by Aldrea Alien
“There’s that.” Not that the thought had occurred to him until the man uttered it. Few would opt to remain in this small village of tents whilst there were duels to observe in the castle grounds; even those competing tomorrow would be up there. On the other hand, there was always the chance someone could return and hear certain telltale noises coming from a tent that should’ve been empty. “But I’m nae really in the right frame of mind for fun, either.”
His lover bent over him. Those hazel eyes narrowed behind the crystalline lens of his glasses. “And how have you been feeling recently? Still well in ourselves?”
Hamish shook his head. He knew precisely what Darshan was fishing for. Like shit. This morning was the first time he had been allowed any time alone beyond a few hours of sleep. “I’m better now that I ken you’re competing.” The possibility that his lover could do everything right and still fail did make him slightly queasy if he thought on it for too long, but there was nothing he could do about that except help where he could.
Was this how his brother had felt when their mum forced Muireall to compete?
Darshan sat back a ways, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I apologise for being so absent, it was not my intention to keep the nature of my actions from you. Especially not for so long. Your brother has kept me quite busy with training.”
Sitting up, he wrapped an arm around Darshan’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered into the man’s hair. He breathed deep of his lover’s scent—the fresh rush of a breeze across the winter ocean and the sweet tang he now knew was of barely-constrained magic—committing the aroma to memory. “I thought you were gone, that me mum had exiled you.” Or worse. Would she care if her actions brought ruin upon her people? Had she slipped that deep into her hatred?
Darshan’s shoulders bunched slightly as he tightened their embrace. “She cannot touch me, you know. I will not disappear like the others.”
A shiver ran through Hamish. He clung to Darshan, keeping his cheek pressed to his lover’s shoulder so that he couldn’t see the man’s face. “What others?” he mumbled. Surely he was at the wrong end of the arrow with his thoughts. He cannae mean—
“The men you have been with during your youth?” The words were hushed, as if he was hesitant to finally utter the truth aloud. “I know they were quietly disposed of.”
Hamish jerked back, letting his arm drop to support him. Darshan knew? Obviously. But he was still here. No attempt to leave. Quite the opposite. “And who told you that? Me brother?” What else had Gordon revealed? Just how far could he trust his brother to not go running his mouth off?
“He did.” Darshan inclined his head. “He spoke a fair bit about your past.” His gaze lifted, peering at him over the rim of his glasses. “Such as the state he found you in after your first time.”
Anger and shame heated his face. How long had Darshan known about that? “Bastard,” Hamish hissed. “I’ll bloody kill him. It wasnae his story to tell.”
His lover remained still, except for the slightest down-casting of his eyes. “No, but I am still aware of it. What do you expect me to do? Forget? The fact your mother has chosen to wilfully slaughter every man you have been with is not something that can be fast eliminated from the mind.”
“Every? Is that what he told you? It was nae every. They didnae catch me with every man. But it was enough. It was too many.” He scrubbed at his face. He’d little memory of most. To think he could’ve been the last thing they saw… “One would’ve been too many.”
“It still does not change that I know.”
Shaking his head, Hamish slowly slid out from beneath the man to sit cross-legged across the blankets from him. “I suppose not,” he muttered. He couldn’t ask Darshan to pretend he’d never heard without putting an extra strain on their relationship. His lover was already doing more than Hamish would ever ask of him.
“May I enquire as to when you were planning on informing me?” There was a sour twist to Darshan’s mouth, but his eyes lacked a certain heat. He was annoyed, maybe even a little disappointed in Hamish, but he wasn’t angry. “Would it not have been my fate if I had been anyone other than the vris Mhanek? Because that thought must have crossed your mind at some point.”
“Only recently,” he confessed. Before his mother had announced the union contest, he hadn’t thought her willing to put the lives of the people at risk. “It could still be, if me mum’s rabid enough.” Having Darshan reveal himself at the final trial could even be the thing to push her over that line.
Darshan stiffened. What little emotion that’d graced his lover’s face swiftly fled. “If she dares to try, she will find I am nowhere near as easy to have permanently removed.”
“I think that’s already clear to her.” Hadn’t his brother told her the consequences of a war with Udynea? He certainly hoped she remembered. Darshan hadn’t exactly thrown his magical muscle around for the kingdom to marvel, but Hamish had seen firsthand what the man could do when wounded and lashing out on instinct. And there were plenty of stories telling of how dangerous spellsters could be if provoked.
He didn’t want to think about what an imperial army of them could do to Tirglas if Darshan left here severely injured, especially in a way his magic couldn’t easily mend. And if the vris Mhanek was to just… disappear?
Tirglas might never recover.
“I am sorry about Gordon,” Darshan said, the emotionless mask dropping almost as rapidly as it had appeared.
Hamish shrugged, his thoughts sluggishly returning from the vision of forests and villages falling like driftwood fortresses before a wave. “It wasnae your fault he ran his mouth off.” And his brother was going to get such a clout over the head for it the next time Hamish saw him.
“And you would lay none of the blame at my feet? I could have asked for him to stop.” Darshan folded his arms and peered at Hamish, clearly waiting for a response. “But then, you never offer me anything of your past without me having to tease out every word.”
“And you are so open?”
Darshan rocked back onto his heels. “I have nothing to keep from you. Ask whatever you would wish to know.”
Whatever? Hamish scratched at his chin. What did he desire to know about Darshan? Everything. He’d learnt a little during even the most frivolous conversation, but he wanted to know it all.
However, one thing did demand to be learnt above all else. “Tell me your first time.” He caught a wince of apprehension flicker across his lover’s face before Darshan could speak. “Fair’s fair. You know mine, including how well it went, tell me yours.”
Biting his lip, Darshan stared at the tent walls. “It has a somewhat less drastic ending for myself.”
Hamish would’ve left it at that had he not caught the flash of shame peeking out through his lover’s obvious discomfort. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen,” Darshan whispered, closing his eyes.
“Who with?” He almost dreaded asking. But wouldn’t he have been just as uncomfortable in talking about his time with the old stable master? Probably.
“Men back home tend to fall all over themselves to lay with me,” Darshan babbled. “After all, I am the vris Mhanek. They are of the opinion that pleasing me could grant them a favour, despite the fact I have never actually done so for a single soul.”
“Your first time,” Hamish repeated.
His lover exhaled mightily. “He was… an elven man, not much older than myself.” Darshan laid a hand over his lips as if trying to contain the admission. He glared at Hamish, almost demanding that he say something.
As a people, Hamish had never considered elves as sexually appealing. Those he had met were relatively lean and slightly skittish. Elven men like the guard Zurron were exceptions to the latter, but still not the sort he was drawn to. Clearly, Darshan didn’t agree there.
That didn’t explain why his lover sounded as if he spoke some great secret.
Hamish opened his mouth. “And—?”
&
nbsp; “I know what you are thinking.” The words came raggedly. “But he was sweet, gentle, softly spoken and… yes…” Darshan gave a weary sigh. “He was also a slave.”
“That—”
“Do not dare to judge me,” his lover snapped, jabbing a finger at him as he leapt to his feet. “I only learnt that last bit after the fact. That is my only excuse for what I did and, believe me, I know it is not good enough, but that is the truth of it.”
“How could you nae have—?”
“—known?” Darshan finished. “Do you have any idea how many times I have asked myself that same question? That I have not berated myself over it? Because I have more times than I can count.”
“Dar…”
Darshan shook his head, babbling in Udynean as he paced the tent. “I didn’t know he couldn’t refuse. I propositioned him. Me. The only time I have before you and…” His chin wobbled. “And he couldn’t bloody say anything other than yes because I’m the vris Mhanek and he—” He clapped a hand back over his mouth but continued to mumble past his fingers. “I should have known. I should have considered it as a possibility.” He hung his head. “I should have asked,” he whispered.
Hamish waited for the man to compose himself. He’d been accused of luring people down the wrong path, of being possessed by demons intent on dragging him from the Goddess’ side—typically by his mother—but it had never been implied that the other man hadn’t been complicit.
Darshan lifted his glasses enough to dab underneath them. When he spoke again, the words had returned to Tirglasian and were devoid of emotion. “My first time involved me being with a man I can never be certain actually wanted me.” He dropped his gaze. “No, I am still doing him a disservice. He had not the autonomy to refuse my offer and that means he could not have meant it when he agreed. There was no consent given, not freely.” He lifted his head, those red-rimmed eyes all but burrowing into Hamish’s as the man peered down the full length of his hooked nose. “I raped him. That I did not know until after does not excuse what I did. That was what my first time was like.”
Silence continued to reign over Hamish’s tongue. What could he say? He’d never considered taking a man, let alone by force. He couldn’t imagine Darshan as being the type, either. To then engage in sex whilst believing the other man had been willing only to discover otherwise… no wonder he was upset relating it.
Darshan’s shoulders sagged, all the fight seeming to drain from him. Grimacing, he tapped an idle little beat on his thighs. “I guess I shall leave, then.”
“Wait.” Hamish stood, hastening to his lover’s side lest Darshan chose to flee. “You dinnae actually think that’s true, do you?”
“Lack of consent to any act of a sexual nature means only one thing in Udynea. I assume it is the same here.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, fogging the lenses. He took the glasses off, slowly drying them on the hem of his undershirt. “Gods, I have never told anyone about it. Not even Ange. I could not risk letting it be known. Such secrets I gift you.” Darshan laughed, a trembling sound full of further unshed tears. “If we were in Udynea…” He donned his glasses, not quite pushing them into their customary spot. “Well, such a fine piece of information would see you set for a lifetime of blackmail material on me by now.”
Hamish grinned, hoping a little show of humour would drag the conversation away from the delicate subject he had forced Darshan to speak of. “A whole lifetime, huh?” He shook his head. “You ken I’m nae going to do that.”
Sniffing, Darshan rubbed the end of his nose with the back of his thumb. “Thing is. Even if you did, most would not care that he had been a slave. Him having a pair of pointed ears would be the greater gossip. The court would see it as shameful.”
“Did you ever learn who he was?”
Darshan shook his head. “I am completely unaware of his name or even who owned him. He could have belonged to the empire just as easily as a visiting noble. As for what became of him? The mines, most likely. Especially if my father found out. He would not have risked such a scandal.”
Hamish cleared his throat. “How did you learn he was a slave? Shouldnae him going ‘master’ have tipped you off? Or that he was elven?”
Darshan scoffed and rolled his eyes as if he’d heard the question several dozen times before. “Nobody says that. Not to me at least. I am vris Mhanek to all bar my family. It is considered an insult to address me otherwise in a formal court. And not all elves are slaves, although I am certain you have been told as such. The palace also employs a great deal of servants.” His gaze lowered, shame darkening his cheeks. “I mistook him for one of them.”
Was that really how blurred the lines were between servant and slave that Darshan could mistake one for the other?
The idea of elves living freely in the Udynean Empire was an easy one to imagine. Hamish had always assumed, especially after speaking with men like Zurron, that there were no free elves in the empire. Hearing otherwise was an odd bit of relief. If some were free, then maybe all of them could be liberated.
Another thought bubbled away in the back of his mind. One that sat a little closer to home. “The first night you came to me room?” he mumbled, still chasing the gossamer thread of his contemplating. “You asked for me consent?” Even when it was well obvious that he was amenable to anything the man suggested.
Darshan inclined his head. “I may not have the ability to change what happened, but I can ensure I do not repeat it.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, a sigh whistling out his nose. “We should probably ascend to the training grounds.”
Hamish scrubbed at his face. “Aye.” He wasn’t entirely sure how long they’d been down here, but it had definitely been too long. His mother likely had the guards quietly searching for him. “The clans will expect me to make an appearance. March the lines, watch a few duels, nod at the appropriate times.” That wouldn’t be too hard.
He hoped.
~~~
The dull thud of a blade hitting the ground was fast followed by the much louder objection of its wielder slamming into the compacted dirt. Swearing, the woman clutched at her shin.
Darshan winced in sympathy with the struck woman. That blow had been the heaviest he’d witnessed so far. Possibly enough to break bone.
They had gladiatorial sports back home, but fights where the objective was to hurt, and quite possibly maim, an opponent wasn’t something he would willingly watch. Wrestling he didn’t mind, especially when the match involved two men, but that was the limit of his enjoyment in such sports.
These bouts straddled the borders between the familiar sports of home and an almost warlike attempt at brutality. No one was in lethal danger. At least, that wasn’t the intent of the bouts. The swords were the blunt practice ones from the castle’s training armaments and blows to the head were forbidden, but they were still steel. And the garb the competitors wore offered little in the way of protection. Or maybe they wore chain mail beneath their overcoats. He would never be able to tell.
“One strike to red,” a deep voice bellowed from somewhere along the far railing.
A mixture of groans sounded out amongst the louder ripple of premature jubilation from the crowd surrounding Darshan. Whilst the competitors’ clans were naturally watching, so did a few others and a handful of locals; the latter being fresh from the docks by the smell of them.
“Blue,” the same thunderous voice boomed, “do you yield?”
Shaking her head, the injured woman waved off a group Darshan assumed to be of her clan, if not her immediate family. The blue ribbon tied around her bicep fluttered with the movement. That thin strip of fabric was the only concession anyone made to identify competitors, tied on at entry and removed after each duel.
The woman slowly clambered to her feet to stand before her opponent. She adjusted her scarf—being unveiled was adequate grounds for forfeiture and something he rather wished Gordon had warned him of earlier—before snapping her sword up and down in a clear ready signal to the
judge.
Darshan’s brows rose. She was truly going to try the final round after such a blow to her leg?
The crowd murmured around him, coming to the same agreement. Each duel consisted of three bouts in which to land the first blow, not even that if the victor was lucky the first two times.
“Begin!” that same voice ordered of the two women. “Victory either side.”
Rather than rush at her opponent as she had first attempted, the injured woman opted to remain in place with her sword held low. Her red-marked rival paced back and forth in search of an opening. It seemed prudent. She had one point in her favour, same as her rival. It would take just this match to decide on who went through to the next trial.
Like operatic dancers, the pair slowly circled the arena; Blue due to her injury and Red because of her caution. Neither appeared willing to engage and risk losing. Or perhaps they both waited for that sliver of an opening in the other’s defences.
“Come on!” yelled someone in the crowd. “Get on with it!” The cry spurred others to bellow similar sentiments at the pair.
Red lunged at her opponent, feinting. Their swords met each other mid-strike with a clang.
Blue held her place, barely twitching. It was hard to tell with only her eyes visible, but she seemed to wince. Was the pain of her injury too much for her after all?
Her rival attacked in earnest, giving Blue little time to block let alone properly counter. Red kept up her onslaught, haranguing her opponent towards a corner. If Blue was bailed up there, then that would be it.
Darshan leant over the railing, trying to get a better view of the pair around the shoulders of others who did the same.
With a burst of speed, Blue’s sword slashed for her rival’s chest. Red, clearly caught off guard, jumped back with a surprised shriek. It hadn’t connected, but Red must’ve realised how close her error in misjudgement had been.
