by Aldrea Alien
Dylan staggered back, seeking for something to lean on should his legs give. Gods forgive him, he’d tried not to think of it. But he knew how the attack would’ve occurred.
The children would’ve fled, running up the stairs and away from their attackers. The guardians would’ve fought to hold the hounds at bay, but the tight spaces of the hallways would only have worked against them. And fire would’ve been everywhere. Had been. It’d charred the walls. But it hadn’t been enough.
Tracker was at his side in a heartbeat, his hand gripping Dylan’s shoulder. “I am truly sorry.” His arm tucked itself under Dylan’s, supporting him.
“Don’t touch me,” he managed through the tightness in his throat. Shields. The older ones would’ve attempted to protect those who couldn’t. They wouldn’t have known how pointless such a defence was until it’d been too late.
The hound removed his arm. “As you like. But it would be best if you sat down, yes?” He indicated a nearby bench. “Before you fall down.”
Dylan planted his feet. He was fine standing. His mind couldn’t rid itself of the sight of all those bodies huddled against walls. Terrified to their last breath. He would not go out that way. “Did you really not know about it beforehand?”
Tracker sighed as stepped back. “I did not. I swear. If I had, I would not have brought you within three days of that place.”
“You said you knew of the order.”
He nodded. “A command was sent out, probably when you were just leaving the tower, for us to return home. I got that. Those who went would have been informed that our mistress was dead, of natural causes it seems, and that her son was our new master. He gave them the order to attack not long after.”
“All right,” Dylan rasped. Was that another lie? Or was the man professing he hadn’t known been the lie? He rubbed at his temples. He’d accept it as truth, for now. “But if you got the command, why didn’t you listen to it?”
“Because I chose to be petty. I had no desire to come back here. This place…” Tracker indicated the city lying below with the broad sweep of his hands. The moon had climbed over the horizon as they’d talked, illuminating the world in pale light. “It may be beautiful, but it holds few fond memories for me. I have not set foot here since I became a hound.”
If everything Tracker had said about his training had been true—and there seemed to be no reason to doubt it—then Dylan could easily see the man avoiding this place. “But you brought me here.” How was it that the hound wouldn’t come here for himself, but he did… For me? Just like the tunnel, weathering his fears for Dylan’s benefit. “Why?”
Tracker frowned. “Because it is what you wanted.”
“No. Well, yes, but I mean…” He took a deep breath. “Why are you still alive? You disobeyed a direct order. I thought you said they killed those who did?” They’d done so with the others. If refusing to cull the tower was a death sentence, then surely never answering the summons would’ve carried the same punishment.
“They do. They enquired of my absence. I told them I knew of no such order.”
Dylan scoffed. “And they believed you?” If he judged all the hounds by the handful who’d been at the gates, it seemed very unlikely.
“It is more than plausible, especially in Toptower, that one pigeon out of fifty-one would somehow miss its target. I told them that, if they had wanted me here so badly, then they would have fared better sending a messenger on a horse.” He cleared his throat. “But I am thankful they did not. Our mistress might have been cruel, but she was fair. She did not punish without cause, did not attempt to upset the balance the kingdom has lived with for hundreds of years. Our new master… he does not care whether we live or die, only that we heed him.”
“And what would you have done if they had reached you? Would you have obeyed him?” Please, say no. He really wasn’t certain what he’d do if Tracker decided he would’ve followed the order.
A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He caressed Dylan’s cheek, the back of his long fingers chill. “I… I think not.”
Dylan pulled himself free of the hound’s grasp. “You think?”
“I know. I recall what we found there and… I— If I had come here, if I had been given such an order… Fetch obeyed to save her own life and it broke her mind. I am not squeamish about taking a life when it is called for, but I would rather be dead than sully my blade with innocent blood. And so, I would have died. Either here or at the tower.”
Dylan’s chest tightened a little further at the thought. It’d hurt knowing Tracker had lied, but that didn’t mean he would’ve preferred the man dead.
“But you… You could be with the others right now.” Giving a disgusted huff, Tracker threw up his hands and paced a short distance between the alcove and the trellises. “I should have tried harder in convincing you to leave Demarn. We could have vanished, been another casualty of war. No one would ever suspect.”
Dylan frowned. No one except the hounds waiting for Tracker to arrive in Wintervale with an unleashed spellster at his side.
“I just…” the hound continued. “After we came across the other spellsters, I saw no way to tell you how I felt and not have you think I was trying to manipulate you.” A wry smile tweaked his lips. “I have tried so hard not to push you.” He halted, cocking his head so he had to peer at Dylan out the corner of an eye. “I could have. There are things I could do to you that would make you believe nothing in this world was ever real except for me.”
Dylan stepped back. The hound had done precisely that during their night in the tower. Making Dylan forget all about what he’d seen during the day whilst in Tracker’s arms.
Tracker nodded and softly laughed, seemingly to himself. “But that is not how affection, proper adoration, works.”
“Adoration?” Dylan echoed. “Affection? You mean love?” What did that have to do with this?
Tracker finally faced him again, smiling in that fond, lopsided fashion that made Dylan’s insides flutter. “It sounds so easy when you say it.” Tracker cleared his throat. “Truth be told, I am a little uneasy admitting even this and the words… they do not come easily anymore. I have been unable to say it since—” There was that haunted look in his eyes again. The exact one from when Dylan attempted to goad the hound into killing him.
“Since…?” He gently pressed, curious as to what could make Tracker so reluctant to speak.
“Since the last time I felt this way,” Tracker whispered. “Bad things happen when I admit how I feel.”
Something warm and rich deep within Dylan’s chest dared to try unfurling. Quashing it left a bitter taste in his throat. “Is that what this is about?” Now he knew this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Because if it was, then it meant his foolishness had cost so much more than he’d originally thought and he wouldn’t be able to handle knowing that now. “You brought me here to confess your love for me? Do you honestly think that will change this?” He clasped the collar. He was leashed. Trapped. Nothing more than a weapon. He couldn’t make even the smallest decision on the very course of his life, let alone bring someone else along that path.
“Perhaps.” A small, uncertain smile twitched along one side of the hound’s mouth. “Perhaps not. That is for you to decide.”
Dylan glared at the ground, blinking furiously. Stupid cold wind. Making his eyes water. “We haven’t even known each other two months.” It couldn’t be love. It wasn’t that quick. Like you know, he berated himself. All he’d ever done was run from the idea. And lash out at the first bump in the road.
“Gods,” Tracker murmured. “You are dense. But then, I have not exactly been that forthcoming with everything. Allow me to make it plain for you now.” Each word snapped at the heels of the one before as if Tracker expected an interruption at any moment. “It has been only seven weeks since we met, yes?”
Still wallowing in his mental self flagellation, Dylan nodded.
“What does it matter how long we have kn
own each other? Somehow, you make me feel more alive in that short time than I have in the whole thirty-two years of my life. And it has been far longer since I dared to feel this way. It is not something you easily forget.” His gaze dropped and he whispered, “Nor want to give up.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Tracker slowly crossed the space between them. “We are taught that affection is a weakness, that we cannot be true hounds if our hearts beat for another. I tried to tell you the truth earlier, several times in fact, but…” The man sighed. “Then we met the other spellsters.” He clutched at Dylan’s robes, holding them in a death grip. It might’ve been a trick of the moonlight, but Dylan swore the man’s shoulders shook. “I did not want you to think the choice was between me and being leashed.”
“Track—”
“I messed up, I know. I should have told you everything as I learnt it, but I… I have been alone for so long and I did not expect to wind up fall—” Panic flickered across his face. He carefully extracted himself from Dylan’s clothes and backed away. “With this feeling. Not after last time. I knew telling you would upset you and I had no desire to cause you any more pain. But it was wrong of me to keep such knowledge from you and I am prepared to show you with every fibre of my being exactly how much you mean to me. I just need to know if you feel the same way.”
Dylan stared at the hound. His chest felt far too tight. This was real? Tracker—
Was shaking. The man’s breath came unevenly and his throat constricted far too often. The longer Dylan remained silent, the more distress clouded those gorgeous eyes he’d missed seeing. His own eyes slowly started to mimic the hound’s, his vision blurring. I’m sorry.
“Please,” Tracker whispered, the words thick with tears. “Say something. If you feel the same way about me, if you believe those feelings to be true… Or even if you do not, I just…” He took a shuddering breath. “If you do not, then that is what it is. We merely continue as we are. I just want to know the truth.”
“And if I did?”
Hope lit the man’s eyes and parted his lips. “You…” He froze, the hope tempered by caution. “Then… I guess we would have to figure out where to go from here. If that is how you felt.”
“We?” Dylan frowned. There was no choice of where he went. Unless… His mind raced over their previous conversation about the alchemist’s family Tracker had helped. “Y-you would’ve gone with me?” he breathed. “Lived a life on the run? For me?” He shook his head. Maybe if it was just his life he risked in such an attempt, but not another’s. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“There is no need to ask. I would follow wherever you wished—even the army camps, if you are so intent on rejoining them—so long as I am at your side.” He seemed so serious, so real.
Dylan wanted to believe. He couldn’t see how it could ever be that simple, but he wanted it to be. “Wouldn’t it be suspicious to have a hound tagging along wherever I go?”
Tracker shrugged. “We could say I am watching you. Given that your last collar broke, it would not be too farfetched a story. Who would dare to check?”
Who indeed. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“We.” He took up Dylan’s hand, entwining their fingers. His expression had become a twisted mixture of hope and anguish. “But only if you want me to.”
Dylan kissed the back of Tracker’s hand, now painfully aware as to why he’d responded to the elf’s missive. “I do,” he breathed against the man’s fingers. “Against probably every rational thought, I can’t stop feeling the same way about you.”
The hound all but launched himself at Dylan. He threw his arms around Dylan’s waist, his fingers grasping great handfuls of robe. There came a muffled sniff, then what sounded very much like a sob.
He pressed a cheek to the man’s crown. “Are you… crying?” He couldn’t recall Tracker ever showing such emotion before. Perhaps a few unshed tears, but never anything stronger.
A faint, watery hum of affirmation bubbled along Dylan’s chest. “I thought I had lost everything again,” Tracker said, his voice muffled by fabric. “I did not think you would listen to me long enough.”
I almost didn’t. He drew the hound tight to him, wrapping his arms around the elf’s shoulders, squeezing until he’d no more strength. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the man’s hair. “I acted like such an arse. I was upset and I didn’t— The way I treated you was undeservedly cruel.”
Tracker’s shoulders shook in muffled laughter and the man’s grip around Dylan’s waist tightened. “At least you admit it, now. And I have endured far worse.”
“That doesn’t excuse my behaviour. I am truly sorry for it.”
Tracker tipped his head back, a slightly bashful smile gracing his lips. “Apology accepted.” He held up his hand, revealing a thin circlet of what look to be lavender. “And you might as well have this. I made it with you in mind.” He rubbed at his neck. “Which did not sound quite so stupid several hours ago.”
Dylan took in the woven circlet. “A crown of flowers?”
“A garland, actually.” Stretching up, the hound carefully lowered the lavender over Dylan’s head.
Oh. He smiled. “You know, in elven circles this would be—” He fell silent as the man gently thwacked Dylan’s back with his hand.
“Maybe you have forgotten that I am an elf? I know what they represent.”
Dylan fingered the wreath. His touch crushed a few of the buds, letting their scent drift on the gentle breeze. If the man was aware of what it symbolised, the intent of a lifelong partnership, then he was a little more serious about this than Dylan first thought. “I thought you weren’t interested in that part of your heritage, that you were nothing but a hound.”
“Well, I do recall a man once telling me I could serve both.” He stepped out of Dylan’s arms and straightened his jerkin. “In this case, however, I am a hound no longer. I am keeping the name, though. It has grown on me.”
“Why just lavender?” Most of the wreaths he’d read about—and a few he’d witnessed being made by the tower servants—had been crafted from a number of flowers, all symbolising different promises the giver intended to keep. Lavender meant peace, gentleness. Love.
Tracker rubbed at his neck. “I will admit I am not sure as to the meaning behind the flower combinations, but I recall you have a fondness for their scent. Every time we happen upon them in the wild or a cart selling them in the markets, your steps slow almost to a halt and you breathe so deep, then you get this faraway look in your eye and… Well, you seemed more at ease with the world.”
Dylan looked up from the garland, his mouth dropping open. It’d been a while since he last came across any lavender. “You remembered?”
Tracker hummed. “Part of our training involves recollection. I was groomed to be a tracker because of my ability to remember details very vividly.” He held out his hand. “Come, the shadows usually keep any prying eyes from discovering us, but I would prefer not taking that chance.”
They walked through the garden, their fingers linked companionably.
Dylan’s thoughts tumbled over the last seven weeks. All this time, the elf had given no indication that he was interested in more than sex. Or had he? All those questions. They’d started innocently enough early on. But the latter ones? Clearly, Tracker had been doing more than just trying to distract him. “Exactly how long have you felt this way about me?”
Tracker sighed as he settled on a secluded bench in one of the alcoves. “It feels like forever.”
He sat next to the man. “Not when we first started travelling together, surely.” He remembered the old fairytales the guardians used to read aloud to the children. Love at first sight didn’t exist.
“No. Although I did gain a certain fondness for your presence before we reached Oldmarsh. And I know I teased you mercilessly.” He rubbed at his forearm. “Then we reached the tower and—”
“If you tell me that you fell for me after we first ha
d sex, I’ll thump you.”
Tracker chuckled. “Nothing like that, no. You did not exactly seem open to the idea of continuing any sort of relationship at the time. Truly, I am not entirely sure when. Maybe a week or so afterwards?”
“Maybe?” Dylan could admit readily enough as to not knowing much about how love worked, but surely people knew. Like I did? He frowned. How long had he felt this way about the man?
“It could have been sooner,” Tracker said. “I tried to convince myself it was merely fun, but I have never been good at lying to myself. Or others it would seem.” Sighing, wet his lips and stared out at the moonlit garden. “I am not sure how long we can be together before the other hounds find out. Our fraternising is not something they will look kindly on.”
“So you’ve said.”
Tracker glanced at him out the corner of his eye. “It would probably be easier if we parted ways rather than continue this affair. For the both of us.”
“Quite likely.”
Tracker leant against him. “I truly did not think my heart would dare risk this again.” His head lifted, one cheek pressed against Dylan’s shoulder. “But I want you so very much.”
A smile tweaked Dylan’s lips. “I know,” he breathed against the man’s mouth. He could feel Tracker straining against him, waiting for Dylan to make the first move. But there was something he needed to be sure of first. “Are you really sure about this? If you thought I was using you before, I don’t see how—”
“I lied,” the man smoothly interrupted him. Those honey-coloured eyes lifted. Old pain haunted their depths. A small, wavering smile curved his lips. “Hearing you with Authril, knowing that you would rather be with her than me…”
“I thought you didn’t get jealous.”
Tracker sat back, giving Dylan’s shoulder a gentle whack. “You heartless creature,” he whispered. “Do not sound so smug! I could barely stand the very idea that you would rather be used by that…” He sputtered, the right word clearly beyond him. “…woman than be with me. Do you think I was unaware of what you were doing? Seeking to hurt me?” He sighed. “I was so angry that one day was all it took for her to wheedle her way back into your bed. So I lashed back, but what I said was simply untrue. And utterly childish, I know. Not one of my proudest moments.”