by Aldrea Alien
“Perhaps,” Tracker conceded. “But I can always take you with me.”
There was a gentle knock on the door before it opened. The priestess who’d led them here peeked around the end. “Mother Wynn is ready to perform the ceremony. We would do well to not keep her waiting.”
They followed the woman back out into the vast chamber. The priestess indicated the far end of the room where an older woman stood at the foot of Olwyn’s statue.
Mother Wynn cocked her head as they halted before her, those dark eyes lingering far too long on Tracker for Dylan’s liking. “Our sister has briefed me on what you seek, but I will have your names before I do anything.”
“I would vastly prefer not to,” Tracker murmured, keeping his eyes lowered.
The priestess lifted her hand, indicating the pillar at her back. “Will you stand before Olwyn and sin, child?”
“Tracker,” his lover grated. “That is all I am.”
Mother Wynn turned to Dylan. “And you?”
He wasted little time in stammering out his name.
That only seemed to further crease her already heavily wrinkled brow. “Do neither of you have familial ties beyond the one you wish to form?”
Dylan shook his head. The closest thing he had to a family was Tricia, but he’d never known her as anything else. Didn’t even know if she’d been born beyond the tower or within it.
“Not ones I wish to admit,” Tracker muttered.
Mother Wynn sighed. “Very well. Since you are looking to be wed before dawn, let us make this quick. Clasp each other’s hands and begin your vows.” She indicated Dylan with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “You first, child.”
“M-me?” Dylan swallowed. His stolen clothes suddenly seemed far too restricting around his neck. “I really don’t know what to say.” What sort of promises did people make to each other when they married?
“Just speak what is in your heart.” Mother Wynn spread her arms. “You are in a place of worship, child. The gods will take heed of the honesty behind your words rather than their sweetness.”
“I…” Dylan locked his gaze with that of his lover’s and, as he fell into those patient and warm honey-coloured eyes, let his tongue have free rein. “You have always been there for me, even when I didn’t think I needed you.” His cheeks grew hot, but his mouth persisted. “I want to be there for you, to protect you, to be yours. And, no matter what, for you to know there will always be a place for you at my side as well as in my heart.”
“Wow,” Tracker breathed. “All that?” He grinned. “Are you absolutely certain you did not know what to say? Should I perhaps be glad you had no time to prepare a speech?” He glanced at Mother Wynn and added, “We are on a time constraint, after all.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Smart arse.”
“If you please,” Mother Wynn said to him before turning to Tracker. “Your turn, child.”
“From the heart, yes?” His lover frowned. Tracker gnawed at his bottom lip in silence for a good long while.
Dylan waited, hoping he exuded the same patience the man had shown earlier. He wasn’t certain how long he stood there before Tracker lifted his head, but it felt like eternity.
“I have not been able to choose much in my life and this…” His lover’s fingers tightened, squeezing Dylan’s hands until it bordered on painful. “Until you came into my life, I never considered this as a possibility, but you…” Tracker’s chest swelled as he took a deep breath and continued on in a rush. “I chose to take the steps leading to this, to you, my friend, my lover, and I willingly choose you as my husband. You mean more to me than I have ever dared to dream a person could be. You are the one I would rather die defending than live another day without, the one I willingly give up everything for.” He swallowed. “I am yours,” he breathed, “completely, now and always.”
Dylan stared, his vision slowly blurring with unshed tears until he blinked them free. His chest felt as if his heart had done several back flips, aching in the most amazing way. Was this how it was meant to feel? This warm and giddy sensation? He would never grow accustomed to this. Ever. “What was that you said about speeches?”
Tracker smiled. It was a small thing that wavered in the corners. “I have more, if you wish to hear it.”
“Maybe later.” Standing here, lit only by moonlight and candles, the prospect of later stretched on forever. “I’m pretty sure we’ve just sworn ourselves into a lifetime together.”
“Just the one?” Tracker cocked his head. “Does that mean I will have to hunt you down in the next?”
Dylan grinned, still giddy at the thought of spending a lifetime with his lover. “I’ll make finding me easier for you, I promise.”
A short, puff of laughter slipped out the elf’s nose. “Not too easy, I hope. I do enjoy a challenge.”
Mother Wynn cleared her throat. “If that is all you wish to say to each other, then do you have any tokens to exchange?”
“I most certainly do,” Tracker said, gently unhooking the earring from his lobe. He pressed the small piece of metal into Dylan’s hand. “I believe this is now yours.”
Dylan frowned at the earring. “I… don’t have anything to give you in return.” Not yet. Although, he certainly planned to rectify that as soon as he was able. It wouldn’t feel right to do otherwise.
His lover’s long fingers entwined with his. “I have you alive and whole. That is all I ever need.”
Mother Wynn placed her hands on their shoulders. “All-seeing ones,” she said, lifting her face to the ceiling. “These two men have pledged themselves to each other. May Olwyn see the truth in their words. May Cadwyn bind them to their pledge in each other, in this world and the next. If the gods will it, may the Arrow and the Bow protect them always. Torlan and Elan, guide them and light the way so Aerona may never seek to tear them apart.”
“I will be having stern words with her if she tries,” Tracker muttered, the words just audible. He winced, cringing from the priestess’ hand, which had tightened its grip on his shoulder. “My apologies, Mother.”
“Your union has been blessed, children,” she said, releasing them. “Do not waste what time you have left in each other’s presence standing here. Go. Before dawn takes to the sky.”
Bowing to the woman, Tracker maintained his grip on Dylan’s hand as they all but ran towards the temple entrance.
Dylan’s gaze drifted across the pillars. As much as he knew it was impossible, he couldn’t help but feel they were being watched. The feeling continued as they trotted down the stairs. It burrowed between his shoulder blades and refused to be dislodged.
“We should look for the other spellsters,” he said once they reached the bottom. “You can find them, can’t you? We could help them reach Dvärghem.” It might take them some time to accept what they’d see as a hound travelling amongst them, but once they also saw how Tracker meant them no harm…
Tracker sighed as he untied the horses’ reins from the post. “I could certainly try. Picking up their trail after so long would be tricky, but not impossible.” He cupped his hands to assist Dylan aboard his mount. “However, it could also put them in danger.”
Dylan frowned down at the elf from atop the horse. “How?”
“The other hounds made no mention towards knowing a few spellsters slipped through their net. However, they certainly do know we are out here and they will come after us. How persistent they are will depend largely on who is put in charge, but I have no great desire to lead even one of them right up to a group of defenceless children.”
Shit. The thought of accidently leading the hounds to his friends had crossed his mind—he’d just assumed Tracker would be capable of covering their trail well enough—but if his lover thought there could still be a chance… “There aren’t as many now.” Surely, after the havoc they wreaked in the old castle dungeon, the remaining hounds wouldn’t be so eager to send more than a couple after them.
Tracker vaulted aboard his horse and
turned the animal towards one of the streets leading down. “Even if we managed to find your friends, how would you explain us?”
How indeed. There was no getting around the fact of Tracker being a hound. Even if he’d revoked the title, his presence would still be a reminder of everything they’d lost. Dylan had only seen the aftermath. They had lived through that terror. And to find them again whilst Tracker was at his side, to stand by the elf and declare the man as his husband on top of all that, would only be picking at their wounds.
“No,” Dylan mumbled. As much as he wanted to see them one last time, to see them safely across the border, he didn’t wish to bring them more grief.
Tracker arched a brow at him. “You doubt they would be pleased?”
That was likely a gross understatement. “Do you think strolling up to them with a ‘Hey, I’m back and, by the way, do you remember the hound that likely reminds you of all the senseless killing back in the tower? Well, I’m unashamedly in love with him and we got married, but only after slaughtering a large chunk of the other hounds’ would work?” Because the more he thought on it, the more he doubted.
The man shrugged. “They might be cheered to hear the last part.”
If they even let Dylan speak long enough to mention it. “What about Katarina and Marin?” He didn’t know if the pair had left for Dvärghem, but they couldn’t have gotten far.
“They are somewhat less defenceless. Finding them we can do.” Tracker straightened and kneed the horse into a lazy trot. “But first, let us see about procuring supplies.”
~~~
Dylan leant back against the tree they’d spent the night under. He examined the earring Tracker had given him. The rising sun was high enough to leak small fingers of light through the trees, glinting off the silver dagger as it dangled in his fingers.
Beside him, Tracker slept on, the short coils of russet hair making a halo around his head. The man often woke before Dylan, but this time? Dylan smiled, fondly recalling the picture of the elf astride him, of his body lit by the moonlight and arched in ecstasy. Tracker had certainly earned a little extra rest after overworking himself.
A leaf drifted down from the sheltering branch to land on Dylan’s head. He plucked it from his hair and flicked it away. They’d a tent amongst their supplies—most of it procured only by trading one of the horses—but the night had been mild enough not to bother. He’d almost insisted, except…
Well, then he wouldn’t have the memory of Tracker in the moonlight. At least the blankets were thick enough to keep the morning chill at bay.
They’d set the other horse free as they’d pressed deeper into the forest. With luck, the hounds that were left would be thrown by the animal’s confusing wandering. At least, long enough for them to be far from Wintervale. But there was something else that needed doing before they went much further.
“Track?” Dylan gently shook the man’s shoulder.
His husband grumbled, swatting Dylan’s hand away, and burrowing deeper beneath the blankets.
Undeterred, Dylan bent over to press his lips against Tracker’s forehead. “Wake up,” he breathed.
Those gorgeous eyes fluttered open. His gaze locked on Dylan and a wide smile slowly creased his face. “Well now,” Tracker whispered, his voice hoarse. “Good morning, my darling husband.”
Dylan’s heart lurched at the address. That was going to take some getting used to. “I want to wear this,” he blurted, holding the earring between them. He’d spent all of yesterday terrified of losing it. Wearing the piece as it was intended seemed the best way to keep it safe.
Tracker sat up and stretched. “All right.”
“Really? That quickly? I thought it was painful?”
His husband laughed. “Briefly, yes. But your magic should make short work of that.” He plucked the earring from Dylan’s grip. “It is too bad we do not have a needle. It would make this easier.”
“Hold on.” Dylan twisted to grab his belt pouch from where it lay by their packs. Ever since Tracker had managed to get himself hurt by darting between an attacker and Dylan, he kept a length of thread and a needle. Both borrowed from the hedgewitch.
He unwound the thread, muttering to himself as it tangled with his razor handle—mercifully, he’d been allowed to keep such items on his person. But he was eventually able to unthread the needle and, after a brief moment with a little fire, present it to his husband.
Dylan turned his head, tilting it to gift Tracker unobstructed access to his right ear. “Be gentle,” he murmured.
His husband settled next to him, one russet brow raised. “It is a sliver of metal poking a hole into your flesh. It will hurt no matter what I do.”
“I know. Just… do it gently.”
“Gently?” Tracker echoed, gripping Dylan’s earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “As you like.”
There was a sharp pinch on his earlobe. “Ouch.” His ear tingled. Surprisingly, his magic didn’t rush to fix the injury.
“So delicate,” his husband chuckled. “I have yet to begin. That was just me trying to numb your ear a little first.”
“It still hurt,” he grumbled.
“Yes?” Tracker scoffed. “To think I first did this to myself as a boy using nothing but a needle and a shard of clouded glass. And seeing how sensitive my ears are in comparison…”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “I haven’t your hound training on handling unexpected pain.”
“Well then, I would recommend taking a deep breath, darling. I am about to use the needle and staying still would be preferable.”
Doing as instructed, Dylan also closed his eyes. There was a sharp sting as the tip of the needle pierced his skin, then another as it broke through the other side of his earlobe. His ear tingled as his innate healing tried to fix the injury.
“Keep staying still.” Tracker rubbed his fingers together, twisting the needle whilst it remained in Dylan’s ear. It tugged at the skin trying to seal against the metal. Soon, even that sensation stopped and Tracker removed the needle.
There was a gentler tug at his ear, followed by the slide of something passing back through the hole. A barely-perceived weight hung from his ear.
Then his husband released the earlobe. “All done!” Tracker announced.
Dylan tilted his head. The earring swung and the dagger tip brushed his skin. He shivered at the touch. That was going to take some getting used to. His gaze flicked to his husband. Tracker sat back on his heels, openly admiring his handiwork.
“How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” Tracker breathed, tipping forward to lightly place a kiss on Dylan’s cheek. “As always.”
Dylan brushed his now scorching cheek before moving on to finger the earring. He tugged at the piece. It was a strange sensation. Not quite painful, but definitely secure.
“Stop that. You will pull it through if you tug hard enough. Come.” The man bounced to his feet and started rolling up their blankets. “We should get going if we want to catch up to our dear hedgewitch and hunter.”
Dylan swiftly repacked his things, then helped cram the bedding into Tracker’s pack. “How do you even know they went this way?” It would’ve made far more sense for the hedgewitch to travel north from Wintervale than back the way they’d travelled.
“Because,” Tracker grunted between tugs of the pack’s ties. “I asked her to.”
Dylan paused in tying his pack shut. “You knew we’d be coming this way?” Their original plan had been to leave with the army and disappear once they reached the Udynean border. At least, that’d been Dylan’s understanding.
His husband grimaced. “I would hesitate to say I knew, more that I had hoped. We should have reached them by now, but I did not exactly expect us to be captured.” Tracker shouldered his pack. “If they are travelling slowly enough, then it could be a matter of hours before we are reunited or it could take days.”
Dylan shrugged into his own pack. “Let’s go, then.” He set off, dutifully m
arching behind Tracker to keep evidence of their direction to a minimum.
After the first day of trekking through the forest, it became apparent that the women weren’t taking their journey slow. By the second day, in which they were forced to double back a few times as Tracker followed the women’s trail, Dylan was beginning to wonder if the women left in this direction at all and they weren’t actually following their old footsteps.
Eventually, as the encroaching night started to darken the forest floor, Tracker dared to declare they were close.
“How can you tell?” Dylan asked, fighting off a yawn. He shuffled from one foot to the next in an effort to stay alert. Apart from that night three days back, he’d not managed to sleep all that easily. In the dark, his mind kept fixating on every little noise, unable to stop wondering if someone had found them.
His husband crouched by a large, leafy bush and lifted a branch. A loop of thin rope was pegged to the ground, waiting for unsuspecting prey. “One of Marin’s traps. She never leaves them behind.” He ran his fingers over the ground, lightly pressing the earth in several spots. “Judging by these footprints… They are that way.” Tracker nodded at the forest ahead of them. “After you, darling.”
Dylan slowly made his way through the undergrowth, treading the line between making enough noise to let the women know they were here and not crashing about like a wild boar. The last thing they needed was to startle Marin. She’d probably be very upset about shooting him, but he’d still have an arrow somewhere unpleasant. Providing she doesn’t outright kill me.
He paused for a moment, long enough to form a shield and turn the shimmering surface invisible. He’d seen the woman fight enough times to know her accuracy and, whilst he would like to think she wouldn’t harm him, there was no point being reckless.
The forest gave way to a small clearing. In it, the women had already set up camp, albeit that consisted of a single tent and a small, as-yet-unlit, fire. Both women faced the forest in his direction, Katarina with her dagger and Marine with her bow half drawn.
Dylan stood at the edge of the brush, holding his breath. He’d changed back into his robes at the first opportunity, favouring comfort over any chance of needing to disguise what he was. And although it was green, he was well aware of how little it blended with the surrounding foliage.