To Target the Heart

by Aldrea Alien

  A man stood at the base of a tree not far from their position.

  Ethan threw a rock off to their right, disturbing the undergrowth as it tumbled downhill. With the man momentarily distracted, they darted the other way. “What people?” the boy asked, apparently sure they wouldn’t be heard. “Me grandma willnae love me once she learns about me.”

  Darshan hid his surprise in a scoff. Did the boy really mean what Darshan thought? “Of course she will.”

  “She doesnae love Uncle Hamish.”

  He bit his tongue, torn between placating the boy and the truth. “I am… fairly certain she does.”

  “She doesnae let him live as he wants, though.” He hopped over a creek via a few suspiciously well-placed stones. “If she didnae ken, I’d understand, but she does and still insists on him doing things that make him sad. She wouldnae do those things if she loved him.”

  Darshan grunted noncommittally.

  “Being away from me family would be really hard,” Ethan conceded. “Especially if I went as far as Udynea. But I dinnae think it would be so bad if it meant I could find someone like you to marry.”

  Darshan pressed the veil closer to his face, muffling a chuckle. “A dear boy like you would not want to marry someone like me.”

  Ethan stopped abruptly beside a dense, green bush before dropping to his knees. At first, Darshan thought they were in the presence of another obstacle, but the boy whirled around to squint at him. His lips pursed as he jutted his jaw out. “You love me Uncle Hamish, right?”

  Spreading his arms, Darshan gestured to the clothing he currently wore. Was his participation in these trials not indicative of such? “Clearly, I hold enough affection for your uncle to go along with this madcap plan to compete for his hand.”

  The boy nodded as if expecting such a response. His face softened, a small smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Then I definitely want someone like you when I’m older.”

  Darshan ruefully shook his head. If Ethan knew even a fraction of what Darshan had done, of what he’d been like in his youth, then he doubted the boy would be so quick with his declaration. Darshan certainly wouldn’t have wanted a man like his younger self.

  “Me brothers should nae be much longer.” Beside him, Ethan fidgeted before adding, “If you dinnae win me uncle’s hand, would you compete for mine?”

  Caught off guard by the question, Darshan fought to repress a shudder, even though it felt terribly like a droplet of ice had tumbled down his spine. The boy was—what?—ten years of age? The very idea made his stomach roll. What was next? A query as to whether he would also proclaim himself a god like the previous emperor of the Stamekia?

  Even with Darshan’s face largely hidden by the veil, his silence must’ve been answer enough for the boy as Ethan hunched his shoulders. “I meant when I’m older. I’ve six more years before I’m of marriageable age, you ken.”

  That didn’t make the thought any better. “I am twenty-three years your senior. I am certain you would connect more with someone your own age. You are young, you have plenty of time.”

  “Unless me grandma locks me up and kills all the boys I like.”

  Shock stole Darshan’s breath for a moment. “What makes you think Queen Fiona will do that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. Gordon had been of the opinion that the children knew very little of what transpired when it came to their uncle and their grandmother. Clearly, they were more aware of the situation than given credit for.

  “Because it’s what she did to Uncle Hamish.” He frowned out at the forest. A wave of moroseness seemed to take him, slumping his shoulders. “Everyone always acts like we cannae possibly ken all that she does to him. That we dinnae hear the guards or see how she treats him. But we do.”

  Darshan bit his lip. Due to the abundance of daughters his father had sired—by-products of his once desperate need for sons to take the throne should his heir die—whenever death stalked his family it was often from a sibling’s scheming. One daughter in particular.

  Onella had mellowed slightly with the birth of her son, but that made her no less dangerous. If he heeded Hamish’s desire for children, she would be the one they’d have to tread carefully around. It wouldn’t be the first time one of her targets had died in their crib.

  Still, he was aware such a threat wasn’t as commonplace even in other Udynean noble houses. “I am sorry you have been burdened with such knowledge. Children should never fear their elders, especially within their own household.”

  Ethan hunched his shoulders, his face growing darker. “It’s nae your fault that she would rather me uncle was dead than living how he is.”

  “No, but I swear, this cycle of her hurting your uncle will stop come tomorrow.” Once it was plain he had won this absurd contest, ensuring Hamish’s safety would be his priority. No one seemed to know just how Queen Fiona would react and insisted he prepare for the worst.

  They continued their wait in silence with Ethan fidgeting the whole time.

  Darshan returned his thoughts to the buzz surrounding them. It wasn’t as loud as when the boys had first made themselves known, but if he focused, he could make out individual melodies amongst the noise. Those soft notes buoyed the deeper thrums of something ancient. Older than himself, at least.

  He laid a hand against the ground, compacting the grass. The pulse of life tingled through his fingertips. Ignore it. The stress of the day had to be getting to him. He was hallucinating, nothing more.

  If he had been a dwarf, he would’ve said he had somehow reclaimed a portion of the old hedgewitch magic. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t even have dwarven ancestry and be a spellster. Those things just didn’t mix. His very-much-human ancestors had thoroughly confirmed that in their quest to tear the unreachable power from dwarven hands. Or maybe…

  Maybe after using such an untapped source of raw energy, he was merely more aware of its presence. That didn’t explain the flashes of images or the whispers, but that could easily be stress warping his senses. Not much longer now. Just until tomorrow, then he wouldn’t need to tiptoe around everyone.

  When the other two boys arrived, their passage through the forest was more of the same skulking and waiting whilst Bruce and Mac drew attention to themselves. Then further scurrying past to the next safest spot to wait some more for their return. The time it all took trickled through Darshan’s mind. How long did he have to reach the finish line? Midday.

  He glanced up at the treetops during one of their pauses. The sun seemed awfully high.

  Only once did he get spotted, resulting in a graze that surely would’ve been a hit had his shield not formed in time. He had discovered then that the projectiles weren’t powder as he’d first thought, but thin sacks of coloured water that were designed to stain.

  Eventually, the times between when the children would split up grew longer. He heard little of his competitors other than a few distant and surprised yelps. Even the forest seemed lighter, the canopy more open and the undergrowth less restrictive.

  The boys halted beside the wide trunk of an oak, crouching amongst its exposed roots. Darshan took the pause as a chance to rest. They peered around the tree and shot meaningful looks at each other before shaking their heads.

  “What is it?” Had they come across some particularly nasty little trap that they couldn’t get around? “Trouble?”

  “It’s nae that,” Bruce said. “We cannae go on the rest of the way with you, nae without being caught. But the end is straight ahead.”

  Darshan peered around the tree trunk. Through the gaps between the trees, he spied splashes of colour that could only mean a crowd. His chest tightened. Hamish would be waiting there with the favour tradition insisted he gift to one of the competitors. “Any obstacles I should know about?” He was so close to making it through this trial, it wouldn’t do to trip up now.

  All three boys shook their heads. “We’ve passed all the bleeding lobbers,” Ethan elaborated, offering up Darshan’s glasses case.
“The forest run bottlenecks from here. It’s just the finish line now.”

  Tucking his glasses away, he solemnly handed the case back. “Take care.”

  “You too,” Bruce replied. “One of the cheeky sods might try to lob one at your back. So, keep a watch out.”

  “Noted.” He would do well to keep a shield up until he was at those ferns Hamish mentioned yesterday. “Thank you for the assistance, I doubt I would have gotten this far on my own.” With one hand on the rough bark, Darshan slowly circled the tree trunk until he was on the opposite side. Around him, the swathes of green and grey blurred dreadfully.

  Darshan put his back to the tree and gathered himself for this final push. Who knew that spending the better part of the day avoiding people and skulking through the undergrowth would be so strenuous?

  All that was behind him, now. Straight ahead. Simple enough, all things considered. A rather refreshing change of pace. Pass through the ferns. There was no other requirement for this task.

  He focused on wrapping a shield around him. It took much of his concentration and a touch of finagling to keep the upper half relatively solid but also malleable to allow for the leaves and grass he had to walk through. All whilst keeping the barrier close to his body and transparent.

  Completed, he tucked what little focus he needed to divert into the back of his mind. The shield would remain in place as long as he didn’t attempt to alter its very particular construction.

  Darshan swayed slightly as he left the tree’s support and strode towards the crowd waiting near the finish line. What he wouldn’t give to be able to slink off to bed after this, but there was the customary feasting and dancing to be had and he wasn’t about to leave Hamish to face that alone.

  Others emerged from the forest, mere shadows on the edge of his vision. He twitched at the appearance of each new figure, waiting for the moment that one tried to attack him. None dared.

  The crowd grew more pronounced as people rather than blobs of colour. Their cries echoed through the forest, brash and infectious. Even though he knew none of the cheers were for him, he couldn’t help picking up his pace. The closer he got, the harder it became not to bolt for the finish.

  His legs almost gave as he strode through the ferns. He released his hold on the shield, letting it dissipate. He had made it. Not fully under his own power, granted, but what did that matter? Only the final trial stood between him and Hamish now. And with his lover directing the arrow, there’d be but one outcome.

  A hand fell upon his shoulder. “Wait right there, lass,” a deep voice boomed behind him with all the gravity of an approaching thundercloud.

  Darshan stiffened. It took all his willpower not to retaliate. Even one spark, one flicker, of magic would negate all he had been through these past few days.

  “Look,” the voice commanded.

  Heeding the instruction, he twisted to find the man holding him pointed at the back of Darshan’s boots. Dark specks adorned the brown leather. It didn’t look like droplets of moisture. Had he been hit? How? He could’ve sworn every inch of him had been protected right up to when he had stepped through that row of ferns.

  The man wiped at one of the spots, transferring it to his forefinger. “Same as the others,” he said to a grey-haired woman.

  Terror stole Darshan’s breath. To be undone by a few spots… Surely that wouldn’t be enough to fail the trial. It could very well have come from another competitor dripping dye as they trudged through the forest to announce their failure.

  But no one declared him disqualified or called for the removal of his veil.

  The elderly woman shook her head, the thick cords of her hair swaying heavily with the motion. “What are these trials coming to that foul play is all too common?”

  “Foul play?” he squeaked.

  The woman gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. “It’s all right dear. Someone, possibly one of the competitors, has marked the underside of the ferns.”

  Darshan frowned. When would someone have time to set up such a trap? He had seen no one near here yesterday except for the children. And surely, the absence of ink on one competitor would single out the perpetrator.

  She pointed to the row of women standing just off to the side. “Everyone with ink on their boots has been allowed into the final trial.”

  His stomach sank. Everyone. What were the chances that another would have Hamish’s accuracy? If the competition in the final test had been whittled to a handful, he would’ve considered it a slim one.

  “With only ink on their boots,” the man growled, holding up a cautioning finger. “Only. Let’s check you over, lass.”

  Darshan stood still, almost holding his breath as the man tugged and poked at the borrowed attire. When the man started tugging at the sides of Darshan’s trousers, it took every fibre of his being to stare straight ahead and pray a certain bulge wouldn’t make itself known from within the folds of fabric.

  His gaze flickered to the group of competitors standing to one side. Former competitors, he silently amended. Even without his glasses, the rainbow hue of their clothes was obvious in a fair number. It helped that every single one had their veils down, if not having removed the entire scarf. As Hamish had proclaimed, the disqualified group seemed to be the majority.

  What of those who had made it through? He looked about, spying a handful of women near the front edge of the crowd who appeared to still be covering their faces. Eight in all.

  Would he make nine?

  A hearty pat on Darshan’s back jolted him into the present. “It seems the Goddess favours you,” the man rumbled. “Go join the lot over there.” He jerked his thumb at the women standing at the forefront of the crowd. “Dinnae dawdle, Queen Fiona is about to address them.”

  Darshan staggered towards the crowd. The other eight competitors turned to eye him as he joined their ranks. Any hint of irritation at his presence was hidden in a swathe of shadow, but he couldn’t imagine they were at all pleased.

  “My dear noblewomen,” Queen Fiona said, jerking his attention to where she stood at the edge of the crowd. Hamish stood on her left, his fiery hair a beacon in the blur of colours. “You blessed few have proven yourself to be fleet of foot and as cunning as the winter crow. Tomorrow, one of you will lay claim to my son and take their place as a mother within our clan.”

  Hamish took a step towards them and paused. They’d been informed at the beginning of the trial of how he would bestow his favour upon one from those who had made it through. A simple thing that rational people knew bore no weight to the skill displayed in the final trial.

  Darshan’s heart thudded as Hamish continued to dither about. Could his lover not identify him from the line-up?

  Whilst he made a bit of a show in sauntering up and down the line, as if the task of selecting the right woman was proving difficult, Hamish’s brow twitched every time he walked by Darshan.

  It eased the tightness in his chest some, but the impatient vein in him did grumble for the man to hasten things along.

  Finally, his lover halted before him. With very little ceremony, Hamish lifted the necklace over his own head and placed it around Darshan’s neck. “I choose you,” he said, barely loud enough for anyone but Darshan to hear. “May the Goddess favour your arrow tomorrow.”

  Darshan bowed his head in acknowledgement. Everything hinged on his lover and his ability to utilise a talent that he had only begun to consciously control. If Hamish missed the target, if they didn’t time everything right, there was nothing Darshan could do about it.

  His hand went to the ruby heart dangling from its simple chain. The gem was still warm with his lover’s body heat.

  And far heavier than any mere ruby had any right to be.

  Hamish stepped back, watching alongside his siblings as both the disqualified and safe competitors dispersed with the crowd. Whilst he couldn’t pick out Darshan from them now, he had spied his lover making his way across to the finish line earlier. And had almost had his
heart fair jump into his throat when one of the judges went and clapped a hand onto Darshan’s shoulder.

  Still, his lover had made it.

  He clambered into the saddle and nudged his mare to follow his parents and brother, also returning to the castle via horseback. They remained silent as they rode through the forest, but it didn’t take much deciphering to know they also mulled over the outcome. Especially his brother.

  Where had the ink come from? That question hadn’t stopped tumbling through his mind since the first otherwise unmarked competitor had stepped through the ferns. Who could’ve done it? Nae the lads. Whilst his nephews might’ve been devious enough, they were also aware of Darshan’s participation and that if the addition of oddly similar marks across all the women hadn’t been spotted… then Darshan would’ve been disqualified alongside everyone else. And exposed.

  Nora joined them at the other end of the forest, along with the children. Gordon swiftly caught them up on what had happened at the finish line, he eyed their nephews the whole time.

  Whilst the boys looked innocent enough, and suitably shocked at the attempted deception of ink, he was certain they hadn’t been at their mother’s side this whole time. For Darshan to have safely made it through the forest without fuss and with plenty of time to spare, had to mean his nephews were successful in locating the man and leading him through the forest. If they’d also been behind the ink on the ferns, then they would’ve warned Darshan. And thrown suspicion on him.

  Why even use ink in the first place? It was a sloppy choice. None of the guards had been provided anything of the sort, not even something of the same colour, and the coating beneath the ferns was too deliberately thorough to be a mistake.

  His musing had gotten him no closer to a possible culprit by the time their horses reached the castle courtyard. The stablehands rushed out to collect the animals as everyone dismounted.

  His parents lingered near the castle doors. Travelling via horseback had made the journey shorter than those on foot. For them to wait and greet the clans upon their return was the proper thing to do. Expected of him, too.