by Aldrea Alien
Gordon inclined his head. “A small one. It housed me youngest sister along with a few other wee ones from around Mullhind. ‘Mish and I… we would visit her almost every day. Nora when she could, but Mum liked to keep her close.”
“What happened to it?” He’d seen it only from afar and just bits peeking through the trees, but it had seemed like a once-sturdy structure fit for housing inexperienced spellsters.
“Me mum had it destroyed. She claimed all the visits and having magic so close corrupted ‘Mish into his current path of only wanting men.”
“That is preposterous,” Darshan sputtered, whirling on the man. “Magic does not— It cannot do that. It is utterly impossible to alter such a delicate thing as the mind on a permanent basis.” He knew that from personal experience thanks to his father’s last botched attempt to persuade him into having a wife after failing at several other endeavours. “If you have the strength and skills, you can make a person hallucinate, you can even hypnotize them for a time, but it requires an active choice and a lot of effort. Even then, only a few are capable of such feats.” And most would resort to mundane methods of cohesion.
“Good to ken.”
Taking a deep breath, Darshan’s thoughts swung to the one question with an answer he believed already resided in the pit of his stomach. “The stable master was the first she had killed, correct?”
Gordon nodded, his face grim. “Me mum had the man executed for treason whilst Hamish was recovering.”
There was a touch of screwy reasoning there, given that the stable master had harmed a prince. “And I suppose she punished Hamish when he returned? Locked him away?”
“Nae at first. She thought he’d been led astray from his natural urges and, given the experience he had, that he wouldnae repeat the act. But it… changed something in him. He spent several years—I dinnae ken… three or four, maybe?—drinking and whoring himself out. He let all manner of man use him. Hurt him.”
Isnae it supposed to hurt?
His lover’s words rang through Darshan’s thoughts, spoken what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had believed that to be the query of an inexperienced man. Now? “He was punishing himself,” Darshan murmured.
Hamish might not have spent all his life being explicitly told what he felt was wrong, but if his mother’s reaction to that kiss was normal… to be expected to play a certain role, having disappointment after disappointment heaped upon him when he gave into his desires… then the man certainly hadn’t learnt it was right. He believed sex between men had to mean pain, yet he kept seeking out men he must’ve known wouldn’t be gentle with him.
The very idea churned Darshan’s stomach.
“That’s possible. You ken, I’ve nae seen him smile so openly since we were wee lads. You’re responsible for that.” Clearing his throat, Gordon stepped closer. “And Muireall adored me brother like he was her own blood. She’d want the same thing I do. For him to be happy.” He clapped a hand on Darshan’s shoulder, squeezing. “So to answer your question on whether I’m certain about this? Aye, I am. I would even wager that, if me wife was still here, she would’ve thought of this far sooner.”
“What happened to her, if you do not mind my asking?”
Gordon shook his head, a bittersweet smile lifting one side of his face. “Muireall was such a stubborn woman, always ready to defend her people. Have you noticed what adorns me wee lass’ seat in the hall?”
Darshan nodded. The bearskin practically overflowed the little girl’s chair. It was a hideous thing, covered in scars.
“That bear killed her mother as well as me older daughter, Moire. They were travelling back from Muireall’s heart clan at the time, showing her parents their newest granddaughter. It was early spring and the monster was raiding nearby villages. She wouldnae have been me brave Muireall if she’d nae gone off to hunt the beast. First time she wasnae quick enough.”
“My most humble of apologies.”
Gordon offered him a small smile in acknowledgement. “Hamish saw to it that the bear didnae bother anyone again. Didnae tell anybody, of course, just rocked on up with that bear pelt for his niece. That has to be the last time Mum was ever proud of him.” Shaking himself, the man gave Darshan’s shoulder a brisk pat. “Now, about those.” Gordon pointed at the glasses still resting brazenly upon Darshan’s face. “How much do you see without them?”
“Very little, unfortunately.” He had already resigned himself to the fact he’d be competing practically blind. There was no other choice. With his glasses on, he would be singled out immediately.
Cautiously lifting the scarf away from his ears, he slid the glasses free.
The world merged into wobbly impressions, the details of his own reflection all but impossible to pick out beyond the suggestion of a figure in drab colours. How difficult could the trials be? Extremely. He returned his glasses to their proper place. “I am unsure how well I will fair without them.”
“You’re going to have to try. If it’s any help, me brother loves you.” Gordon coughed loudly and added, “So if you’re going to compete, it better not be you having a lark or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Darshan peered at the man’s reflection. Gordon didn’t appear to be jesting. “He… does?” Whilst he had hoped their affections for each other might grow to such heights, he certainly hadn’t expected those feelings to be instantaneous. Maybe after a few months or years. Not now.
Gods. This was just like that cautionary tale his Nanny Daama so liked to tell, The Winter Fox and the Red-breasted Weaver. Hopefully, the outcome of this contest would be far happier than the one the two doomed mythological lovers went through.
Gordon frowned. “Did you nae hear the part where I threatened you?”
“Yes, yes, and you did so wonderfully. Honestly, this whole pulling together as a family really warms the heart. My sisters would have double-crossed me twice by now.” Except for his twin, but she had different reasons to see he kept living. “They most certainly would have attempted to gain something from it. Probably my death. They are quite keen on that.”
“And you want to drag me brother into that mess?”
“He will be safe as long as I keep breathing and I really have no plans to stop doing so anytime soon. Did you mean actual love?” His chest ached for the truth. He hadn’t had much of a chance for quiet introspection on such a level but… the feeling resonated in him. So much stronger than any he’d had for any other man.
This would’ve been so much easier back home. I would’ve— What? Carried on this physical relationship unaware he had also delved into an emotional one? That his romantic affections for Hamish had grown alongside his carnal desires?
Was that what he felt for Hamish? Yes.
When, in the Highest One’s good name, had he fallen for the man? How long? Somewhere during the journey back.
No. Earlier. On the cliff edge, with Hamish’s silken voice purring in Darshan’s ears whilst the sunset turned his lover’s skin the colour of polished statues and his hair a dazzling ruby hue. And his eyes. The perfect shade of home, but warm and rich. And focused only on Darshan.
Shit.
I have to tell him. How could he not? And it was mutual. Wasn’t it?
“Actual love?” Gordon echoed. “You mean the cow eyes and fairy dust feelings? Aye. He declared it not long after you arrived.”
Not the same at all. Such a revelation did nothing to ease the tightness of his chest. “You mean he is infatuated with me.” How foolish he was to think the feelings ran at any depth. It should’ve made him feel better that the prospect of losing wouldn’t also mean having to leave behind someone who loved him, but it didn’t because feelings ran both damn ways.
Gordon shook his head. “I’ve seen ‘Mish infatuated, this isnae that. Were you hoping it wasnae true?”
Darshan shook his head. Of course he wanted to believe what the man said was the truth, but… Shit. It made the prospect of losing that much harder. He could’ve weathe
red having his heart cracked again, but not Hamish’s as well.
I have to win. There was no other way. If he failed, Hamish lost right alongside him.
He would not let that come to pass.
Darshan tugged the scarf a little higher across his face, surreptitiously shielding himself from the fog that had settled around the castle. The act allowed a tendril of cool air to slip beneath the linen. Even though his feet were growing numb with the cold, his breath was trapped by the thick fabric of the scarf and turned it into a veritable sauna for his face.
Women garbed in similar attire surrounded him on all sides, the last of the competitors having arrived just this morning. None of them had given his presence more than a passing glance. At least he hoped so. Deciphering expressions was difficult at the best of times without his glasses. To go only by eyes, that were so often dark pits in a vaguely oval face, was practically impossible.
Nevertheless, here he stood amongst the final handful of others that had trekked from the other side of Tirglas. To everyone’s knowledge bar Gordon’s, Darshan was here to stake his interest—going by Moira of the Dathais Clan at the man’s insistence. He had trained the whole week leading up to this and just a stray word could see him outed.
Yet, no one had called out the anomaly in their group.
Now that he was amongst all the competitors, Darshan slowly became aware of how small he was in comparison to quite a few; not just in height, but also in the broadness of his shoulders.
The noblewomen back home spent much of their time lounging around and scheming from the comfort of their mansions rather than in a straight battle. Whilst just possessing magic consumed a great deal of energy—even more when actually used—and the general revelry at the multitude of soirées hosted across the empire took quite a chunk of energy, the rich food the Udynean nobility ate was more than the required extra amount and left the idle with a certain physique. Voluptuous, his twin called it.
Still, he had thought the women within Castle Mullhind had gained their bulk by way of labour or military training—or in the case of Nora, her bloodline—but this collection of Tirglasian noblewomen looked as if they’d been training their entire lives for this moment. Maybe they had. He wasn’t exactly privy to all of Tirglasian customs, but this union contest seemed to be a commonality amongst their nobility.
The women milling around him straightened.
He swiftly followed suit. Gordon had told him little of today’s proceedings, only that Darshan wouldn’t be expected to fight just yet. That would come tomorrow. With swords. He sneered. Such a primitive weapon. Nobles in Udynea relied on their magic for battle, with a few eccentrics seeking out lessons in fencing. His father was one such man who’d tried to instil a similar mindset in his children to little avail.
“Welcome, dear competitors,” a voice boomed across the courtyard.
Darshan stiffened. Queen Fiona. Although he couldn’t see much of the wooden platform where the royal family sat—beyond a few colourful blobs—there was no mistaking that icy voice. Would she notice him? Surely he would be lost amongst the drab-clothed masses. By rights, only in his unveiling would his identity be made known. Unless he was forced to speak.
“By right of heritage and birth,” Queen Fiona continued, “only those of noble blood may present themselves as competitors and fight for the hand of a Mathan Prince.”
There was a pause. Was Hamish up there? Had that wretched woman really forced her son to face all these people knowing that he would have to marry one? Did he know Darshan was amongst the competitors? Had Gordon told his brother of their plan?
With Gordon having his training begin at first light and not stop until the last hint of day had departed the sky—and his muscles still remembered the bone-deep ache that came from overuse—Darshan hadn’t seen his lover since the night of the bear attack much less have found the chance to speak with Hamish.
“I ask you all to forgive my son’s melancholic reaction,” the sweetness in Queen Fiona’s voice was enough to make Darshan’s teeth ache. “He recently took on a bear that has been tormenting the nearby forests and has yet to recover his humour.”
Should’ve been in the Crystal Court. She certainly sounded like one of them with her half-truths.
“Whether you have come from prestigiously large clans or hail from a smaller one, you will be given an equal chance at my son’s hand. However, as we all ken, there can be only one winner.”
Rolling his eyes, Darshan subtly stomped his feet to work out the cold seeping into them. Did anyone honestly think more than one of them could marry Hamish? There had to be over fifty competitors, maybe even close to a hundred. He had no idea how many clans were in Tirglas. According to Gordon, the first trial would see the number halved by tomorrow evening and the second trial, an obstacle course through the forest, would leave just a handful.
“The rules of the union contest are simple,” Queen Fiona continued. “Prove your strength and stamina in a battle of arms, your cunning and fleetness in a course of my clan’s design and a final test that is customarily chosen by the prince himself.”
Darshan shuffled a little closer to the voice. The colours atop the platform shifted, a vaguely human-shaped figure emerging from the fuzzy tapestry.
“I choose archery.” Hamish’s hollow voice boomed across the courtyard.
A soft gust of laughter escaped Darshan’s lips before he could stop it. How in the world was he supposed to best Hamish’s skill with a bow? Never mind that he hadn’t used one for some time, he couldn’t even see the target without his glasses.
“Make it through all three trials and his hand is yours,” Queen Fiona cheerily finished. “Let the contest begin!”
Most of the women headed for the training grounds, either to battle an opponent for their chance to continue on to the next trial, or to watch.
Darshan shuffled along with the throng for a short while. He was to compete at midmorning tomorrow, although he wouldn’t know the skill of his opponent until they faced each other.
He slowed as the crowd surged by what looked to be an alcove in the castle wall. Squeezing through the group, he sauntered along the outer edge, veering ever closer to that dark patch in the brickwork. Rather than a shadowy kink made by the wall and the storage building, it was a short alley leading to a door that few even within the castle seemed to know the truth about.
Gordon had led him here after a sword fighting session. The seemingly innocuous doorway opened out into a tunnel which led to the bottom of the cliff. There, the man had placed a tent nearby for Darshan’s use. It currently held a small chest of his clothing. If he was quick, then perhaps he could nip down, change and return to watch how some of the competitors fought without anyone being aware of his movements.
With one hand on the door handle, he peeked over his shoulder. Gordon seemed certain that few would even glance this way, but if anyone caught him entering and exiting, they might—
The blurry outline of a person stood in the alley entrance. Even in the shadows, their hair was a vibrant, fiery shade of orange-red.
“Excuse me, me lady,” a familiar voice said as the figure entered the alley. “You cannae go in there.”
‘Mish. Darshan took a deep breath. Time to test how well his disguise held up.
He turned to face Hamish. “Your highness.” The higher-pitched tone he forced into his voice hurt a little, especially when combined with the natural roughness of the Tirglasian language, but he would hopefully only need to hold it for a short time. “How very irregular for you to be chasing a competitor. I thought fraternising with us whilst garbed thusly was against the rules.”
“Aye and I apologise for putting you in this position, but you really shouldnae be—”
“Especially when you are rather less than recovered from being…” With his lover now close enough for Darshan to make out the man’s features, he let his voice return to its normal range. “…almost dead.”
Hamish’s mouth dropp
ed open. He stared for some time, almost uncertain, before leaning close and whispering a single word, “Dar?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve nae seen you since you—” He still wasn’t close enough for Darshan to make out the minutia of the man’s expression. “I thought me mum had sent you packing. What are you doing?” he hissed, pressing closer. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I would have thought my attire would give away my intentions. But since you insist on having it made plain, I am attempting to save you from a loveless marriage.”
“You…? You mean you’re competing?” He stepped closer still, forcing Darshan to flatten himself against the wall or crane his neck up to see more than Hamish’s beard. “You cannae—”
Darshan laid a hand on his lover’s chest. Did Hamish tremble or was that himself? His heart certainly pounded wildly enough. “The way I understand it, you cannot object to this contest without causing a civil war, but there is no rule saying I cannot participate.” He tried to peer around the man’s bulk before giving up. He would see nothing without his glasses. “Is there anyone looking our way?”
Hamish shook his head. “This entrance is pretty secluded.”
“Come with me, then.” Swiping for the door handle until his fingers found it, he led the way inside.
~~~
Hamish halted in the doorway, not because he wanted to, but rather due to necessity as Darshan had stopped just beyond the threshold. A small ball of light hovered over the spellster’s hands as the man groped across the shelving that held the lanterns.
Feeling a little self-conscious of how an open door leaking unnatural light would look to anyone happening to pass this way, Hamish pulled the door fully shut behind him. The wood pressed against his rear, forcing him forward a half-step and into Darshan.
Darshan’s back stiffened, likely not expecting an assault on his lower back from Hamish’s groin. When the man didn’t move, Hamish strained his hearing to catch any alerting sound of the unlikely chance of someone coming up the tunnel.
