To Target the Heart

by Aldrea Alien

  Deep, belly-shaking laughter erupted from his brother. “By the Goddess’ swollen teats.” He slapped his knee. “They use that one in Udynea, too?”

  Hamish frowned. What, in the Goddess’ good name, was his brother on about?

  “I’m cold sleeping all on me lonesome,” Gordon clarified before Hamish could ask, his voice pitched abysmally high. He clasped his hands at his chin and batted his lashes. “Can I come warm meself with you?” His brother arched a brow at him. “You sure I wasnae interrupting a little late-night warming session?”

  “Gor…” he growled, his face growing hotter the longer Gordon talked.

  In response, his brother gave a wicked chuckle. “Did you offer to warm him up from the inside? That was my standard answer with Muireall.”

  Hamish wrinkled his nose and, with a hearty shove to his brother’s shoulder, tipped Gordon onto his smug arse. “I dinnae want to think about you and your wife.”

  Gordon lay on the ground, cackling like a merchant who had swindled a buyer. “Oh, so it’s all right if you talk about getting it off with your latest piece but, Goddess forbid, if I say a word…?”

  “It wasnae some ploy to get into me smalls, he was freezing.” Outside of the tent, the wind had the usual toothy bite. He knelt by the flames and warmed his hands. Maybe they should’ve waited a few more weeks for the weather to warm up. Darshan couldn’t have faced these sorts of temperatures before. How cold could it possibly get in a land that bordered deserts?

  Grunting, his brother righted himself. “Easy enough to remedy. We’re already stopping at Old Willie’s. Nae hard to see if we cannae find a lad the right size with some clothes to spare whilst we’re there. Will your man wear clothes that’ve been on another?”

  “He’ll live.” Darshan didn’t strike him as the type to have ever worn hand-me-downs, but the chill air should suffice as a rebuttal to any protests. Given how cold he appeared to be, Hamish doubted there’d be any objection. “And he’s nae me man.” Sure, they had both agreed to being lovers whilst Darshan was here, but a couple of days wasn’t enough to be sure of anything.

  “You might want to tell him that, then, because I dinnae think he understands you’re staying right here in Tirglas when it’s time for him to go.”

  Maybe. What could he possibly do when that time came? And he didn’t doubt it would come sooner than either of them expected. Naturally, his mother would do her best to keep him home. On the other hand, short of locking him in his room until he was old, what else could she do to stop him from leaving?

  He had considered running away before, a great many times. It always fell back to where and how. Money would be an issue. As would the ability to travel far before his mother’s lackeys caught up.

  With Darshan at his side, he could leave. Maybe not be an ambassador, but perhaps the Udynean court would have a place for him nevertheless.

  It would mean leaving everything behind, though. Not just his mother, but the rest of his family. His siblings, his nephews and niece. His father. They’d all been there for him in some manner. Could he really leave everything behind for one man?

  He sorely wished the answer wasn’t so muddled.

  Hamish stood. “We should get to searching the perimeter.”

  Mercifully, his brother nodded and dusted off the seat of his trousers before they parted ways to loop the outer edge of the campsite.

  Like so many times he had been on the night watch with his brother, the midnight hours proved uneventful. The night-time noises were muted and unthreatening. The horses dozed where they’d been hobbled, barely stirring as he paused nearby on his way past.

  Finally, Hamish was able to return to his tent whilst Gordon went to wake Zurron to watch for the final hours before dawn.

  Inside the tent, the smell of dangerously warm wool wadded his nose and set his eyes to watering. His gaze darted about the bedding, checking for any sign of ignition. No flames, no patches, not even a single ember glowing in the dark.

  He knelt next to Darshan, gently pressing a hand to his lover’s temple, then his hands. The fingers were like ice. In comparison, the man’s head was hotter than a furnace.

  Darshan mumbled something. Taandha? It sounded familiar. Was it one of the words the man had tried to teach Hamish back in the cliff edge?

  Aye. Something about wind. Cold? When his head was burning up? “Here.” Kicking off his boots, Hamish wriggled beneath the blankets. He tucked himself up against the man’s back, sliding his arm under Darshan’s head once again. “Better?”

  A grunt that sounded like it could be acquiescence rumbled through the man. He seemed no warmer.

  Hamish fell back to administering the same friction he had used earlier. “You really should’ve listened to me yesterday,” he murmured. If Hamish had been given anywhere near the same amount of money as Darshan had doled out from that blasted tortoise, then buying warm clothing would’ve been his first stop. Not indulging in trinkets. Even if it had been something as simple as a thick undershirt or a pair of trousers. “Dinnae think on it though, we’ll see you’re warm enough for the rest of the journey.”

  Goddess willing, there would be a boy Darshan’s size with extra clothes and a willingness to part with them for a few coins.

  Darshan stood in one of the barn stalls that made the central building of the little farming community known only as Old Willie’s. He pulled on yet another pair of trousers. Too short. A pity as the rest was a decent fit, if only the leg length had halted a foot further down. An unbidden sigh whistled out his nose. Whilst the collective families living here had dug up whatever scrap of clothing they could part with, he was fast running out of options.

  A suitably warm undershirt had been an easy find, if a bit long in the arms. Nevertheless, coarse linen now sat snugly around his torso, his undershirt the only barrier between the fabric and having his skin scrubbed raw. Although his sherwani might fit over the pair, he had also selected an overcoat from the bunch in the off chance that it didn’t. He would’ve also picked through the cloaks the locals had thoughtfully added to the pile had he not arrived in one.

  If only finding a decent pair of trousers was as simple.

  Already, various pieces of clothing lay piled in the corner. He had picked through several of the trousers and shirts, immediately tossing aside those that were just too small and reconciling himself with the idea that nothing amongst the dwindling plausible pile would fit as finely as his own attire.

  He relinquished himself of the trousers, tossing them into the far corner, and picked up another pair. Dangling in his hands, this new pair looked far too long in the leg, but he could suffer that over freezing his ankles.

  Although just how warm this particular pair would be was debatable. The fabric felt more akin to hessian than linen. Wearing such coarse fabrics was unheard of in Udynean nobility. And for them to be someone’s hand-me-downs… Like many of the higher nobility, every stitch and cut made in his clothing had been done specifically for him.

  He struggled to tie the frayed rope that served in lieu of a front fastener for this particular pair of trousers, grunting and heaving the pieces together. No matter how much he forced them, the front refused to close. Well, I certainly can’t parade around with my undergarments showing. People would have conniptions all over the place.

  Stripping and flinging the trousers into the pile with the rest, he reached for the penultimate pair. If neither of these last two fitted, then they would have to make a detour to the nearest village before travelling to the cloister to ensure he didn’t freeze during the rest of their trip.

  The stall door creaked behind him, a mass of bright-red hair preceding a head poking through the gap. “You’re still trying them on?” Hamish asked, incredulous. “You only need one or two. Or do none of them fit?”

  “So far, sadly not.” This current pair was far heavier than the rest. Hopping awkwardly on one leg, he slipped the other into the trousers. Wool lining greeted his skin, soft and luxuri
ous. Please fit. He hauled them higher.

  Fastening them was a touch on the tricky side, the set of rather chunky buttons a menace to feed through holes that were a touch too small. They slipped from his grip as his fingers fumbled, dropping faster than a priest’s morals. “I see how you would be amenable to a quick screw in these trousers. They hit the floor rather quickly, do they not?” And being bound closely against the leg all the way to the knee would have them stay in easy reach of retrieval.

  “Th-that’s nae why—” Hamish stammered, his face growing increasingly ruddy in the smoky light.

  Darshan turned his attention to the icy shard he had formed from the trough for use as a mirror. He’d already come to terms with the fact most of the undershirts were on the threadbare side and the overcoats had large patches in them. But the way the trousers billowed most uncomfortably between his legs was disconcerting to say the least. He’d manage. He wasn’t as precious as all that. Although, it might take a few days of checking that his trousers hadn’t actually fallen to be fully comfortable with such a style.

  “What’s with the face?” his lover asked. “Are you nae warmer?”

  “Hush,” Darshan mumbled, continuing to check his reflection. He was indeed quite toasty now his legs were clad, but that wasn’t what drew his eye. Standing swathed from neck to ankle in the local fashion, he could almost be seen as a Tirglasian. His glasses somewhat spoiled the illusion, but that couldn’t be helped.

  He’d be happier if the clothing was actually flattering. The trousers had his backside looking rather shapeless. Just as well I won’t be in court. Fortunately, the animals cared not a whit as to what he wore. Nor did his travelling companions, providing he didn’t complain.

  Melting the ice back into the trough, he turned to Hamish. “These will suffice.” His gaze traversed his lover’s form. How did the man look so delectable whilst wearing practically the same type of clothing? Shaking his head, he shoved his trousers into his pack along with the rest of his clothes.

  His lover peered at him as Darshan strode up to the stall door. “You seem to have lost those thin dark rings around your eyes, too.”

  “I left my kohl back at the castle.” Bad enough trying to apply it with the smoky candles and lantern oil they used there, but to attempt it whilst travelling and without a decent mirror? Madness. It didn’t help that leaving his face bare gave him the sensation of being half-dressed, even with the hefty amount of thick wool and linen weighing his shoulders.

  They exited the stables together, before Hamish jogged off to climb aboard his mountain of a horse and wait with the guards whilst Darshan sought out the man’s brother.

  Not that searching would take long. Old Willie’s was little more than a few sheds and houses surrounding a large barn. Built entirely from stone and roofed in thatch, they huddled together, almost cringing against the elements. Most of the buildings had the air of age around them for Darshan to suspect that, whoever old Willie had been, the man this place had been named for had certainly been in the ground for some years.

  He found Gordon still chatting with the woman in charge of the main farmstead. They’d already bargained for the supplies the folk here could spare and waited only for Darshan before moving on, but it seemed the man wasn’t beyond trying to squeeze extra from the people. Although Darshan rather doubted these folk were the kind to lie about their possessions.

  “If you’re able to spare just a little more,” Gordon said, even as the woman shook her head firmly.

  “We can nae give up even another crumb, your highness.” Whilst she might not have the wrinkles or grey hair of an old woman, her voice certainly had her sounding like one. “The winter’s been lean enough being short on hands and with extra mouths to feed now young Aggie has birthed her twins.” She crossed her arms, an affectionate smile daring to curve the no-nonsense line of her thin lips. “Lass’ll have her hands full if she’s nae careful, third lot in five years.”

  Gordon bowed his head. “I understand.”

  The woman looked ready to say something further when her attention swung to Darshan. “You’re looking warmer, me lord.”

  He bowed his head in silent acceptance. What a sight he must’ve looked when they had arrived, with him perched atop the pony, his legs completely scrunched up beneath the thick cloak in search of shelter from the icy wind that had picked up midmorning. It’d been the lazy type, preferring to go through a body rather than around. Although he could easily heat the air of a room or the immediate area outside as he had professed to Hamish last night, to do so whilst on the move with the wind was nigh impossible.

  “Took your sweet time about it,” Gordon added, arching a brow and peering out the corner of his eye at Darshan. “Was beginning to think you were personally weaving new clothes.”

  Darshan spread his arms wide. He had only the truth for the length of time he’d taken in finding suitably-fitting attire. Debating it would only waste more. “I am here now, am I not?”

  “That you are.” The man jerked a thumb at the rest of their travelling companions. Both of the remaining guards held a horse each; Gordon’s beast of a mount and Darshan’s pony. “Mount up, we’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Inclining his head, Darshan fastened the bundle of his clothes to the pony’s saddlebags and clambered aboard. The trousers shifted uncomfortably, bunching beneath his thighs and requiring a few tugs to have them back into a position that meant they wouldn’t have a stranglehold on his privates.

  After a few more words with the woman, and an exchange of coin, Gordon finally joined them and they were able to return to the road.

  Unlike through the majority of their travels yesterday, the wide road leading to Mullhind was sparsely populated. A few carts creaked their merry way, mostly leading north, away from the capital. None appeared to carry any wares that might’ve come from a festival.

  Gordon twisted in the saddle, eyeing all of them over his shoulder. “Once we turn off the intersection, we’ll be keeping to the road as much as we’re able. Naebody leaves the camp for long, nae alone.” He waggled a finger at Hamish and Darshan. “Especially nae for hours on end.”

  Darshan snorted. “And I thought we had nothing to fear from brigands.”

  “It’s nae them I’m worried about. Bears are my greater concern. The closer we get to the mountain, the more likely we are to find some. And I’d rather nae disturb them.”

  Darshan rolled his eyes. He’d never seen a bear, not a living one anyway. The Udynean landscape—at least the southern part he was personally more familiar with—was rather devoid of such predators. Where the jungles of places like Obuzan had slinky spotted cats lurking in the canopies, and the southern lands worried over jackals and wild dogs, the untamed lands of Udynea belonged to the tigers.

  “I dinnae think you comprehend how dangerous it can be out here.”

  Darshan smirked. “To be fair, I am used to being the most dangerous thing in the vicinity.” His magic could frighten off the biggest of creatures. He had proven that in his late teens when frightening off a curious tiger from the family’s country estate near the twin lakes when one had slunk into the gardens. True, the beast had been more interested in going after the herd of spiral-horned deer that grazed there, but his young half-sister, Nita, quite likely would’ve died attempting the same thing had he not acted.

  A sigh escaped him at the memory. Dear Nini. He often believed she would’ve been much like Anjali had she the chance to grow up. To think, he had saved her from a potential tiger mauling only for her to fall prey to their half-sister, Onella. Unfortunate timing, the council had eventually ruled. That’d been a decade ago. He still didn’t believe a sturdy bridge could just collapse without warning, especially at the precise time for Nita to cross it during her usual morning ride.

  But having faced a hungry tiger, he rather doubted a bear posed much of a threat. Granted, bears were bigger—much bigger if the stuffed examples in the palace study were to be believed as the norm. But
even if something so big and clunky managed to land the first blow, he’d a moderate chance of having enough wits about him to protect himself and the others until the so-called danger left.

  Frowning, Gordon opened his mouth.

  “Rabbit!” Zurron blurted before the man could speak. The elf pointed at the road ahead even as he scrambled for his bow.

  The guard’s cry set off a flurry of activity. Like Zurron, the rest of the men went for their bows. They urged their horses forward, shuffling Darshan to the rear whilst spreading out across the road’s width.

  Darshan craned his neck to see beyond their shoulders and flailing arms. Sure enough, one of the fluffy-tailed creatures was bounding up the road in a haphazard zigzag pattern, likely flushed out from the underbrush by the noise.

  Several arrows flew through the air, skimming across the ground or digging point-first into the dirt. Unscathed, their prey continued bounding ahead of them.

  “Got it!” Hamish cried, loosing his arrow.

  The rabbit abruptly changed direction, bounding right over the arrows the rest of the men had fired before racing in the opposite direction. The erratic path it took stopping only once Hamish’s arrow hit. It dropped like a windfallen apple.

  Odd. He could’ve sworn that arrow had veered off its natural arc, twitching along with the rabbit’s zigzagging movements. By all rights, the man should’ve missed.

  The guards congratulated Hamish’s speed as they collected both the rabbit and their arrows.

  Darshan gnawed on the inside of his lip as Hamish plucked the arrow from the animal’s heart. First the fluke of Gordon being inside his shield back at the castle—an act that he couldn’t quite be certain had also happened last night when his backside was walloped—now this?

  Could it be that the royal line had magic in its blood? None of the empire’s usual sources had dug up any such possibility. Still, it would be foolish to not consider it before a proper test. But how to go about that? All the tests he knew of were done on infants, whose abilities responded on an instinctual level, and usually only to determine spellsters from Nulled Ones.