table’s edge soundlessly. Naked, he padded over to the pool, his feet making soft noises against the tile. The two men surely heard his approach, but Ryanac kept his gaze focused on whatever he was doing, and Markis lay with an arm covering his eyes. Uly stopped at the edge of the pool, staring down, stupefied at the sight that met his eyes. A moment later, Markis peeked out at him from beneath his arm.

  “Uly,” Markis said. The king’s body reacted, twitched, including his cock. Ryanac hissed.

  “Stop it.”

  “Let me up.”

  “No.” Ryanac glanced up. “Uly isn’t going anywhere, and he’ll be in our arms soon enough. I have a blade in one hand, your genitals in another. I suggest you keep still.”

  Even as Uly watched, Ryanac made a precise sweep with the razor and removed more hair. Uly blinked, once, twice, three times, and then looked at Markis in question and puzzlement.

  “It’s just a game, Uly,” Ryanac said, although he wasn’t looking and couldn’t possibly see the expression on his face. “I thought we could do with a bit of silliness right now.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, but he had no idea what Ryanac meant. One thing was certainly true: whether Markis wanted this or not, he daren’t move.

  Rinsed and denuded, still Ryanac wouldn’t let Markis and Uly touch. The king glared at the large man as he pulled him from the small cleansing bath and then pushed him towards the larger, medium-sized pool. Feeling odd and indeed somewhat silly, Markis struggled not to cover his groin. Being Swithin, he thought nothing of nudity, but he had never felt so exposed. From the look on Ryanac’s face, the big man knew it, too. Once in the water, Uly finally came into his arms. They held each other, foreheads resting together. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. Finally, Uly said, “Thank you.” He said it so quietly it might have bee
n a sigh.

  “No.” Markis shook his head, lifting his hands to touch Uly’s face. “You have nothing to thank me for. Where you are concerned, I can admit to being selfish.” They kissed, softly, gently, and it had little to do with sex even when their cocks rose and brushed each other. This need went beyond simple physical yearning. Soft, golden curls tickled his naked groin, and he groaned into the mouth under his, rolling his hips. Even though their mouths remained joined, Uly laughed, and the sound vibrated down into Markis’s throat. Their tongues danced and so did their hips. Markis breathed in deep, his chest expanding, moving his stomach in a light caress of naked skin. Under the smell of perfumed oils and the odd musk of steam, he became aware of another scent. It was heady and sweet. Markis opened his eyes and looked to the side. Uly followed his gaze.

  Ryanac sat on the edge of the pool, with what they called a brazier lit on the tile at his side. It was small, used for heating oils and perfuming the air. The man stirred whatever sat in the cup over the flames, and then noticed them watching. He grinned and slipped down into the water, easily lowering his weight. “Come here, Markis,” he said. “Let Uly have his treat.”

  Markis moved away slowly, their bodies separating, skin sliding, fingers lingering until Uly had to let him go. He wanted to move with him, but also wanted to see what was about to happen first. Uly had a feeling he would join the other two men soon enough.

  He watched Markis’s questioning look, the king’s gaze searching his Sonndre’s face as those large hands gripped him about the waist and hips, lifting him. Ryanac took his weight, lifting Markis up out of the water to sit on the edge of the tile. Markis’s eyes still looked to Ryanac. He didn’t look so much like a king in that moment but perhaps more like the small boy who had fallen in a well so many years ago. Uly had heard the story. Even now, Ryanac’s attitude was one of offering comfort and protection. Whatever bond they had forged between them that day, it would last the rest of their lives. Uly was part of that bond now, as well.