A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion (3 page)

Kilan almost let loose with a curse. A swear word hovered on his lips, and he had to choke it back. It usually took many years to gain control of the comet, but something strange had happened in recent months. Markis had gained full control, and the abyss -- the strange place where the power seemed to take their consciousness at times -- had changed. Markis believed he could teach Kilan by a much simpler method than anyone had ever previously tried, by joining him in the abyss and showing Kilan the true depth of the power. That demonstration meant Kilan facing the source almost as if he turned his gaze on a physical being or object. Alas, Markis had decided that Kilan wasn’t quite ready, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Markis would have discussed the prospect with Ryanac. The least they could do was include him in such discussions. Kilan was an adult. Markis should let him grow up. Of all people, his brother should understand. He wanted to make his own mistakes. Kilan let all the frustration and anger of having to wait rise up in him. The moment his anger reached its peak, the rage dissipated. Mistakes made by someone in his position affected others. He understood that too well. He slumped in Ryanac’s grasp.

A small frown creased the big man’s brow, and then Ryanac let go. Kilan practically fell onto a seat as with one hand he tried to massage some feeling back into his neck. Ryanac sat down beside him. Kilan, feeling churlish, wanted to shift along the bench away from him. He managed to sit still.

“Why so angry?” Ryanac asked. When Kilan blinked at him in surprise, the big man laughed gently. “I saw it in your face. I also saw it pass. I’ve caught your transgressions before, but you’ve never responded in anger.”

With Ryanac, there was no use lying. “I felt annoyed with you treating me as though I’m still a child. I know you must have something to do with Markis’s decision to slow down my training.”

Silence made the atmosphere in the room feel oppressive. Finally, Ryanac spoke. “You’re no child. You’re a young man, old enough to wed, to have children, to rule if need be. Just be grateful you don’t have to do that. Be grateful Markis is king. Be thankful that Markis has decided not to rush things. I know only too well what Markis went through in training.”

Kilan hesitated and then nodded. He knew some of it. What he didn’t know, he could deduce from the sorrow in Ryanac’s voice.

“You’ll learn soon enough and through better methods than anyone in our history. Don’t be so eager. Do you truly want to control such a power so quickly?”

Kilan grimaced. “When you say it like that, no.” He swallowed. “I’m no fool. I realize that having all that power thrust on me in one go, well, it could…” He stumbled over his words. It could quite conceivably destroy him, and it might not even be in a noticeable way. It didn’t have to happen like an eruption. It could happen slowly.

“Power is disruptive. It’s contaminating.”

“I understand that.” He looked at Ryanac, flinching when the man reached out with one of those large hands. Unexpectedly, this time the man’s grasp felt gentle, those large fingers rubbing the circulation back into Kilan’s neck. Feeling a need to explain, Kilan said, “I’ll do the best I can. I just get…frustrated. I want to be ready in case Markis needs me.”

“And the temptation to play with the power has never crossed your mind, of course.”

Kilan looked away as he grinned. Play with the power? No, of course not. He’d never do that. Never!

“I think…” Ryanac stood, paused, and then looked down at Kilan. “I think you’ll be ready to handle the power when you can resist spying into other people’s private business.”

What some called spying, Kilan called reconnaissance.

“I thought you liked me,” Kilan muttered, unable to keep quiet even when he knew it was good for him. The childish complaint almost made him wince. What possessed him to say such a thing? Here he was protesting he was a grown-up while sounding so juvenile. He could tell Ryanac thought the same thing.

“If I didn’t like you, where do you think you’d be now?”

Kilan blinked once, twice. “Hauled in front of Markis…or worse.” He couldn’t think of what might be worse, but Ryanac could undoubtedly dream up something.

“Leave. Antal. Alone.”

The way Ryanac spoke left Kilan with no doubts over his fate should he ignore the warning. He watched Ryanac cross the room to the far door. Before he disappeared, Kilan called after him. “Of course, you’ve never done anything like that! You’ve never poked your nose in where it wasn’t wanted!”

Ryanac didn’t bother to turn around, but the big man’s chuckle rolled around the room.

Chapter Two

Staring furtively out from beneath his brow, Antal cast his gaze in a wide sweep around the room. He’d deliberately chosen the most unpopular time of day, so the library was far from busy. Despite that, he’d picked a seat in a quiet corner and checked that there were no close acquaintances in the area before he sat down.

Shifting through his selection of books, he moved a couple of particularly heavy and thick volumes to one side, effectively hiding the book he was about to open. He would have preferred taking the book home, but to do so he’d have to check it out, and he didn’t want anyone to know his choice of reading material.

Choice! That was a joke. He couldn’t believe he was taking Ryanac at his word. Still, what harm could it do? He understood the psychological theory behind ritual and the reason why cultures each had their own. In that, the Swithin were no different. As a race, they celebrated birthdays, weddings, gave thanks for what they had. One belief persisted: ritual could strengthen bonds, was a public statement of affection or support. It was a shift, a passage from one state of being to the next.

Antal knew very little concerning the rite of liminality, but he learned in the very first sentences of the book that the ritual intended to help a participant achieve peace, to accept that one changed as one grew. A person might go through many different forms, usually emotionally but sometimes physically. The last was especially true for women, most likely why it had once developed into something for females to do. Then, as the Swithin became a more enlightened race, the ceremony died out altogether.

“A sensory threshold,” Antal read, whispered, as if saying the words aloud would enlighten him. Confusion tightened his brow. He stared at the table for a while, sensing he was on the edge of understanding, and then shook his head. Glancing around and seeing the library remained relatively empty, he turned the page.

According to the book, liminal beings stood at the threshold of a physiological or psychological response. “Response to what?” Antal frowned at the page as though it would miraculously offer up the answer. There were many states of being liminal, from suffering injury to not having decided on one’s sexuality. The first Antal identified with. He knew what it felt like to draw on the limits of your patience waiting for your body to heal. Moving from that state of injury to one of health wasn’t something wishing alone could hurry. As for his sexuality, the Swithin took lovers of either sex readily. The selection of a long-term partner usually depended on whom one fell in love with. Most marriages were monogamous; enough instances of three or more people marrying made such relationships normal in their culture, although marriages of more than three were exceedingly rare. He was young enough to have fun right now and not have to worry about falling in love, let alone marrying. He certainly preferred women, but he never worried about making a decision. Was love ever a choice? He believed you fell in love or you didn’t. You couldn’t force such emotions.

As he continued to read, he could see how, gradually, the ritual had pertained to women more than men. Females were liminal during their first bleed, changing from girls into women. They were liminal during pregnancy. As to the ritual itself…

“What are you reading?”

It took all Antal’s resolve not to snatch the book to his chest and cradle it. He only hoped Kilan wouldn’t look at the title. Swallowing all signs of his irritation, he tried to appear as though the book were unimportant even as he replied, “Nothing that would interest you.”

“Truly?” Kilan’s voice rose a little on the end, giving his word a lilt.

“No pictures,” Antal said. Kilan’s eyes widened in mockery at the implied insult. The expression illuminated his face, making him appear more mischievous. Despite his exasperation, the shared moment of hilarity tugged Antal’s lips to one side. He did his utmost to fight the smile; it was always best not to encourage Kilan. He grasped desperately at what remained of his irritation when Kilan’s lips stretched, suggesting he might grin. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Better than annoying you? Hardly.” Kilan picked up one of the thick books, reading the title on the side silently but moving his lips to form the words.

“I knew it,” Antal remarked. “I always knew you couldn’t read without moving your lips.” Kilan looked at him.

“There are much better things I can do with my lips,” Kilan said, causing Antal to blink. Was Kilan flirting with him? He couldn’t be; despite the appreciative looks Kilan often cast his way, as far as he knew, the young prince much preferred women. He received evidence of this a moment later when Kilan turned his head. Antal followed the other man’s gaze across the room to a couple of young females. A moment later, Kilan’s admiring expression cleared. He picked up another book, once again reading the title, but this time without forming the words.

“This is all stuffy.”

The books
were
rather boring, but of the type a young guard might read in training and nothing that would raise an eyebrow. “I thought that some of the men could do with some acquired reading. I was just researching --”

“So who was this Lewi?” Kilan asked, speaking the name of the statue in the grove where the ritual took place.

“Fuck you!” Antal snapped, at once rising to gather the small pile of books. The swear word wasn’t of Swithin origin; it came from Uly’s culture. Antal didn’t use it as much as Ryanac did, but sometimes -- like now -- that four-letter word sure seemed to fit. Even as he swore, Antal gritted his teeth, knowing that it was unlike him. Usually he could share a laugh with Kilan. He couldn’t say they’d grown close, but they knew one another well enough through their respective friends and shared responsibilities. He liked Kilan. He just didn’t have the patience for him today, but then he didn’t have the patience for anything lately. Snapping at Kilan was just another painful reminder of his unusually short temper.

Antal carried the books over to the shelves, hurrying across the room as if he could outrun Kilan and his temper both. He looked at the references on the spines in an attempt to put the books back in their rightful places, trying to occupy his mind rather than concentrate on his feelings. Seeing Kilan trail after him displaying a shocked expression brought him to his senses. For all he knew, that expression could be pretense, but he shouldn’t have sworn at the prince. Not only was it disrespectful -- not that anyone worried too much about showing Kilan respect -- it had confirmed Kilan’s suspicions.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Antal tried to cover his slip. “I’ve got work to do, and just because you’re bored, you think we all have to provide a day’s entertainment for you.”

“You’ve never let loose on me like that before.” Kilan rested against one of the racks, arms and ankles crossed. He might have appeared nonchalant if not for his interested gaze. “At least now I know what you think of me.”

The prince sounded disappointed, sounded, in fact, as if he was quite used to disappointment. Antal was tempted to tell Kilan he had no one but himself to blame if that was the case, but just now that would be too cruel. Not usually given to unkindness, Antal relented. “It isn’t that. I don’t really know you enough to judge you. I just know…” He hesitated.

“What you’ve heard about me?”

Antal looked at him sideways. “You did get kicked out of your academy.”

“Only because I was trying to. Get kicked out, that is.”

Antal couldn’t hide the shock that he just knew flashed into his eyes. “I always thought that was bravado.” He leaned against the rack also. He’d chuckled along with the rest of the guards but never given much thought to what had actually happened to disrupt Kilan’s training. “Not everyone takes to academy life,” Antal said, trying to make Kilan feel better, although he didn’t know why. He just didn’t like the despondent expression that had crawled across Kilan’s face. Maybe because he cared about Markis, he couldn’t help caring about the feelings of the king’s brother. That was the only reason he could think of. That and the intriguing idea of Kilan having any true deep feelings over…well, over anything other than maybe the love he felt for his brother. Intense feelings and Kilan didn’t seem to tally. If he’d mistaken Kilan’s reaction to what had happened at the academy, maybe he’d made other incorrect assumptions. The thought made Kilan…more interesting.

Antal found the idea incredibly distracting -- disturbingly so -- but he resolutely shoved the idea aside. He didn’t have the time or the patience for Kilan. He didn’t have the fortitude right now to cope with any emotional attachment with anyone, let alone…
Kilan
; the very thought of him and Kilan being anything other than friends was laughable. Even so, he wasn’t one to be mean unnecessarily.

“That’s not it,” Kilan remarked. “It was just…knowing what was in store for me, being who I am.”

Maybe Kilan was unaware how much he gave away by his tone and that statement, but the comment told Antal more about Kilan than he’d considered previously. Not all Swithin joined an academy to train as guards. Many followed a trade, sometimes followed in a parent’s footsteps. Guards were more commonly men, but positions were open to women. Never in Swithin history had a crown prince avoided the academy. Antal said so, the laughter in his voice surprising him.

Kilan shrugged. “It’s a small achievement.”

“I’m sorry. I never thought what academy life would be like for you. I forgot that for you, after a time it would include training with the comet. I’m glad Markis spared you that.”