A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion (9 page)

The statue was beautiful. Even from this distance, he could see it was something special. Maybe the Swithin race no longer revered this figure, but his ancestors had. Someone had taken great care in its creation. Even as Antal raised a hand as though the figure cried out for his touch, Kilan made fists with his. He longed to go down into the clearing. He longed to run a hand over the white man, over that blanched stone. No, not blanched. This figure wasn’t pallid or ashen. No one had stripped it of color. The statue was white,
so
white, so crisp, and clean as new fallen snow: pure.

His intentions while looking at it were far from pure. How could something so pristine induce such desires? His initial feelings expanded to include Antal. Now, although he still wanted to see Antal use the statue, he longed to take part in the ritual. He longed to run his hands over Antal, to kiss him, to caress him and the figure both.

Kilan noticed he was breathing hard at the same moment he realized he’d tensed his muscles to climb out of the tree. He couldn’t explain his reactions. He swallowed, looking around the clearing, feeling uneasy. Something was alive here, and he didn’t mean the animals or the plants. Sentience, awareness, something he could almost taste…

Kilan shook his head even as Antal stepped back. If the desire to touch that thing felt this strong from the side of the clearing, Kilan had to marvel at Antal’s strength. His desire for Antal and the statue had blurred, grown so strong as to be disturbing. Something was happening here, but he didn’t understand what. He was experiencing emotions that he…

Kilan closed his eyes. In truth, they were emotions he’d sensed for some time, but he didn’t want to accept them. The focus was Antal, and he didn’t want that, not seriously. He wouldn’t mind a bit of fun, but right now he wanted,
needed
to…kiss something, someone. He wanted to use his lips, his tongue. He wanted to strip. He longed to roll on top of and under another man, and he couldn’t tell if the muscle he wanted against his was glistening white or lightly tanned, unyielding or pliable. By the time Antal walked away, Kilan lay shivering with need in the uppermost branches of the tree, no longer worrying about what he was feeling but more concerned with
why
he felt this way.

* * *

After pausing to have a light meal, Antal consulted the small book, although he didn’t truly need to. He knew the ritual almost by rote, but it wouldn’t hurt to refresh his memory. Finally accepting that he’d stalled long enough and that he really did need to wash, he set the book aside, stood, made sure everything was in order in the cave, and took what essentials he needed for bathing to the nearby waterfall.

The lightly flowing stream tumbled down over the jagged rock face, giving the cliff wall sheen. The sun cast a magical glow into the clearing. The falling water glittered; the pool it fell into twinkled with stars. Antal blinked, half disbelieving. While the glade was simply beautiful and the distinctive elements that made the place extraordinary were simply natural phenomena, he found this more disturbing than if someone had used some mystical power such as the comet to create this wondrous setting. It served to remind him how out of touch with these simple things he’d been for so long.

Stripping off his clothes, Antal grabbed a bar of cleanser -- one that would not contaminate the water -- and stepped into the pool. While he bathed, he went over the ritual in his mind, even as he refused to accept that he had any intention of carrying it out.

The ritual was really a form of meditation, although the book called it conscious relaxation. The book spoke of taking the mind on a journey,
choosing
to relax. Once one reached that state of perfect serenity, the participant could move on to the physical. Meditation for the purpose of having sex with an inanimate object seemed like overkill. Even so, meditation had a practical purpose, as did sex. Maybe sex wasn’t a bad way to finish.

Antal finished his ablutions by dousing his face with cold water, effectively wiping away his smile. He shivered, but he couldn’t decide if he shuddered from the chill or the idea that he at least intended to try the beginning of the technique. Drying with a towel, Antal cast his gaze toward the clearing. The midafternoon sun swept the ground, slowly crawling toward the statue. The figure lay on its back, looking as peaceful and serene as the ritual promised. Antal doubted anything could make him feel relaxed today. He could hardly remember how it felt to feel peaceful. He suddenly felt extremely foolish. What was he doing here? Why was he wasting his time in such a trivial endeavor? In truth, he’d followed Ryanac’s suggestion because he had to try something. Maybe spending some time in reflection would help him organize his untamed thoughts.

He’d heard others state that meditation proved easier than most people expected. However, the few times he’d tried, it hadn’t come easy. Mostly, he accepted he simply hadn’t needed it before. He tended toward a happy-go-lucky existence outside of work. Only lately did he feel stressed, restless. It had taken him ages to master any meditation techniques at all, and then only as an aid to healing. Prior to taking three arrows in his back, he’d failed all attempts at meditation. Those who had tried to coax him into the “art of relaxation” prior to his injuries had shaken their heads in disbelief when the only thing to aid his concentration enough to succeed had been his need to control pain. Antal had once more tried the technique, this time without any persuasion, only because he’d been willing to try anything that might help. He’d finally managed to meditate when it should have been extremely difficult for him. He tried to recall now how it had felt to attain spiritual introspection while his body healed from the wounds inflicted by arrows intended for Uly. The actual feeling continued to escape him, but he could remember that he had begun as everyone advised: with his breathing. In order to heal and to master pain, Antal had finally accepted he needed this type of control. Desperation had taught him when all else had failed.

Glancing at the statue now, the familiar sensation of arousal slid through his belly. Antal swallowed, dismissing it even though it had been a while since he’d felt any sexual interest. Beautiful the statue might be, but that didn’t mean he intended to get intimate with it. He resisted the impulse to march across the clearing to touch it. Instinct told him one touch and he would be lost. If the sensation of touching it felt as good as looking…

Antal refused to finish the thought and forced himself to walk back to the cave. He didn’t bother dressing. There was no one around to see him naked -- not that he cared about nudity.

Taking the blanket, Antal folded it and set it out on the ground halfway between the statue and the cave. The position was a warm, sheltered spot and provided enough shade so that he wouldn’t burn in what was left of the day’s sunlight. Of course, one could burn in the shade, but a northerly wind swept the heat out of the day; he decided to risk it. Satisfied with the location, Antal patted the blanket with his hands, making sure it would be comfortable enough to sit on. The book might well speak of getting close to nature, but an errant stick poking into his backside would not prove conducive to peace. Antal settled down onto the blanket, shifting until he felt comfortable. He then reached for one of the bottles at his side and proceeded to coat his skin with a soothing balm. The mild fragrance supposedly induced a calming influence. Thus prepared, Antal turned his attention to his breathing.

Antal hated this part the most, and it always proved the most difficult for him. The idea of concentrating on the actual act of breathing was supposed to clear the mind. Rather than ease the constant chatter in his brain, initially it increased his mental clamor. The more he tried
not
to think, the more things invaded his thoughts. He’d never considered that he carried any stress before trying to meditate. Finally, he’d had to accept that stress was simply part of being human. There were moments when he’d had goals to achieve, contests, or conflict to face. Worry for others always seemed the most stressful thing in Antal’s life. Usually he could deal with these anxieties. He’d trained to deal with such feelings. Many colleagues had advised him that each person had a saturation point. Maybe he had finally reached his. He didn’t like accepting it, but maybe therein lay his problem. He preferred control, and that control even spread to his own reactions and emotions. Maybe if he accepted he couldn’t always control events and his emotional state, then he’d learn to deal with his current feelings.

Reluctantly willing to explore this reasoning but right now not wishing to dwell, Antal closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose, drawing the air deeply into his chest. He breathed out through his mouth. His mind refused to calm; thoughts plagued him. Ryanac seemed to believe he also needed to come to terms with his close brush with death. Antal didn’t believe the fact that he’d faced his own mortality had brought him to this. Maybe it was a factor, but if anything it had given him a thirst for life. Hunger…

A frown tightened his face. Maybe Ryanac had a point, but it hadn’t led him directly to the answer, just aimed him toward it. He’d gone from that carefree, happy young man, nearly died, taken on a position that anyone with a few years on him might have found daunting. Not only that, he had a lot to live up to. The men in his family had always served as guards. His father… His father was one of the best. Antal had taken a highly responsible role during a time when the luxury of easing into it had been impossible. Ryanac was right. He’d taken on a lot of responsibility very quickly, and he had no one to talk to about it. Worse, he had no one with whom to spend some time relaxing. Even if he did, he couldn’t discuss the stresses of his day as most people did. Some of the things he wanted to vent about were a matter of security.

He suddenly arrived back at the subject of control. Initially he’d felt fine with his penchant for control -- it was in his nature -- but maybe he’d overdone things, suppressing his feelings. He needed some form of release; everyone did. For him, the difficulty was what form that release could take. Ryanac hadn’t been facetious when mentioning sex. Antal instinctively felt he needed more than that, but sex
would
be a release. It would help him switch off his mind, enable him to focus on sensation, pleasure, something other than what was truly an overwhelming demand for someone of his age and experience.

Lonely. Antal hadn’t considered such a word applying to him, but he felt lonely.

The thought jerked him out of his internal monologue. The sudden realization that he’d slipped into something close to mediation struck home. Alas, the realization threatened to bring him back to the surface. Antal struggled to cling to the moment. He fought to sink back into his thoughts.

Calm. Keep calm. Breathe
. Antal focused once more on his breathing, lifting a hand to touch his face even while he kept his eyes closed. He felt little surprise to discover he wept. He’d learned weeping could be a natural occurrence of meditation. So could smiling. There was no right or wrong way to behave while meditating. It could wreak havoc with practitioners’ emotions, such as make them cry, and they might not even be aware of why they were crying. Had he fallen asleep at all? Another result of meditation often led participants to fall asleep but awaken fully refreshed. He may have dozed, but he didn’t believe so. Others had spoken of “leaving the moment,” but he’d never experienced it before. Was this what had happened? He couldn’t know for certain. His mind hadn’t cleared. He’d heard nothing around him.

Opening his eyes, Antal had to accept that he’d risen out of whatever state he’d managed to achieve. Still, maybe the moment had fulfilled its purpose. He now knew a few things about himself that he hadn’t before. That didn’t mean he wanted to accept them.

He spent the next few minutes trying to recapture a state of relaxation, but it eluded him. Looking across the clearing, Antal had to accept that either he gave up for the day or he finally needed to admit that he’d come here to perform the ritual. He needed a deeper form of meditation, and that was the purpose of the statue. Besides, hadn’t he just contemplated that sex of any kind might be a good thing? He felt sick, as though some darkness lay inside him. The tears had brought it forth; his thoughts had brought forth the tears. He felt slightly cleansed and yet simultaneously poisoned.

Swallowing his trepidation and standing, Antal reached down to gather the items he’d laid to one side. Feeling incredibly nervous, foolish, and stupid for feeling scared, Antal approached the statue. He avoided looking at it. Instead, he glanced around the clearing to ascertain he was, as he believed, still quite alone.

The clearing remained quiet, eerily so. It had to be this that made him uneasy, that made him believe someone was watching. Antal shook his head, put it down to imagination. He felt so idiotic, who could blame him for feeling jittery?

Refusing to dither any longer, Antal set his things aside. He would touch the statue, acknowledge his foolishness, and then he could head on out of here before it grew dark. He should be back in the city, working on rosters for the guards under his command. He should be sparring with Uly, keeping up the young man’s training. He should be doing many other things instead of wasting time.

His hand closed on the statue’s leg. Antal gasped at the sensation…and knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Kilan must have dozed; otherwise he couldn’t account for the lost time. He stifled a small moan as he shifted position. His limbs had grown unaccountably heavy. He ached. None of which made sense, but there was no use his denying it. Something was affecting him.

The statue. Kilan lifted his gaze, almost glaring at the object of his wrath and…desire?
Oh by the comet, yes, desire
! He wouldn’t have minded it so much if it didn’t somehow reflect and amplify what he was feeling for Antal. Maybe he did feel something for Antal, but he didn’t like feeling it. He didn’t like acknowledging his feelings could be in any way serious because that would interfere with the way he chose to live his life. Disliking that something interfered with his normally frivolous nature, Kilan grimaced. Trying to draw on his anger did no good. He wasn’t angry. Whimpering, Kilan lowered his head once again. He just didn’t have the strength to move -- not yet. If he climbed out of the tree now, he’d go to that thing…and to Antal. He’d almost shouted out in warning when Antal had reappeared in the glade. Only puzzlement had stopped him. Reaching out with his senses in a way he didn’t quite understand but undoubtedly had something to do with the comet, Kilan had failed to locate any threat. The statue was just a statue, inanimate, and yet…something more than that. Even so, he sensed no malicious intent. He sensed…peace, contentment, joy. Anticipation?