by Aldrea Alien
“But why send you here?” Had Darshan’s father been anything like Hamish’s mother, he would’ve found himself under constant watch, not being allowed to stroll through a whole other kingdom.
All at once, Darshan straightened, his chest puffed out and his nose tipped to the sky. “There are no men like you in Tirglas.” His voice took on an inflection that Hamish guessed was meant to be his lover’s father. “It shall teach you discipline and respect for the law.” His lover grinned, laughter hissing through his teeth. “And then I met you pretty much within an hour of setting foot in Tirglas. The gods have such a sense of humour.”
Hamish remained silent. The Goddess didn’t meddle in a single man’s life like that. She was more focused on the balance of the world, keeping the sun rising and the tides flowing. People were just ants busying themselves through the years.
His lover’s smile faded, bitterness darkening his eyes. “And then what do I do with my good fortune?” He threw his arms wide, rocking back to the point where he almost tumbled down. “Same as always. Mess things up for everyone but me.”
“To be fair, things were going south before you arrived.” Hamish had long since made peace with the knowledge that his life had more-or-less stagnated into a routine that saw him waking only for duty.
Darshan snorted. “That does not excuse my actions. Not then, not now.”
“So, what happened that was so scandalous? Did you kill someone?” It didn’t sound like something that would be of concern to an emperor, but if it was someone of equal importance, such as an ambassador or… “Did it have something to do with the one who wound up in your bed with another?”
Wrinkling his nose, Darshan flapped a hand as if shooing a midge. “That one was years back. My last foray involved a man who I had no idea was…” He frowned, his lips pursing. “No, that is not entirely truthful, I knew he was engaged and kept fooling around with him. Long story short, we got caught. Or rather he did. Word got out and it set a few noble houses against each other. Minor nobles, granted, but troublesome nevertheless. Father thought my attitude towards what I had done was unbecoming of a prince.”
“I would think so. A prince has a duty to his family to assist in keeping the land running smoothly.” At least, that was what his own father would’ve said.
Darshan chuckled. “He would be rather enamoured with you. I am…” That hazel gaze slid off into the distance, his shoulders sagging. “Not really what he wanted in a son.”
“Sounds familiar.”
His lover hummed an agreement. “Right down to him wanting me to marry and have children.”
“You dinnae seem any worse for it.” If anything, the man had been relatively shameless in his pursuit of Hamish and likely hadn’t been hiding his wants in Udynea either. Nae like me. He had done his best to quash any desire towards men to no avail.
“Unlike your mother, my father saw little merit in curbing my desires. And he understands that even marriage would not have altered my affairs. It is not exactly unprecedented for a noble to have a lover, sometimes the same one for years.”
“Is that what you have planned for me?”
Smiling, Darshan shook his head. “Of course not. You would be there as an ambassador, being my lover would be considered a perk rather than an obligation. I would not even ask you to stay exclusively mine if you found someone more to your taste.”
“I thought we already established that I dinnae have any taste?”
Darshan grinned. “Besides, my father gave up on me marrying years ago—he just wants grandchildren now—so you most definitely would not have to worry about my wife.” He whispered those final words, shuddering as if the mention was more of a curse. “I do not suppose we could turn this conversation to something more pleasant?” His lover pointed out at the sea, where the sun had half dipped beyond the crest of the hills. “Like that land over there perhaps?”
Hamish shrugged. “That’s the Goddess’ Hook.”
“A name like that sounds to me like something with a legend tied to it.”
“Aye.” As old as the land itself. He turned to face the view, his heart skipping when Darshan sidled up to him, his face practically aglow with interest. “Do you really want to hear the story? It’s a long one.” And Gordon told it far better, but his brother wasn’t nearby and probably wouldn’t be inclined to crash through the brush just to tell the tale.
“I do not mind lingering here whilst you tell it, especially when staying includes such a magnificent view.” He grinned rakishly, one brow arching as he gently elbowed Hamish in the side. “And the sunset is quite marvellous, too.”
Heat flooded Hamish’s face, even as he rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re comfortable, because it really is a long story. Starts a long way back.”
“That suits me fine, really.” Darshan ran his fingers up and down the underside of Hamish’s forearm, the caressing touch faint through the thick woollen sleeve. “I could listen to your voice all night.”
“M-me—?” He clamped his mouth shut before making a bigger fool of himself. His voice was no different to anyone else’s in Tirglas. Not especially deep like his father’s or even close to the soft, melodic tone of Darshan’s. Having his lover listening to him drone would likely put the man to sleep. “It’s nae as long a story as that,” he promised.
“Pity,” Darshan breathed. “Although I am certain you could draw it out.”
His face was already hot enough to rival the sun. Any warmer and he would melt. Try as he might, he struggled to think straight. Breathe. If he was going to tell any sort of story, being able to talk with some semblance of sense would be a must. He coughed in an attempt to clear his throat. “Like I said,” he rambled. “Back before there was earth, there was the Goddess.”
Darshan smiled, those hazel eyes glittering like a child at a festival. “A creation myth.” The words practically purred with his delight. “I thought as much. They stopped telling them back home, too many contradictions.” He clasped Hamish’s knee, all but climbing him to get closer. “Do go on.”
“All right,” Hamish mumbled. He was going to keep things brief, but he had a suspicion that, even if he tried, his lover would tug every piece Hamish remembered free. “But next time you want to hear a legend, you can ask me brother.”
The sun had all but set by the time they left the cliff edge, only a thin crescent remained to light the sky a brilliant pink. Hamish glanced over his shoulder as he stepped beneath the trees. It was a shame to leave the last vestiges of daylight unwatched, but Darshan’s shivering body necessitated they return to camp.
They could’ve lingered had he asked for his lover to heat the air around them, but the man had already done so much. And his own grumbling stomach needed more than a few crumbs to sate it.
Under the trees, darkness already reigned. His lover took the lead, holding a small globe of light aloft to illuminate the forest, whilst Hamish practically travelled at his hip to search for the marks he’d made and point out the direction. Not that he needed to indicate much for large chunks of the way, what with the path Darshan had cut through the bushes earlier.
Hamish eyed the globe of light during those times. It shone like a miniature sun, hovering just above Darshan’s outstretched hand with no other apparent connection to the spellster, yet put out no heat like the flame the man had shown the children the other day. He wished he had known the spellster was capable of such things before they had left camp, then he could’ve alerted the others.
The light of a campfire broke through the undergrowth. Hamish tapped his lover on the shoulder. “You may want to put that out.” He pointed to the globe. Entering camp like this was likely to have them full of holes from the guards’ bows before they could be recognised. “Safety’s sake.”
Darshan said nothing, but the globe dimmed and vanished.
They stumbled through the rest of the bush in the dark, with only the campfire to guide them. After their seemingly brief jaunt through the clearly-lit
bush, traversing the rest of the way had the feeling of an age passing.
Eventually, Hamish broke through the last of the trees with Darshan on his heels.
Four tents took up much of the clearing. Despite his brother’s words on not setting it up for him, Hamish’s tent squatted amongst the others. Whilst big enough to sleep two people, Gordon had stopped sharing the space with him after one too many nights of being jostled awake by what his brother had dramatically referred to as the demons struggling to escape via the portal in Hamish’s mouth. I dinnae snore that bad.
Regardless, Gordon insisted on bunking alongside one of the guards—usually Zurron—whilst the other two also shared a tent. That left the fourth tent for Darshan. He hadn’t seen it packed, but it looked to be the same one Gordon used when he took his daughter camping. It was a tiny thing, considered as being more suited for a child, but the spellster should fit.
Darshan sniffed as they neared the campfire. “What is that smell?”
On impulse, Hamish also inhaled. The vaguely meaty aroma of mushrooms greeted his senses, almost hiding the less pungent scent of turnips. He savoured the smell, peering into the pot at the bubbling brown liquid. Bits of chopped vegetables and fungi bobbed in the soup like half-sunken ships. He sat before the fire.
“That’d be dinner,” Sean said, he stirred the pot, bringing the ladle up for a taste. “A bit longer ought to do it. Your people eat mushrooms, I trust, otherwise it’s going to be just bread for you.”
“Mush—?” Darshan frowned. “You mean fungus? Yes, but generally only the spotted ones and truffles are served at soirées. The rest is considered peasant food.”
Sean’s gaze slid from the spellster to Hamish as he leant closer to whisper in Hamish’s ear, “Do you think their spotted mushrooms are poisonous like ours?”
Hamish shrugged. It was possible that Darshan wasn’t meaning the brown and white ones that were known to cause hallucinations before a careless person spent a half-day vomiting and gasping for breath in-between, being lucky to survive beyond that.
“Are you forgetting spellsters can heal themselves as well as others?” Zurron said, settling down next to Sean. “Do you really think a bit of poison would bother him?”
Darshan’s frown deepened, his gaze darting between the two guards. Clearly, he hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation.
Bloody elf hearing. So often Hamish forgot that elven ears picked out sounds far better than any human—or even dwarf. And for all the conversations to barge in on… “We’re nae trying to kill you,” Hamish blurted, his face growing hot as his lover’s brow twisted into a puzzled arch. “That is…” He glanced wildly over the others, searching for an out. “Have you lot nae eaten?”
Sean shook his head as he gave the pot’s contents another stir before gingerly tasting a sip from the spoon. “About to, though.” He sidled up to Darshan, giving the spellster a friendly nudge in the side with an elbow. “Speaking of magic, I dinnae suppose you’d care to give the fire a little kick in the guts for me?”
Darshan arched a brow at the man, likely wondering how the guard dared to be so familiar. Hamish couldn’t imagine many common Udyneans having a chance to casually converse with an imperial prince, much less doing so.
And to ask for him to do such a mundane task, to boot. Hamish was surprised his lover showed only slight scepticism. Perhaps rumour did exaggerate on how poorly Udynean spellsters treated those ranked beneath them.
Nevertheless, red flushed across Sean’s face, turning the man’s ears a dusky pink. Had he realised just who he’d jostled and requested such an act from? “I— If you would be amenable to doing so, your highness. I’ve nae seen magic fire before.”
Pursing his skewed lips, Darshan extended a lazy finger at the campfire. The flames leapt higher, licking at the pot suspended above it.
Sean whistled loud and long, eyeing the flames much like Hamish’s nephews had done back in the archery range. “Right, lads,” he announced, ladling a spoonful of soup into his bowl. “Grab yourself a bowl if you want some.” He filled Zurron’s bowl as the elf practically shoved it under Sean’s nose. “You ken, before our resident bottomless pit goes for thirds.”
Gently cuffing his fellow guard over the back of his head, Zurron sat down nearer to the spellster than Hamish thought the elf would want to be. Rather than devour his food with a single-minded determination like he had done during lunch, he slipped a hand into his pack in search of something.
Hamish fished out his own bowl from his pack, motioning Darshan to quickly do the same. If there were any leftovers after they’d all had a first fill, then Zurron would most certainly go for the rest.
Quinn was next, the man slurping his meal straight from the bowl almost before he had finished settling back on the ground. Gordon followed swiftly on the last guard’s heels, leaving Hamish scurrying to aid his lover in relieving Darshan’s pack of the single dish within. Like most of the times they journeyed to the cloister, Sean insisted they pack only the essentials. Anything beyond one bowl was apparently what the man considered as a luxury during travel.
The remainder of the bread was divided amongst them as they ate. A disjointed hush fell over the camp now that everyone had their dinner, broken raggedly as Quinn slurped his soup, smacking his lips every now and then. Sean drank much the same way, but far quieter. Gordon sipped at his meal, his gaze intent on the elf and spellster. Neither of the men had swallowed a bite. Zurron still wrangled with whatever he searched for in his pack, whilst Darshan had set his meal aside in favour of doing a similar amount of rummaging in his own pack.
“Lost something?” Hamish asked of his lover. Was it important? Something the spellster would need over the next fortnight? Could they get another at Old Willie’s Farm or was it a specifically Udynean object?
Darshan grunted, pulling out a cloak from his pack before diving deeper into its dark depths. “I am merely looking for a spoon, but I cannot seem to—”
“A spoon?” Quinn laughed explosively, spraying droplets of soup. “We travel light. Nae a lot of necessity for spoons when you can slurp straight from the bowl. You want fancy, then you picked the wrong group to travel with.”
Next to the spellster, Zurron silently withdrew two spoons from his own pack and handed one over to Darshan.
“Really?” Sean sneered. “I thought we agreed to only pack essentials?”
“They are fecking essentials,” the elf snapped back. “Nae all of us are bleeding animals. Dinnae mind him, your highness,” he said to Darshan, jerking his head towards his fellow guard. “I’m pretty sure he strains everything through that hairy creature he has living under his nose.”
Hamish muffled a laugh under the pretence of rubbing a thumb across his upper lip. Like all the human men in Tirglas, Sean sported a thick beard, but his moustache spent a great deal of the time being fished out of the man’s mouth due to the ridiculous length he allowed it to grow. Only his wife seemed capable of getting her husband to trim the wild thing.
“That may be so,” Sean shot back, caressing his moustache as if soothing an offended beast. “At least I dinnae look like some wee, bare-skinned lad.”
The elf spluttered, dribbling soup down his chin and back into his bowl even as he set his meal aside. Coughing and struggling to form a rebuttal, he glared at Sean.
“That is hardly a fair standard to hold him to,” Darshan interjected. “No elf can grow facial hair. I would have thought you would be privy to such knowledge given that, as I understand it, you all travel together on a regular basis.”
Zurron threw up his hands. “There, you see? It’s just as I’ve been telling you all this time.” He returned to his dinner, spooning mouthfuls in at a maddening pace.
“Isnae your dad half human, though?” Quinn murmured into the silence.
Over the elf’s squared shoulders, Hamish caught Darshan wince. The man covertly increased the distance between himself and the two guards, keeping his attention furtively locked o
n Zurron.
Hamish hadn’t given much consideration as to how the spellster actually viewed elves, and from what little he knew about Udynea—largely the rampant magic and slavery—nothing seemed to mesh with the thought of elves being given any sort of high standing, let alone actual notice by an imperial prince. But if Darshan thought such a question would cause conflict, then perhaps he paid more attention to them than Hamish had given the man credit for.
Returning partial focus to his near-empty bowl, Hamish kept one eye on his lover whilst mopping up every last drop of soup from the inside of his bowl with a crust of bread.
“What did you say?” Zurron asked of his fellow guard, his voice as frigid as the northern trade winds coming off the icecaps. “What has me dad’s heritage got to do with you?”
Quinn shrugged. “Just wondering, can you technically be considered as elven if you’re part human?” There was a shifty edge to the way Quinn eyed Darshan. What interference could the spellster do in the time it would take the two guards to come to blows? Would a shield be enough to stop them? Would it hold long enough for the men to cool down?
Zurron rocked back, his eyes growing wider and his pale skin turning a ghostly shade.
Darshan brushed back a lock of hair, the surreptitious rubbing of his temple with a little finger almost lost beneath the strands. He cleared his throat, but otherwise remained silent.
“Quinn!” Gordon hissed before Zurron could react or speak. “Did I nae warn you about bringing that up?”
“I’m just saying,” the man replied, his sun-weathered face nothing but strained innocence. He held up his hands in peace. “I hear those snooty buggers up in Heimat willnae let the pointiest-eared elf past the border if they’re half human. I only want to ken, exactly how much of an elven bloodline does it take before they’re nae considered an elf?”
