Heart and Crown chapter 3

Sylvia's alien kitten is growing at an alarming rate, but that's the least of Mark's worries.

Mark

The next few days passed in a haze of work. Mark had regular patients to attend to, as well as checkups on the recovering battle mages every six hours. Efrain Bretmer had become his own special charge, and Mark felt a particular responsibility for him. The mage had regained feeling in his limbs and was able to hobble about with the aid of a walker. Mark encouraged him and inspected the damage in his back, which was mending nicely.

“Once I finish therapy, I hope they send me out again,” Efrain said. "You're a mage, right? Have you ever had battle training?"

Mark smiled ruefully. "Well, battle training sends magic to the upper chakras. The throat, mind, and crown. My magic never wanted to go that far. It stops at the heart. They said I'd be wasted in combat, but I'd make a great healer."

"Oh, that's a shame," said Efrain. "You can't believe the rush you get. You speak and rocks shatter! You think and fire falls! It's like being God, himself! To stand on two feet and summon magic at will? You can't even imagine it, not when you've been sitting on Aurium your whole life."

This did sound tempting, but Mark had a quiet horror of having those wings screwed into his spine. He knew what it entailed, probably better than any battle mage did. He smiled and changed the subject, but the worry lurked at the back of his mind that one day they'd call him in.

When he was off duty, he spent his time painting and studying technique. Often he'd go out to the community gardens and play soccer with his friends, or whoever happened to be there. His long legs made him a swift runner, and it felt good to get outside, under the sun and Algol, and use his muscles instead of his mind.

All this helped take his mind off Sylvia Kelcaster. Whenever he sat down with his painting, or a book, or otherwise had a quiet moment, the thought of her plight came leaking into his thoughts. Grief came with it: heavy, hopeless, awful sadness. It was worse than if she had died. Had she died, he could have mourned her properly, but he would have also had the comfort of knowing that God had taken her home, and that he would see her again someday. But this–knowing that she would be sent away to wed a warmongering prince as an attempt to placate him? It was like seeing her thrown to a hungry Aepygryphus in an attempt to save a flock of sheep. 

Sylvia didn’t text or call until that weekend. Mark didn’t want to see her again, not when his heart was so full of pain. Seeing her smile and hearing her voice would destroy the fragile coping mechanisms he’d been building, and he’d have to start over again. But then, he couldn’t simply abandon her. She’d wanted him to check up on her kitten, and it might have bitten or scratched her quite badly by now. Besides, wouldn’t she need his support more than ever? She put up a brave front, but she couldn’t be handling this arranged marriage very well. He’d seen how she handled grief when her best friend was killed in a carriage accident. She bottled it up and buried it, pretended nothing was wrong, and suddenly, months later, fell apart into a sobbing ruin for days.

So on Saturday morning, he texted her, “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes, yes,” she replied. “The kitten is getting unruly and I need some help. She’s over in the menagerie, up at the north end. Meet me at the gates in an hour.”

At least it was something concrete to focus on, and not the formless sea of sadness he’d been drowning in. He dressed in his oldest clothes and good hiking boots, and thoughtfully added extra rolls of bandages to his medical kit. Thus equipped, he set out across the compound.

It was a cloudy morning with a drizzle of rain, but a bright band of sky showed on the horizon, promising fair weather by noon. Mark turned his face to the rain, his blue eyes matching the sky’s coming brilliance, but the cold rain wet his cheeks like tears. He pulled his hood up and set out at a quick walk. The streets were mostly empty at that hour, the pavement gleaming like polished glass. The rain had knocked the blossoms off the trees, which lay around them in circles of pink, white, and purple. The trees, undaunted, had plenty more unopened buds in reserve. He smiled at them as he passed.

The menagerie lay against the fourth wall at the farthest edge of New Olympus. Mark had to pass by the solar-mag plant with its rows and rows of collectors, both solar and magnetic. Even passing by its fence made his chakras tingle, all up and down his spine, but especially his heart. His tattoos flashed and rippled with energy. He held up a hand, looked at the sparks flying from his fingertips, and laughed. The magic swirling through him lifted his heart chakra and improved his mood. How could he hold on to his grief when great Algol was in the sky, a blazing expanse of magic, hung there by the finger of God for the benefit of his creation?

He was still grinning when he reached the menagerie gates. Ten-foot-tall electric fences ringed the zoo, and warning signs stood every few feet. Sylvia awaited him outside one of the insulated access gates, talking cheerily to the guard there. They looked up as Mark approached.

“Here he is!” Sylvia exclaimed, holding out a hand to him. Her red hair was pinned back in braids, as usual, and like him, she wore old, stained clothes and heavy boots. Mark took her hand, still laughing a little, and pushed away the twinge of sadness that crept in amongst the joy.

“Oh, your tattoos are going,” she said, looking at his hand. “The power plant, right?”

“Every time.” He turned to the guard. “Good morning, sir. Is it safe to go inside?”

“Keep to the path and you should be fine,” said the guard. “We have a few visitors from over the fence, but it’s mostly birds and waterfowl around the lakes. I’ve already given the princess the passcode for the gate where we put the spark cat kitten.”

“I’m still not sure she’s a spark cat,” said Sylvia. “Her markings aren’t right, and her legs are too long.”

“Subspecies, then,” said the guard. “The head keeper will come check on you in a few hours, make sure you haven’t been eaten.”

“Oh, she won’t hurt me!” Sylvia exclaimed. “I’m her mama. Let’s go, Mark.”

The menagerie had been built by the second generation of settlers to allow the scientists to study the local fauna in relative safety. Many trees and plants had been brought in and allowed to flourish, creating mini biomes and pockets of exotic foliage. Many of these had burst into bloom, some with flowers bigger than Mark’s head. He inhaled their perfume as they passed each clump. Bees swarmed about them, some honeybees from Earth, and others native to Catalonia, vivid red or blue or yellow. Some of them looked like wasps to him, but the entomologists insisted that they were bees.

“Have you tried the wilderbee honey?” Sylvia said, breaking a long silence.

“Not yet,” said Mark. “It’s too expensive.”

“Oh, I’ll have to give you some,” said Sylvia, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. “It’s so good! Like crystallized perfume you can eat. It’s absolutely divine on a hot biscuit or stirred into a cup of tea.”

This broke the ice, and they talked about honey, flowers, and bees all the way to the cat paddock. Sylvia could name almost all the trees and plants they passed, but there were a few that eluded even her vast knowledge. The issue of arranged marriages never came up, and Mark was glad. He could pretend that nothing was wrong, that nothing was about to change forever.

Sylvia typed the passcode into the gate’s keypad, and it opened. They stepped through the electric fence into the cat paddock. It was mostly forest, but near the entrance was a small meadow with the automatic waterer and feeding stand.

Sylvia cupped her hands to her mouth. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty! Becky! Come here, Becky!”

“You named her Becky?” said Mark in an undertone.

“I had to call her something,” said Sylvia. “Oh, here she is! Look at what a pretty kitty she is!”

Mark had the impulse to dash back through the gate, but he stood his ground. Bounding toward them was a cat three times the size of the kitten he had seen a few days ago. It was the size of a calf and a good deal longer, with downy brown fur mottled with black spots. The blue eyes were quickly turning green. The interested, focused cat face could have been both a pet greeting its master or a hunter seeking prey. But when the animal reached them, it immediately rubbed itself against Sylvia’s legs, purring loudly. Still a pet, then.

Sylvia stroked the fluffy baby fur, cooing and baby-talking it. Mixed into this, she said, “Mark, look at these things she’s growing on her face. They’re like the electrical emitters on spark cat paws, but they’re around her jaws.”

Mark looked and was dismayed to see the stiff quills sprouting from the cat’s muzzle. “Well, don’t touch them, whatever you do.”

“I can’t help it,” Sylvia said, “she keeps rubbing them on me. They don’t shock so far. I wonder if she can control the charge emission?”

“So she’s some new variety of spark cat,” said Mark, watching the kitten twine herself around her mistress. When Becky turned to him, he held out a hand for her to sniff. She sniffed politely, seemed to remember him, then rubbed herself against his legs, too.

“She’s, uh, growing awfully fast,” said Mark, stroking the mottled fur.

“Oh yes, the menagerie let me have a whole horse,” said Sylvia. “She’s already eaten half of it. She’ll be completely self-sufficient by three months, and the vet thinks she’s already four weeks.”

“What will you do with her?”

“Oh, let her go, I hope,” said Sylvia. She rose to her feet. The cat sprawled on the grass, then rolled over, inviting them to rub her belly. Mark and Sylvia were too wise to fall for this.

“Would she survive out there?” Mark said.

An abstracted look came into Sylvia’s eyes. She watched the cat and frowned, seeming to withdraw into herself. “I think … I think she’d be all right. As long as she learns everything she needs to know beforehand.”

“Will she?” Mark said gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Even in strange territory?”

Sylvia didn’t answer for a moment. Then she drew a deep breath. “It won’t be so strange to her. She’ll explore it and learn all there is to know. She’ll … she’ll find a nice mate and have adventures. I’m sure he’ll be good to her.”

“Will he?” said Mark.

“Spark cats hunt together and share kills,” said Sylvia. “There’s some kind of polarity shared between them, which is why meeting a pair is so much more dangerous than meeting one alone.”

“But Becky’s not a regular spark cat,” said Mark.

“No,” Sylvia agreed. “She’s not.” She again sank into silence, watching as the kitten played with a feather that was blowing across the grass. “I wish … maybe she could stay here. We could study her.”

“Could she?” Mark murmured.

Sylvia’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, Mark, I don’t know anymore.” She turned to him and hid her face against his coat. He put his arms around her and held her, bowing his head over hers. The kitten rolled to her feet and trotted away toward the trees like a cat on a mission, leaving them alone for a moment.

“The announcement is next week,” Sylvia mumbled into his coat. “I got the official letter this morning.”

Mark’s arms tightened around her. He’d been bracing himself for this news, but it still struck him like a prizefighter’s fist. He closed his eyes and grimaced, knowing Sylvia wouldn’t see.

“I … I signed the agreement,” she whispered. “If I don’t agree to marry John, they were going to ask my cousin Sarah, and she’s only fourteen.”

Mark tried to say something and found that a lump in his throat had silenced him. He nodded and stroked her red hair comfortingly.

Sylvia sighed and pulled away, looking into his face. She must have seen the pain there, because she turned away and hugged herself. “Political marriages happen all the time,” she said, trying to sound cheerful again. “Ever since the first settlers began to arrange things among themselves that way and monarchy popped up. It more or less works out, doesn’t it? We had Queen Martha and Queen Valerie, and they were decent enough.”

“Sure.” Mark’s voice still sounded a little strangled, but he swallowed and cleared his throat, fighting for clarity. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure it’ll work out. How could John not love you? You’re wonderful.”

Her smile returned at last, and she self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “That’s nice of you to say, Mark.” She looked around for the kitten and sighed. “I guess she had things to do. I’m glad she’s acting normal, anyway.” She hesitated, then added, “There’s going to be a formal party for the betrothal announcement, and John will be there. Could … could you come, too?” Her hazel eyes were shot with green and gold lights, bright with entreaty. She had asked him to be there for her graduation exactly the same way. Bubbly extrovert that she was, she had a buried core of insecurity that she showed only to him.

“I’ll be there,” he said quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll come.”

“I know,” she breathed, resting her hand on his. “You have to see John, and … Mark, I …” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “It’s for the good of Catalonia. I have to keep telling myself that. It’s so no more people will die.”

“And no more mage adapts have to become battle mages,” said Mark. “If I wasn’t a healer, they would have asked me.”

She looked at him, startled. “You could fight like a battle mage?”

“Any adept can,” said Mark. “Once the wing array is wired in, you can pull magic through any chakra. I was deemed too valuable to send to the battlefield. Healers are usually exempt because they need to save the mages afterward.”

“I’m glad you didn’t go,” she said, watching the treeline. “I couldn’t stand it if they brought you back in a coffin. Or worse … a wheelchair.”

“Sometimes the wheelchair is the best-case scenario,” said Mark lightly. “I know a battlemage who had them make the seat of his chair out of Aurium. He can’t walk, but he can cast magic from every chakra. He’s one of the military trainers.”

“I never could use magic properly,” said Sylvia. “I mean, I was able to align my chakras enough to draw it up a ways, but I could only get it as far as my solar plexus. You know, my stomach. Then I’d throw up. Not exactly the fantastic magic casting they want in the military. Being out of the fortress opens my crown chakra a little, so I can sense things around me better, but I can't use it to fight." She took his hand and traced a finger along the tattoos on the back. “I wanted some of these so bad. I always thought they were the prettiest thing. They’re Aurium, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” he said, holding out his other hand, too. The tattoos were a dull gray against his skin, not even as striking as a proper tattoo of colored ink. But when magic flowed through them, they glowed in red, blue, and green.

Sylvia held his hands for a moment, admiring the different patterns that swirled across his hands, around each knuckle, and down the fingers to the tips. “I’ll bet it hurt to have them done.”

“It did,” he said lightly. “And it took weeks. They can’t channel as much magic as the wings, but they’re a lot less lethal.”

A movement in the trees attracted his attention. He looked up and must have made a sound, because Sylvia dropped his hands and turned, too.

Becky the cat was trotting toward them, her tail in the air like an exclamation point. In her jaws she carried a dead rat the size of a small dog.

“Oh, she’s bringing us a present!” Sylvia exclaimed, kneeling. “Good, good kitty! Wook at the pwesent she’s bwinging Mommy! What a good kitty!”
Becky dropped the rat at Sylvia’s feet and rubbed against her enthusiastically, pleased with herself and her hunting prowess.

“Well, we know she’s capable of feeding herself,” said Mark.

“She’s such a good kitty,” cooed Sylvia. Still in the same tone, she added to Mark, “I’ll have to tell the game warden and the vet about this. They’ll get the other biologists out here, oh yes they will, they’ll all want to see this smart, smart, pretty kitty.”

Mark grinned and watched the cat’s antics. She was an excellent distraction and would keep Sylvia from moping. Good. He had his own hands full with caring for his patients, and it would do Sylvia good to care for the kitten and not worry about the future. What would be would be, and there was no point fretting about it.

But he couldn’t keep the sadness from leaking in from underneath. Even when he and Sylvia left the menagerie and walked back to the fortress, the sadness kept rising and stealing things he wanted to say. Sylvia must have felt the same way, because her smile kept fading away to a look of desolation. But she kept up small talk about the weather and the different kinds of trees they passed, filling the silence and the unspoken things that lay between them.

They parted with a quick clasp of the hands, Mark returning to the hospital complex, Sylvia to the fortress. Mark denied the sense of loneliness that crept over him as he walked. He had no reason to be lonely. He had plenty of friends and coworkers. His mother and father would welcome him if he wanted to drop in and talk. He had good relationships with everyone in his life. He had no right to feel anything except happiness for Sylvia. After all, she was moving up in status. Her marriage to Prince John would open new avenues of funding and research, and she'd have an amazing career.

So why did he feel like he wanted to sit in a corner and cry?