by Aldrea Alien
“ ‘Mish?” Frowning, Gordon scratched at his chin. “I suppose you could say he’s the face of the crown to the locals. He typically spends his days wandering the farms, helping where he can, listening to their troubles, righting wrongs and all that.” A small, fond smile tweaked the edges of his mouth. “When he’s nae the one kissing fools and causing trouble.”
Cunning. Send out the youngest to make the crown look benevolent and eager to please the people. “And where exactly is he at the moment?”
“Around.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, Gordon bellowed, “Sun’s getting higher, lads.”
Darshan eyed the haystacks. Did one of them just move? He peered at the left-most pile. He was certain he had seen a twitch that couldn’t be explained by the wind.
The haystack moved, Hamish erupting from the centre like a vengeful god of the harvest. Hay scattered on the wind, getting caught up in his clothes, hair and a ridiculous pair of antlers tied to his head.
The boys loosed their arrows, easily hitting Hamish at so close a distance.
Coughing and laughing, Hamish swatted at the air. It disturbed the dust, but did little to deter the boys who were already nocking another arrow. “All right, lads, you got me. Fair’s fair.” He knelt before them. “I yield.”
The boys cast glances at each other before scooping up the discarded projectiles. Giggling, the trio raced around their uncle, batting at him with the linen-tipped arrows as if he was a drum.
“Hey!” Hamish ducked his head, wrapping his arms around his face. He wore the assault for a few moments. “I already yielded. Lads— That’s enough.” One of the arrow tips hit him in the mouth, exploding dust everywhere. “All right,” he spluttered, grinning and spitting out flecks dyed a disgusting green. “You asked for it.” Roaring, Hamish leapt to his feet, arms up and hands clawed. “Who wants to be eaten first?”
“Bear!” screamed Mac, the youngest. He brandished his arrow like a sword. “I’ll save us.”
“It’s worse than that,” Bruce replied, already scrambling across the ground, his green-tipped arrow forgotten as he legged it. “It’s a stag-bear!”
Growling, the sound somewhat akin to a sick dog, Hamish scooped up Mac and tucked the boy under an arm before barrelling on past Gordon and Darshan in his quest to capture his other two nephews.
The two older boys ran around the courtyard, squealing and giggling as they dashed from one bit of shelter to the next.
“He made it back to his room just fine, by the way,” Gordon said, returning his attention to Darshan. “Nae thanks to you. You shouldnae have kept him so late.”
Whilst he had been accused of leading men astray before—and some of those claims might’ve had more than a grain of truth to them—no one, not even his father, had ever berated him for the lateness of his activities. “Did he not tell you the reason was a very innocent, albeit entirely truthful one?”
“That you two fell asleep?” He scoffed, although the ghost of a smile crept along his otherwise stern face. “Aye, amongst other details, like you almost dropping him whilst trying to get him back through the window?” Gordon arched a brow at him, but continued before Darshan could open his mouth. “I ken you’ve probably got a reasonable explanation on how me brother wound up outside the room to begin with, but he’s already told me everything. I am far more interested in how you plan to rationalise threatening me sister.”
Darshan stared at the man, slightly taken aback. “When did I do that?” He certainly didn’t recall issuing any major threats. It would explain the coolness of her response to his earlier request for books with Udynean text. “I might have suggested she reacquaint herself with what my title means. I might have also been a little sharp about it.”
“To hear her say it, you said more than that.”
Yes. Now he thought on it, he’d said quite a bit more than he had intended. “I may have also mentioned how it could lead to unpleasantness should Queen Fiona decide banishing me from her kingdom would be a valid recourse. I shall be certain to apologise when I see her highness next. She spoke to me at a bad time and, I am afraid, undeservedly caught the brunt of my temper.”
“A temper you seem more than willing to flash when it pleases you. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you are aware your father pressed for peace. Yet, you swan about in a manner that could lead us all to war.” Those green eyes, suddenly far sharper than Darshan recalled, narrowed at him. “Is that what you’re after?”
“Of course not.” He bristled at the very idea. It had been a long time since the Udynea Empire had truly done more than bicker with itself. Even the border disputes were more likely to involve a lord’s personal retinue than any imperial army. The only exception being their seemingly eternal battle with the spellster-slaughtering Obuzan kingdom. “I am here only to settle the trade between our peoples.”
“And I suppose the negotiation now requires extra conditions to be met?”
Darshan bit his tongue. Gordon couldn’t possibly know about his disastrous talk with Queen Fiona, not if the man had been with his nephews the whole time. Had Hamish mentioned leaving for Udynean lands? Last night or this morning? He thought his lover would’ve kept such talk closer to his chest. “Is having your brother happy and free to pursue whomever he wants that big of a stipulation?”
“Allow me to make something quite clear to you.” Gordon swung from watching the boys still race around the courtyard to face Darshan square on.
Darshan had taken a half-step back before realising he had moved. The man was only a tad taller than Hamish, but he certainly cut an imposing figure when riled.
“I dinnae trust you.”
“That is… fair.” He’d been here a scant handful of days and, when it came to Hamish, had done nothing apart from upset the queen whilst simultaneously putting the man squarely under her suspicious eye.
Shock darted across Gordon’s face. Whether he was aware of it or not, he recovered well. “Me brother told me all about you asking for him to return to Minamist with you. He willnae go.”
“I beg your pardon?” That hadn’t been the impression Hamish had given him earlier this morning. Had he told his brother something different or was that Gordon’s opinion?
“Me brother willnae leave his homeland, even if it was in his best interests. There’s too much tying him to here.”
“Like what?” The only obstacle he had witnessed was a rather controlling mother and he was willing to bet that was the only impediment to Hamish living however he wished.
“His family. We’re very important to him.”
Darshan’s gaze slid to where his lover chased the oldest boy, the other two firmly tucked under an arm or balanced over his shoulder like sacks. Hamish would certainly lose these moments if he travelled to Minamist. “Like a mother who abuses him every time he is himself?”
Gordon fell silent.
“You do know what she does to him, I assume?” More had happened than Hamish’s one-time incarceration. Such an act might’ve left the man slightly hesitant to repeat his transgression, but Hamish had been terrified of the queen’s guards.
“Do I—?” the man snapped before his voice dropped into a menacing rumble. “You’ve known ‘Mish—what?—four days? You think I have nae seen, that I’ve been blind, to how she treats me brother? Because I assure you, what you have witnessed is the mere graze of an arrow.”
“And?”
“And what? What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Intervene?” Even as the suggestion left his lips, he knew it wasn’t usually as simple as that. And to challenge a ruler’s word… Maybe it was different enough here to give them some breathing room but, back home, the Mhanek’s word was law. “Stand by him. Stand up for him. Whatever it takes.”
Laughing mirthlessly, Gordon threw up a hand. “And there it is. The imperial prince comes to educate the barbarians on how to deal with all matters.” The smile he gave was one of crocodiles and jackals. “That is how you
see us, right?”
“I assure you, I have no idea what you are referring to.” That wasn’t entirely true. He might not see Tirglasians as such, but he had heard enough grumbling from those in the Crystal Court to know there was a general discord on allying the empire with the backwards little kingdom from up north.
Gordon grunted. “I’ve read enough stories of your people coming in and taming so-called savage lands. Your lot are just as bad as the Obuzan fanatics hammering at our shores,” he muttered.
Darshan calmly refrained from uttering a word. His thoughts refused to be so generous. We share a border with them, too, you know. And they clashed with Obuzaners quite frequently despite it being mostly mountains. There was a pocket of sorts north of the range where the Obuzaners had erected a rather impressive wall to keep out the filthy spellsters who had, in their minds, followed the devil down the path of shadows. Never mind that Obuzan had once been a part of Udynea back before the latter could be considered an empire.
“Is that how you see me brother? As some savage thing you can tame and parade through your city?”
He stared at Gordon for some time before the words soaked in. “Of course not.” Steepling his fingers before him in supplication, he continued, “Look, I understand how it must appear from the outside.”
Gordon sneered but said nothing.
“I am a chaotic unknown in the largely stable equation of your family’s life, correct? And I admit to miscalculations on my part. I did not mean to create such an upheaval, nor did I factor in the queen’s reception of matters that are seen in a less than favourable light. Asking Hamish to journey with me to Minamist is a big step, I am aware of this. You may think I have an ulterior motive, but I truly only wish to—”
“Intervene?” Gordon snarled just under his breath. “And just what do you think I’ve been doing for the past three decades? Twiddling me thumbs? I have spent years standing between me mum and ‘Mish. And you undo all of it in one day.”
Even with Gordon’s apparent deflection, Hamish had still spent decades of being tailed by his brother or guards like a naughty child. “An aviary gives a bird more room to fly, but it does not mean it is free.”
Gordon frowned and opened his mouth.
His youngest nephew collided into his leg before he could say anything further on the matter. “Did we win?” Mac asked between pants. His curly red hair was a sweaty mass clinging to his face.
“Of course we won,” Ethan answered, trotting up alongside his older brother. “We got him before the bell. That’s a win.”
“Right you are, lad,” Gordon replied, further ruffling the two older boy’s hair. “Although I cannae say the hunt was an entirely fair one. Deer dinnae tend to bury themselves in piles of hay, do they, ‘Mish?”
Hamish stumbled to a halt before them, grinning sheepishly. “Nae typically.” Hay still clung to his clothes and he plucked a few pieces free as he spoke. What drew Darshan’s eye were those ridiculous antlers. They bobbed with the slightest motion, threatening to come loose. How were they even staying on? “But they found me all the same and it does them good to think beyond the confines of ordinary every once in a while.”
A bell resounded somewhere deep within the city, echoed by another within the castle proper.
“Come on, lads,” Gordon said. “Let’s go see if we cannae cadge some grub off the cooks.”
Cadge? Were princes treated so differently from back home that the heir to the throne couldn’t enter the kitchen and request a piece of whatever was on offer?
“Or,” Hamish added, casting a sideways glance at Darshan. “We could ride down to the market square and see what’s on offer at the spring festival?”
Like ruddy-haired grasshoppers, the boys bounced around their uncles to cries of “Aye!” and “Can we really?” with the occasional “Let’s go!” from Bruce.
Darshan’s heart stuttered at the sight. He had to be roughly the same height as the eldest of the three brothers, he was well aware he barely reached Hamish’s shoulder and that the children came from a line of equally tall ancestors. Nevertheless… Was that how he looked standing next to Hamish?
Surely he conducted himself with more dignity.
Hamish grinned at Darshan. “Want to come with us?”
“I would love to.” Truthfully, he would’ve accepted any excuse to leave the castle confines, but an actual festival did hold some merit. Darshan nodded at the pair of small antlers still somehow affixed to the man’s head. “But are you planning on wearing those down there?”
Confusion took Hamish’s face before the expression was consumed by a deep blush. He hastily removed the antlers, tucking them behind his back.
“Well, I was planning on a somewhat more peaceful afternoon,” Gordon rumbled. “But if you lads would rather go to the festival than study…” He waited, grinning, as the boys chorused an empathetic assurance that they certainly did wish to go. “I’ll go get the horses ready, then.”
“Really?” Hamish asked, the beginning notes of a whine creeping into his voice. “We’re only heading down to the city. It’s nae far.”
“And neither was the pub,” the man shot back over his shoulder, earning a mixed cry of giggles and mock gags from the boys. Clearly, the young trio knew what had transpired there. “You ken the rules, ‘Mish. You are nae allowed beyond the castle walls unescorted, especially with him.” He jerked a thumb at Darshan. “So where you both go, I have to follow. Or I can grab one of the guards and you can have them tailing you for the rest of the day?” He gave a sly grin. “Or maybe you’d prefer Lyall? I dinnae think our old steward is doing anything noteworthy today.”
Hamish grimaced. “It’s just out to the markets,” he clarified. “Me and the lads will show Dar what a real spring festival is like and be back before sunset.”
Gordon nodded. “Nae doubt you will do just that, but you ken Mum. If she caught wind that you’d been out of the castle without someone to keep an eye on you.” He narrowed his eyes at the boys. “And the Mischief Trio doesnae count.” The man strode over to the stable entrance. “So, shall we?”
Darshan’s shoulders sagged. There went his hope of a quiet, and completely innocent, time wandering the stalls with Hamish and their three young tag-alongs. And here he’d thought Gordon to be on his brother’s side. Hamish’s perhaps, but certainly not mine. He hadn’t had to prove himself worthy of someone’s time before.
It was a challenge he was quite prepared to accept.
From afar, the city looked no less busy, but Darshan caught a central flow to the crowd that hadn’t been in evidence the last time he had ventured beyond the castle walls. They descended the road winding into Mullhind on five horses. Whilst the two older boys each rode an animal almost as broad as the shaggy mare Hamish rode, Mac shared a single mount with his older uncle.
“Can we go to the docks first?” Mac asked, bouncing on his perch before Gordon. The animal didn’t seem to mind the placement, perhaps well accustomed to such, but the boy’s uncle stilled him all the same. “I want to see the sinking ship race.”
“That’s nae until tomorrow, lad,” Gordon said. He shaded his eyes and stared out at the harbour. “I only see fishing boats right now.”
“Sinking ship?” Darshan enquired, kneeing his horse closer in the hopes of an explanation.
“It’s the final race of winter,” Mac said. “They take a ship full of people out into the harbour and everyone jumps into the water.” He paused and seemed to think for a bit, twirling a coil of hair tightly around his forefinger. “Well, nae everyone—nae the people sailing—but they jump in and swim back to the docks.”
Darshan could understand abandoning a sinking ship, could even grasp the idea of a quick dip off a boat in warmer waters, but to jump off a seaworthy vessel when the harbour had to be freezing at this time of year… “Why?”
“Because the fastest to make it to the docks gets a whole side of boar,” Hamish replied.
“It didnae used to be s
uch a draw, mind you,” Gordon added. “The race started off as a way to honour the original Mathan chieftain, see who could brave the same waters he swam and all that. And before then, it was just an old tale of our clan, before it was more than a single family set adrift by—”
Ethan groaned loudly and rocked back on his horse. “Nae this story again. Mum tells it to us every spring. Can we nae hear a different one?”
“You poor thing,” Gordon mumbled. “You’re right, it is a boring story. It’s nae like the chieftain’s act of saving his family didnae see you as a prince and fourth in line for the throne…”
“He is right, though,” Hamish piped up. “It was boring when Dad told us and it’s downright sleep-inducing when you tell it.”
“You’re nae supposed to agree with the rats!” Gordon snapped as they reached the bottom of the road. They clattered through the square, which seemed far too empty for a spring festival happening. “All right, lads, where to first?”
All three of the children answered at once, each with a seemingly different response. How anyone could distinguish distinct words from the garbled noise was beyond Darshan’s understanding, but Gordon nodded as if he had made them out perfectly.
“May I suggest a place?” Darshan enquired once the boys had quietened. After the scuffle in the pub some days back, and the subsequent chewing out by Queen Fiona on where his lips should not land, he had sent a pigeon bearing his seal towards the nearest Udynean city. A letter had returned this morning, along with an address to acquire funds should it be necessary. Whilst he might not need money for a swift departure, wandering stalls with an empty coin purse was never much fun.
He fished out the note he had scribbled the address on and handed it to Gordon without a second thought, only realising his error when the man’s face scrunched in confusion. Whilst the original might have once been in Tirglasian script, it had been translated and then copied word for word into his native Udynean. “I believe it is called Aged Priest’s Manner.”
Gordon frowned at the parchment, twisting it sideways and then upside-down. “Is that was this says? There’s nae streets named—” He lowered the parchment, arching a brow in Darshan’s direction. “Do you by chance mean Old Priest’s Way? Everyone kens where that is. It’s nae far from the central market square, as a matter of fact.” With the click of his tongue, he urged his horse at the fore of their little group as they ambled through the city. “Why there?”
