Page 19 of Shadow Mark

The medic had such a comforting way about him.

“I recommend moon root tea to aid with sleeping. It is common enough and will not draw unwanted attention.”

“Moon root is for the elderly,” Baris said. He had few memories of his grandmother, Queen Taras, and all involved the pungent odor of moon root.

“Welcome to middle age, Your Majesty.” Harol removed a bottle from the inner pocket of his coat and handed it to Baris. “This will mask the muscle spasm for now. One tablet, once a day.”

“This will stop the tremors?” Baris accepted the bottle, aware of the tremble in his hand.

“For now,” Harol said, repeating his instructions.

“How long will this last?”

“It is difficult to say. My only experience has been with soldiers. As you might expect, they are young, and the bond with their karu is not as developed.” Harol’s posture changed as he spoke, his tone clearly excited. “I’m relying on historical accounts. In darker times, it was distressingly common for a karu to be killed as a means of assassination. The older the bond, the smaller the chance of survival as the symbiote dies.”

Baris frowned. “Karu are sacred. That is barbaric and a highly inefficient means of assassination.”

“Well, darker times. We are more civilized now,” the medic said. Then added, “Mostly.”

Mostly. Karu were sacred. Baris’ execution of Kasim Starshade had been reviewed by the courts—as it should be, no one was above the law—and found to be lawful for exactly that reason.

“Rest would be best. Your body needs time to heal and clear the toxins from your system,” the medic said.

“Impossible. We are in the midst of trade negotiations.”

Harol made a scoffing noise. “There is always some reason. You will forever be too busy to rest, and as a consequence, this process will take twice as long. Everyone deserves time to rest. Even kings.”

He agreed in principle, but his schedule did not allow it. As disastrous as his alliance with the Starshades had ended, it had brought stability between the core worlds of the kingdom and the outer planets. Peace, however, was a fragile thing. His position was already weak without a bonded karu, marking him different from other Arcosian monarchs. He’d need to bond with another, as much as the thought felt like a betrayal to his old companion, but that could not occur until the symbiote within him died completely. Any hint that his health was less than optimal would spark ambition in others.

No, Baris needed to be seen at court as strong, both physically and politically. A holiday? Preposterous.

“Get me through the trade negotiations with the Khargals,” Baris said, “and I’ll take a rest.”

Harol gave him a sour look, clearly disbelieving him. “Let us hope for swift negotiations then.”

That was as good as Baris could hope for. Willing to accept this, he said, “I trust the medical facilities in the palace are satisfactory.”

“Exemplary.” Retired from military service, Harol had been lured into becoming the palace medic by cutting-edge technology and a generous budget. If the change in topic bothered him, Harol kept it to himself.

“When my symptoms grow worse, you will approach me to sponsor a project.” The pretense would explain their frequent contact and buy them more time to hide his condition.

“Understood. I’ll endeavor to empty the treasury.” Harol took the vial of blood from the counter and placed it in the inner pocket of his coat. Without saying a word, he bowed his head in acknowledgment that the examination was over. They had returned to their roles of monarch and subject.

Baris took a moment to gather his thoughts after the medic left. It was foolish to let such a secret rest on the shoulders of one person. Harol was discreet and had proven to be trustworthy, but one slip, one careless statement, could unravel all they had hidden.

Yes, Baris was right to be uneasy, but the most troubling fact remained that he was far more likely to betray himself. His symptoms would only grow worse. It was only a matter of time before his condition was discovered.

LENORE

Life was weird.

One minute Lenore’s arguing with her ex in the hospital hallway; the next, she’s sucked through a portal onto an alien planet. She went from barely surviving to living on a space station, waiting to go to the ball. A ball. How was this even her life?

Lenore plucked at the lapel of the frock coat. Lace dripped from the cuffs and stiffly decorated the collar. It was a statement piece, and the entire statement weighed about a hundred pounds. Also, it itched. Under the navy brocade coat, she wore a sleeveless white gown. The white satin melted into a cascade of colors: blush, magenta, violet, and finally navy. It was a bit much.

Fashion here veered toward the elaborate: excessive amounts of fabric, high collars, and just more of everything. The everyday stuff was all right and not terribly different from what she would have worn on Earth. People here had the same general build—two arms, two legs—even if they all stood a foot taller than her.

She found it easier to believe that this was a fever dream, but the last two years were definitely not a dream. It was so weird that she had been on another planet—several dozen at this point—and here she was grumpy about her outfit.

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