The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Markis held up a hand. “Tressa, you and I married for duty, but we like each other and share a great deal of love. We both know you do not sit in my heart the way Uly or Ryanac do. They simply fulfilled all that I needed before you and I ever met. I wouldn’t give you up though, if I had any say in it.” He knelt in front of her, and gently lifted her face. “I just wish I knew what I could do to make you happy. I cannot always be here for you, and it is not always because of them. Often, it is duty. Often, I am working late. I am aware of the nights Uly crawls into Ryanac’s bed just to have someone near him as much as the nights you spend alone. I gave you the toys to help satisfy your…somewhat inexhaustible needs, but if you know of something that would provide you with comfort, then I happily grant it. Be honest. Does a female lover interest you?”

  Her colour deepened, but then she nodded. “The idea intrigues me, but I have not found someone yet. If I do, I have no wish to share her.” Tressa gave him a guarded look.

  “If you do, then do not hesitate to talk to me. I would be quite happy for you to have someone independent of us to love. There are quite enough of us already, don’t you think? I just want you to be happy, and if you think this will do that, you have my blessing.”

  Tressa searched his gaze as though seeking the truth of his words. “If I could find a woman to love, I would consider it seriously. The men here are not the men of my world, but the companionship of women seems to give me something I cannot find elsewhere. It has crossed my mind that a woman to love would suit me well. Forgive me, but I need something aside from duty, aside from the rest of you. I want someone for me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. Be careful while you” ‑‑ he hesitated ‑‑ “explore your feelings. There are things you cannot speak of.” She gave him a look of sufferance, and he bowed his head in apology. No. Tressa would not be that foolish. “I am proud to have you with me. I shudder to think of the life I might have left you to face and hope in time we can change things for other Azulite women.”

  Her face dissolved into an expression of mirth and delight. “I am just thinking of my father having apoplexy. If we can do this thing together, you will have served me well, and I will do my best to honour us both.” She clutched his hand and kissed it. “Thank you.” She looked into his eyes, hers simmering with what could only be happy tears. “Markis, as much as I hope to find true love as you have, I do want a child one day, and I want very much for it to be yours. I could not think of a better father. Thank you for this life. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Did you have a written or verbal agreement?”

  This was the fifth time Tressa had interrupted the plaintiff’s diatribe. It wasn’t so much that what he had to say was unimportant, but that he said too much of it. The man stopped, glanced at the queen, and then looked back at Markis as though seeking his advice. Markis sat and said nothing. He understood the man’s surprise. His mother had often sat at his father’s side as though she were a statue. As queen, his mother had stood on almost equal footing with her husband. All Swithin women did. People were only a little less in awe of her because she wasn’t Shavar, the Comet. That fell to the king and his sons. Where his mother was concerned, her silence had mainly been a lack of interest and the fact that his father tended to forget and ignore everyone’s opinion but his. His parents had loved each other in their way and just as well. No one but his mother would have had the grace to put up with his father.

  So far, Tressa had shown she had a wise mind, and he had made a point of consulting with her before passing judgement. There might be times when he wasn’t available, and he was happy to share this particular burden. He wanted Tressa to understand the people and their laws. He wanted a queen to make both his nation and him proud. So far, she had only slightly stumbled, and he had been on hand to correct any errors. In time…

  Markis became aware that he frowned, and his expression was making everyone uneasy. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt uneasy as well, and it had nothing to do with the proceedings. Tressa tilted her head towards him and whispered that the man was lying. She also told him why she believed so and he agreed with her reasoning. He took a moment to reflect, staring the man in his eyes as he did. He also used the time to try to decipher his emotions. His stomach was beginning to churn. In fact, he’d felt queasy for some time now, and he didn’t know why. He was aware of his power and tapped into it quietly. That was undoubtedly the source of his discomfort, but he couldn’t understand why. Even as he opened his inner vision, stars began to wink out as though they expressed an ill omen. He nodded in reply to Tressa’s question as he tried to settle. Tressa turned her attention back to the now uneasy-looking man.

  “May I offer you a word of advice?” she began. Her question stumped the petitioner. All he could manage was a nod.

  “When you lie, it is best not to ramble on so. Too much information can be more telling than too little.”

  The man paled before their eyes, colour leaching from his skin even as Markis watched. He couldn’t keep the slight sneer from his lips. He had thought the man would put on a better show than this. There was a penalty for lying to the council. There were punishments from fines to more physical expenses, though Markis preferred not to use them at all and certainly as a last resort. This was not just kindness. He had always believed that it was best to use an excessive punishment wisely and rarely. The Swithin did not have a high crime rate, and whilst their justice system largely believed in an eye for an eye in extreme cases, they reviewed no felony without balancing it with a good blend of common sense.

  “Why did you lie?” Markis asked calmly. Inwardly, he was starting to feel anything but calm and even wondering if he was coming down with some illness. He tried to concentrate on the petitioner. If he had good reason, Markis intended to fine him and have his business audited, but he would forgo the imprisonment and hard labour. The man was about to explain when the door to the council burst open. A guard with the rank of Sedryche stood in the doorway. He tried to enter more calmly than he had opened the door, stumbled, opened his mouth to speak, and finally got out, “You have to come. It’s…”

  Markis raised a hand, silencing him. The comet flared, and Markis knew immediately what had brought the guard here, and why he felt unwell. Ryanac was dying. The very idea almost stole his breath and ability to think. He shook off the lethargy that stole over him. Markis, already standing, snapped a quick order as he hurried down the steps. Council closed for the day, and the claimant’s future would have to wait. All he had room in his mind for now was Ryanac’s fate.

  * * * * *

  A ga’lin already stood over the big man. The healer looked up as Markis reached the guard’s side. “We found this buried in his armour.” The healer held up a small dart. Markis recognised it immediately. Markis spared a glance at his friend’s face and then looked at the healer, who shook his head. Clearly, the man had already decided Ryanac’s destiny.

  “Get Meira,” Markis snapped, knowing the source of the dart. He didn’t know if he could heal what ailed Ryanac with the comet, and even if he could, knowing what the dart had introduced into Ryanac’s system would help. Knowing the poison might help him seek out the affected organs quicker.

  “Sardian…”

  The voice sounded patient and patronising. He didn’t look to see where the protest came from. He just shouted. “Get Meira! Now!” He was aware of Tressa standing at his side, looking to his face, but he ignored her question for now. He had no doubt she wondered who Meira was, and she had good reason. He couldn’t spare the time to explain. He gripped Ryanac’s hand, and his friend’s eyes flickered open. The gaze looked dim and distant. Coldness crept over Markis’s skin. He looked up, scanned the room.

  “Where’s Uly?” People around him looked bewildered. They exchanged glances, looked around.

  “Has anyone seen him?” Tressa enquired.

  He was glad Tressa had asked the question. His voice would have
wavered.

  “Your pardon.” Harton broke in on the assembly. He pushed them out of the way if they were too slow to move. “May I suggest we clear the room?”

  It took Markis a moment to grow aware of an audience. The only thing that permeated what would have been an otherwise silent room was the sound of Ryanac’s ragged breathing.

  Pull yourself together. He balanced on the edge of panic, but he had to take control. Something existed in Harton’s tone, more than the mere suggestion. He nodded, still not trusting his voice. When Harton had pushed the last person out of the room, including the healer, the guard closed the door and turned so he could lean against it.

  “As you know, Uly and Ryanac were out with two braces this morning.” A brace was a dozen men. They should have been safe. “There was an accident down at the western creek. The bridge had collapsed as the river was too full from the storm.”

  Ryanac had escorted Uly on another excursion so the young man didn’t start climbing the walls. Markis had intended to take Tressa shopping in the city later. “Get to the point,” Markis snapped.

  “I will. There’s time before Meira gets here.”

  “As long as she gets here in time,” Markis replied. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but no one mentioned it.

  “A carriage had fallen in, and someone was trapped. The guards stopped to do the only thing they could.”

  He nodded in understanding. They had stopped to help.

  “Ryanac,” Harton paused. “I’m only guessing in part, but I know Ryanac, Uly, and two other guards turned back to warn those further down to stay away from the stream. The water was flowing so hard, it had eroded much of the embankment; it will need work to make it safe again. They couldn’t spare more men, and I have to wonder if Ryanac didn’t sense danger. He would have put Uly’s life first.”

  Markis shook his head. “He would have tried to save the people.” He said it, although he knew that wasn’t entirely true.

  “No.” Harton took a step away from the door. “He protects you, and that means he protects what you love. He would have thought of Uly first, same as Antal would.”

  He had forgotten Antal. Glancing at him now, Markis could see the young man looked flushed. His gaze was all for Ryanac. He too had to be wondering what had happened to Uly. The only reason Antal hadn’t gone with him was that Markis had told him not to. Things were still a little strained between Uly and Antal, and that was not a good thing between a person and his Sonndre, his protector. In addition, Antal, like any man, needed some time off. They had finally compromised, with Ryanac and Antal swapping positions for the day, acting as Sonndre to the other man’s ward. Antal had stood at Markis’s side in council. Uly had been with Ryanac. He should have been safe.

  “What happened?” Markis hissed out between his teeth, asking the question to which only Ryanac could provide the answer.

  A knock sounded at the door. Harton opened it and let Meira in, the other healer, so recently dismissed, scurrying in on her heels. He carried her bag, and Markis was certain it was Meira’s idea rather than the healer’s decision. He was aware of Harton speaking to someone through the open door, but he turned his attention to Meira.

  She was a tall woman, half Swithin, half Kita. No one trusted the Kita. The Kita had frowned upon Meira’s father and his union with a Swithin woman. They had victimised the family, and eventually attacked the two lovers, dumping their bodies on Swithin land while the mother was fully pregnant. Somehow, she managed to stay alive until someone found her. She died, so the stories said, gasping out her story, explaining her plight to the Swithin guard who found her. The man took her hand and nodded to her. That nod told her to let go. She slipped away, and he cut the baby from her, bringing it into the world seconds after its mother’s death. The Swithin retaliated. The Kita fled the border where their lands met, and Meira became Swithin. Some, though, could not forget what the Kita had done even if she had been the victim. For the Kita, such an act was all too common, and many mistrusted Meira by association.

  Still, Meira had devoted her life to healing. She was the best healer Markis knew, but not all would trust her even though she helped run the treatment centre. She didn’t even look at him, just went to the dying man on the table. Ryanac was dying right in front of them; Markis had no delusions about that. The ragged breathing had become little hitching gasps.

  He wanted to use the comet to heal Ryanac, but he already knew this was poison and without knowing which one, he might do more damage than good. This wasn’t like searching to seal a knife or arrow wound, and he had limited experience with using the comet to heal. Also Markis tried not think of the other problem facing him, but he was struggling to connect with the comet at all.

  Meira took the dart. Her green eyes met his gaze for a moment, but she said nothing. Markis didn’t expect her to speak unless it was necessary. When she focused like this, you could barely get a word out of her. Besides, she didn’t need to say a word; that look was enough. The dart was of Kita origin and they both knew it. Meira dropped the dart into a solution she had emptied into a glass. She gave it a small shake, and then set it aside.

  “Help me,” she said, and slapped Markis’s hand away as he went to help her. “Your hands are shaking too much,” she told him. Harton and Antal moved forward and removed Ryanac’s armour and some of his clothing. While they did, Harton spoke.

  “The moment Ryanac arrived, they sent out patrols. They’ve just informed me that they intercepted a rider on the way here, one of those that went out this morning. They found bodies. The two guards are dead. There’s no sign of Uly.”

  Markis wanted to show surprise, but he couldn’t. He just nodded and watched as Meira used a knife to cut away the tunic to bare the big man’s chest and shoulders. It took all Markis had not to giggle. He swallowed the wild hysteria, but she glanced at his eyes, and at once, he knew it had to show on his face. She shook her head. She pressed a hand to Ryanac’s chest and then her ear, presumably to hear his heart beating. Standing up, she touched her fingertips to the sides of his face, and then pressed gently as she travelled down under his jaw and the sides of his neck. Her eyes gazed off to the side as unfocused as her patient’s. A slight frown touched her brow.

  “Turn him,” she said. This time she made no objection when Markis helped. Ryanac was a large man. Right now, he was also a dead weight. Markis suddenly hated the expression with a passion.

  Lifting the black and silver hair out of the way, Meira bent her head to examine the right side of his neck where it joined the scalp. This close, Markis could see her pupils narrow in concentration. Deftly, she plucked something small from Ryanac’s neck.

  “Damn, he’s a wise man,” Meira whispered softly. Markis frowned at her. She stood, nodding. “You can lower him now.” She held up a second tiny, feathery object and looked to the others. “This is a Kita dart,” she explained before sniffing it cautiously and then setting it carefully aside. She looked at the solution in the glass containing the first dart. The liquid had changed colour. Meira frowned.

  “How would you know that?” Harton asked. The question was nothing personal. Markis’s father had never liked Meira, and it naturally made his guard wary.

  “She would know,” Markis said. He made sure his tone told Harton to drop the subject and trust his judgement. Meira had no knowledge of her father’s race, but she looked more Kita than Swithin.

  Years ago, a Kita trapper had taken a fancy to her, and decided to change his choice of animal to hunt. She had been his prisoner for three days before they had rescued her. Markis was sixteen at the time. Meira had a couple of years on him, yet it was not the age of years that shone in her face. To look at her, one would have thought she was younger. Look into her eyes, and she looked older than her years. Meira had refused to speak of what the trapper had done to her. She also refused to speak of what she had done to the trapper, but he had been bruised and bleeding by the time they found them. Running, he had fallen into one of h
is own traps. What sent shivers up a man’s spine was that the trapper had cause to run from Meira. The guards who rescued her had not bothered to bring the Kita man with them. Rumour was Meira had left him in his own trap. She hadn’t spoken of it since, and Markis wouldn’t bring it up now. He knew, and that was enough.

  “It looks like a feather,” Tressa said.

  “It is, of sorts,” Meira explained. “Though it looks soft, it isn’t. It would have felt like an insect sting. If Ryanac had slapped at it, he would have embedded it, and it would have killed him quicker.”

  That was why she had called Ryanac wise. Markis didn’t like her expression.

  “So what’s killing him?” Markis needed to know which poison before he could do anything. Her expression changed. She now looked resigned.

  “Heart’s ease.”

  “That’s impossible,” the healer pronounced in shock. Meira gave him a brief glance. Markis ignored the healer, was even about to berate Meira for wasting time talking to the man, when he noticed her hands had been busy all the while. She hadn’t wasted a second.

  “Are you going to argue about it, or are you going to help?” she snapped at the ga’lin.

  Markis stared at Ryanac with barely suppressed panic. Heart’s ease came from the Yeda plant. Used in minimum quantities, it could help a heart condition and many other ailments. It calmed. It slowed things down. Too much of it, and it had the opposite effect. He could understand the healer’s outburst. It would not be easy to administer such a drug without holding the patient down. To think they had done it with something resembling the smallest feather…

  “His heart’s working too hard,” Meira said, and it was only then that he realised she had been explaining the condition to Tressa as the small woman moved to follow her orders. Tressa would make a good dai’mean. He would have laughed if the situation weren’t so dire.

  Ryanac’s heart is working too hard, and it will kill him.