by Aldrea Alien
Followed. Not taken. He could move under his own power, then. Maybe the wound had been superficial. Something that he could—
Heal.
Hamish bowed his head, relief and embarrassment at his own stupidity quaked through his gut and squeaked out his mouth. Whatever injury Darshan had suffered, it clearly hadn’t killed him, so his magic would knit him back together. Just like it had with that arrow wound back at the outpost.
That didn’t explain why Darshan was going to the infirmary, but it was a question easily satisfied. “Can you take me to him?”
Nodding, she trotted up the stairs. He followed at her heels, silently taking in the number of bloodstained and battered people being led inside. It had to be half the workforce stationed at the cliff base. What had happened?
“I must say,” Caitlyn said over her shoulder. “He’s nicer than I thought a vris of the Mhanek would be. A little morbid, but polite.”
“Dinnae let him hear you say that, I think you might actually offend him. Especially seeing as he describes himself as being arrogant and selfish.” Whilst Darshan didn’t seem overtly proud of the fact, he was quite insistent that he had no redeeming qualities. Even with evidence to the contrary.
They passed Gordon on the way through the main entrance. Their brother fell into step beside Hamish, a faint query tightening his brow.
“Well, your selfish man just risked his life to save another’s.” Caitlyn shook her head as if Darshan was only a child having returned from a successful, but ultimately foolhardy, hunt. “I’ve nae seen a spellster throw themselves into a healing so thoroughly. Nae one who has lived more than a few minutes, at least.”
“Should I take that to mean you approve of ‘Mish’s new man?” Gordon rumbled.
“Well, he—” Caitlyn swung to eye their brother before turning her gaze on him, continuing to backstep her way down the corridor. “I was only having a lark before, but he really is?”
“I guess so,” Hamish mumbled, his face burning.
“You guess?” Gordon quipped, playfully nudging him in the ribs. “He followed you into a cloister, I dinnae think many foreign spellsters would do that.”
Hamish shot his brother a death glare, but Gordon had long built up an immunity to such looks and merely grinned back.
“Your man is quite reckless, in a fearless sort of way.”
“How so?” He had witnessed Darshan’s healing abilities on others before. Granted that had been a broken jaw rather than the crushed ribcages or shattered limbs he had witnessed in these injuries, but his lover hadn’t seemed any worse for wear.
“We’re instructed to be careful when healing another. The old writings’ warnings about the risks of draining the self to mend another are quite explicit. Put too much effort into it and your body starts cannibalising itself for fuel. That man was on the brink of death, I felt it trying to take me with him and yet…” She shook her head, disbelieving. “Most who’ve tried healing those that close—of those in Tirglas, at least—have nae only failed, but it cost them their own lives.”
“Dar’s stronger.” The admission didn’t do much to shuck the unease from his stomach, not after witnessing his lover looking like he’d run the whole way here from Mullhind, but at least he knew the cause.
Grunting and rolling her eyes, Caitlyn turned back around and increased the pace in which they traversed the crowded corridors. “Strength doesnae come into it. He seemed to ken what he was doing, but if he had slipped up then you would’ve been explaining to the Mhanek just how his son died at a cloister.”
And that wouldn’t have had repercussions.
They descended a short flight of stairs where Caitlyn slowed to walk level with him. “So, how are you managing to have your little whatever you call it with him without Mum being aware?”
“About that…”
“They’re doing an abysmal job of it,” Gordon piped up, grinning anew as Hamish aimed another glare at him.
“You mean she does ken?” Their sister exhaled mightily. “Bloody hell, she’s calm down some.”
Their brother shook his head. “Nae really. She just cannae send him home without cause.” Not if she wanted to avoid a war.
They entered the infirmary to the accompaniment of groans and the hushed conversations between healer and patient.
In the middle of it all stood Darshan. He had stripped himself of his sherwani, as well as both undershirts, somewhere between now and the courtyard, leaving him completely bare from the waist up. And yet, despite the slight chill in the air, he seemed content with leisurely drying his hands and conversing with one of the priests.
Caitlyn froze. Her gaze solidly focused on Darshan, who seemed oblivious to the scrutiny. There was little point in denying that there was something about Darshan that drew the eye, whether he was garbed in his silks and jewels or half-naked. But the current aura he projected seemed diminished from the man’s usual confident stance.
“See that he gets plenty of fluids,” Darshan continued saying to the priest, the clip of authority in his tone enough to have the priest bobbing in agreement at every other word. “A light broth, if the kitchen can manage it. I would not recommend allowing him to do any heavy work for at least a few weeks, a month just to be safe.”
Hamish tipped his head closer to his sister’s ear. “Mine,” he whispered. “So stop staring.”
A bloom of pink darkened her cheeks. “I… I wasnae—” she spluttered, shoving him and giving his shoulder what he supposed she considered a solid punch. It might’ve hurt back when they were kids, but he had connected harder with animals and trees since then.
At their backs, Gordon snickered.
Darshan turned, finally noticing them. His face was drawn and slightly on the grey side. Even his smile was a pale imitation of his usual energetic grin.
Before the spellster could take a step towards them, a young man in the robes of early priesthood scurried over to Darshan’s side with a bundle of clothes and a cup of wine. He spoke to the Udynean, low words Hamish couldn’t quite make out.
Darshan wasted no time in downing the whole cup in a few gulps before taking the shirt and overcoat. Only then did Hamish notice a ripple of heat surrounding the man. Had he been using magic to keep himself warm?
“That’s an interesting scar,” Caitlyn said whilst Darshan donned the clothing. “How’d you manage it?”
“This old thing?” Darshan brushed a hand over the star-shaped mark on his chest. “A mere token of a hunting accident I was unfortunate to be a part of in my youth.”
“Most who are able to heal to the level you attained dinnae typically scar that badly,” she continued.
“Yes? Well, my half-sister liked to hunt with infitialis-tipped arrows.”
Caitlyn peered at the man.
Hamish wasn’t certain why. He had seen firsthand how an arrow through the chest affected a spellster, even if any sign of the wound Darshan had suffered a week ago was long gone. It had been quite the feat to come back from without any special arrowheads. Lucky it wasnae nearer his heart. Did infitialis have an effect on the healing process? He knew very little about the metal other than its rareness. He’d never even seen a piece.
Instead of pressing Darshan on the matter, Caitlyn silently tailed him as he went about tending to a man lying prone on a nearby bed. He placed his fingers on the man’s neck, checking for a pulse, and seemed satisfied enough to peel back the blankets to expose scarred skin still stained with blood.
“You seem to know your way around a patient,” she said.
Darshan glanced up from his examination. “As they say back at the academy, you never really stop being a healer. Although, to hear Anjali tell it, you would think I have a personal vendetta against mortal injuries because of what happened to our mother.”
“Was she gravely injured?”
“You could say that. She died giving birth to my twin.”
Caitlyn jerked back, a gasp lingering in her wake. “I—”
/> “—am sorry to hear that.” Darshan shot her an understanding smile. “I know. It’s all right. I made amends there some time back. Yes?” This last word was given with little more than a glance to the head priest.
Hamish looked about him. Just how had the man managed to slither to Darshan’s side with barely a hint of his presence? The doorway was at their backs. He would’ve had to walk straight past them. Was there another entrance or was he losing the ability to tell when other people were in his immediate proximity?
“Your highness.” The man genuflected with a flourish of his hand before him. “The cloister is indebted to you for this man’s life. And I am doubly so for you wresting my son from a premature greeting to the Goddess’ bosom. How can we repay you?”
Darshan was silent for some time, his hand resting on the unconscious man’s chest and those hazel eyes unfocused.
What do you see? His sister had tried to explain the sensation of healing another, but he could never grasp the concept.
“Zurron,” Darshan blurted, making everyone around him jump. He turned to the head priest. “It has come to my attention that the man has warned you as to the potential of this outcome in regards to the pulley on numerous occasions. You would do well heeding his words. Knowing you have taken measures to ensure this never happens again shall be payment enough.”
Flustered, the head priest bowed in a similar manner as before. “You humble me, your highness.”
Darshan waggled his finger. “I am not quite finished. I require a meal, preferably one with a lot of protein. And a full account of whatever arcane healing knowledge you could share with Udynea, who is all too happy to reciprocate in kind.”
The priest bowed once again, taking a step back towards the door whilst still bent over. “I shall see to those promptly. Please, wait here whilst I send someone up with food.” With that, he scurried off out the door, the susurration of his feet echoing down the corridor.
Hamish took one final glance around the room. Apart from the sleeping wounded, they were alone. His gaze landed on Darshan, who had opted to claim one of the precious few chairs in the area. His lover looked for all the world as if he was about to fall into as deep a sleep as those surrounding them.
“I think,” Gordon said. “You two should start explaining just what happened.”
Hamish stared down at his hands, currently doing nothing extraordinary beyond holding his mare’s reins. The horse plodded alongside the others, her shod hooves clopping sharply on the cobblestones that paved the road leading to Mullhind. They would veer off from the road in time to travel the less-trodden path that snaked along the base of the cliff. Home would come soon enough, no point in speeding the inevitable.
Because of their delay in getting Darshan warmer clothes, coupled with the attack on the spellster at the guard outpost, they had been only two days to spare at the cloister before further dallying would have his mother issuing the call for is retrieval.
Darshan had spent a great deal of that time conversing with the priests and older healers, even through the evening and morning meals. Whilst the grey pallor that’d claimed the customary olive-brown tone of Darshan’s cheeks had vanished during their stay in the cloister—a point Hamish was more than delighted to witness—the act certainly hadn’t dulled the man’s keenness. It had been an intoxicating sight.
One that Hamish wished they hadn’t needed to be done with so swiftly.
When the time to leave had arrived, they had lingered at the base of the cliff for a few more hours whilst Zurron finished assisting with the pulley’s reconstruction. Even though that had been a week ago, Hamish could still hear the elf stressing the mechanism’s limits as he worked. Unlike in the past, his words seemed to garner more attention and less eye-rolling. Hopefully, it would also mean no repetition of the accident.
The week-long trip back home had been its customarily uneventful passage. Despite his brother’s concerns, they met no guards on the way back down the road. Not even when they reached the outpost at the intersection, which had been eerily absent of a single soul.
Hamish wished all their days could’ve gone as placidly as they did now. But in the days since leaving the cloister, a far more insidious thought had plagued his mind.
It had started out so innocently. And only on their second night away from the cloister. The farmer hadn’t been able to spare room in his stables and Hamish had gone to fetch wood to stave off the night chills. Darshan had tagged along, helping mostly by keeping an eye out for any wildlife that could’ve posed as deadly.
The stint in the cloister seemed to have made the man impatient. Or perhaps it was the bundle of papers he now carried, copies of ancient texts and strange drawings. He hopped from one foot to the other like a child itching to head out on their first hunt. “Surely we need but only one armful of logs to carve up for the night.”
“It’s going to be an icy one.”
Darshan pulled a face. Whilst he had never verbally complained during the sodden days their group had spent on the road towards the cloister, his distaste for the less-than-agreeable weather had been palpable. “I see. Well, cold or not, I look forward to resuming our prior sleeping arrangements.”
“Was there something wrong with your bed in the cloister?” He found them a little on the softer side, but serviceable.
“It is not so much that—although I have certainly slept in better and the blankets could have been thicker—it is more the fact I have never spent a night in a mountain.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if somehow able to see any evidence of the Crowned Mountain through the dense canopy. “And I shall be quite happy to never do so again.”
“You’re still meant to sleep in your own bed.” Hamish’s thoughts swung back to their first five days of travel. Of how his lover would snuggle against him, shivering with the cold even through three layers of clothing whenever Hamish dared to move any more than a few inches away. How warm were Udynea’s southern lands? Hot enough along the border of the Stamekian deserts. Nae wonder he keeps the fire lit in the guest quarters.
“I vastly prefer being entangled with you in yours.”
“Nae sex, though. Nae here.” He’d never live down knowing his brother had actually heard them.
“What?” Darshan chuckled, his moustache twisting as his brows lowered in bewilderment. “Mea lux, I would not dream of proposing sex in the middle of the wilderness, nor am I looking for it. I meant only that I find the comfort of your presence preferable.” He rubbed the very tip of his nose with a forefinger. “And I missed your warmth.”
“Sharing me blankets I can do.” Beyond the first night, his brother had made little comment on Darshan’s chosen sleeping arrangements. No one would deem it strange if the man continued to sleep bundled in Hamish’s arms.
“Exceedingly well, in fact.”
Hamish bent down to collect another worthy-looking length of bare branch, hoping to stave off the heat growing in his cheeks. Goddess, how did the man manage to make him blush so effortlessly?
They walked for some time in silence, picking up whatever suitable wood they could carry. Darshan stopped every-so-often to glance his way, his lips parting as if to speak, but never quite giving breath to the words.
“You ken,” Hamish drawled, attempting to keep his voice neutral as he filled the quiet. “It’s been over a week since we started this… whatever you want to call it.”
Darshan jerked upright from his hunt beneath a scraggy bush. “Really?” he squeaked before clearing his throat with a hearty cough. “Has it been so short a time? I feel as though I have known you forever.”
Fresh warmth infused Hamish, the source starting from his chest. “Aye.” He hadn’t realised that feeling of lifelong kinship was mutual. “I guess it also means I’m now your longest lasting sexual relationship.”
His lover chuckled breathlessly. “I must admit, the thought did not occur to me, but it would appear to be so.”
Hamish tucked his bundle of wood beneath o
ne arm and draped the other companionably over Darshan’s shoulders. “And how do you think this one will end, given both of our histories?” No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t see any other path other than the one that led to them separating once Darshan’s purpose in Tirglas was over.
“Amicably, I hope.” Darshan smiled up at him, but a faint bitterness lingered in his gaze and it echoed through his voice. “I would hate to think I could hurt you.”
“What makes you think I wouldnae do the hurting?”
“Truly? You are not that kind of man.”
Probably nae. But he doubted Darshan was either. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you. About journeying to Minamist?”
“Oh?” His lover bumped Hamish with a hip. “Made up your mind, then? Simply cannot wait to be free of all this?” He indicated the whole forest with one broad sweep of his hand.
“I do want to leave with you when the time comes.” If he left, the land would be the only thing he missed beyond his siblings and their children.
Darshan’s answering smile fattened his cheeks and increased the wrinkles around his eyes.
“But… if I was to play the part of ambassador, I’d need me mum’s acceptance of me position to make it official.”
The corners of his lover’s mouth dropped faster than a stunned bird. He stared out into the forest for a long time. Enough for Hamish to collect two more branches. “I have been doing some thinking of my own,” he confessed.
“I thought you look like you’d something else on your mind.” Hamish laid his haul of branches on the ground and dusted off his hands. “Tell me. Is it the cloister?”
Darshan gave an affirmative hum, but the lines in his face only deepened. “In a matter of speaking. I wish to enquire about something personal, although I am unsure how to go about that without offending you or your family.”
Hamish shrugged. “Just ask.”
“Your cloistered sister? She is—? That is to say… you share a full parentage?”
“Aye.” Why would Darshan even need to ask such a question? Let alone be puzzled by it? “All my siblings share the same bloodline. You cannae be considering that as strange. You’ve a sister you share full blood with.”