Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “Yes. Glad it wasn’t too subtle.”

  “Not too subtle, no,” he said with a laugh. “I won’t say anything to my parents until you’ve spoken to yours. But I wish you didn’t have to go back so soon.”

  “Ah, duty, your highness. Always duty, as you yourself are forever reminding me.” Miki stole another quick kiss but people were approaching so he stepped back. “Are you sure they’ll approve?”

  “Of course! You’re the man I love, what can they object to? And if they do, I’ll run away with you.”

  Miki smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “As your almost betrothed, your highness, I think it’s incumbent upon me to mention the fact you smell.”

  “As your almost betrothed, I shall courteously overlook the insult, your grace. Come to my rooms tonight? After dinner with my family?”

  Miki bowed. “Of course. We can’t waste the time we have. You’ve made me a very happy man.” His eyes narrowed a little as he added in a whisper, “I intend to prove how happy when we’re alone.”

  “Just be a little more careful of my tender arse this time, you oaf. Remember, it’s got to last you a lifetime now.”

  “I shall treat it with the utmost respect from now on, your highness. Until this evening?”

  Juimei squeezed his arm again and then Miki walked off, being claimed by his friends. Was there anything better to look forward to on one’s birthday? He almost wished he could get out of the meal with his parents, though he knew he’d enjoy it, all the more for the victory this afternoon.

  But he did smell, and he needed to get back to the palace for a wash. He turned to find Neime—and saw his page standing in the shadows near the door, expression unhappy, mouth turned down.

  “You asked him.”

  “Yes, I did. Not a word to anyone until it’s formally announced. You know how these things are done.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  Juimei came closer to the lad. “He’s really a decent fellow once you get to know him. He loves me—he only wants the best for me.”

  Neime’s chin tilted up. “I’m glad he loves you. I want you to be happy.”

  Juimei put his hand on Neime’s shoulder. “I want you to be happy too. Won’t you stay with me, at least for a while?”

  “If you want me to, I will. It won’t be me asking to leave. I made an oath, remember?”

  “I remember. I just want you and Mikinze to be polite to each other. I need all the people I love around me.”

  “To the end of my days, your highness. I am so sworn.”

  Juimei smiled and ruffled his hair. “Don’t make it sound so much like a sentence, lad. It’ll be fine. But for now, I’m muddy and disgusting and the steam room is calling to me. Come on—no long faces. It’s my birthday—I forbid it.”

  “Of course, your highness.” He plastered a huge and idiotic grin on his face and Juimei laughed at him. “What?”

  “I think I prefer the scowls. Let’s go.”

  Home Ground: 2

  The week until Miki’s departure flew by, however much Juimei wanted to delay it—and there was much to discuss. They agreed Miki would approach the council and apply to be a member, an appointment which was virtually assured. Juimei, in turn, would arrange to spend part of the year on Miki’s estates. Such a peripatetic existence wasn’t perfectly satisfactory, but among the nobles at court, not particularly unusual. At least his parents would have his brothers for companionship when he went southwest with his mate.

  Discussions only took up some of the time—the rest of it was spent in feverish lovemaking and frankly romantic dinners. Neime made himself scarce with a tact Juimei appreciated, but wished wasn’t necessary. At least the issue of Miki’s disapproval of his attitude didn’t come up again. Juimei didn’t want to spoil these few days together with petty arguments over his household, and he was sure Neime’s attitude would improve over time.

  Finally Miki departed, and Juimei was left to fill his time once more with his duties and his sport. The weeks that followed dragged as slowly as the days before had sped past, and Juimei found it hard to conceal his eagerness for the seasons to turn and his lover to return once more. He threw himself into doig-ito, easy to do since his team’s success in the spring was followed by yet more during the summer—the crowds now expected the home side to win, and usually they did. His parents rarely missed a match—or an opportunity to suggest there were safer ways for their youngest child to spend his leisure hours.

  For his own part, Juimei welcomed the physical exhaustion of the game, and the comradeship of his teammates helped ease the loneliness somewhat. He enjoyed the popularity winning brought him and his team, but he was now old enough to be cynical about it. It would only take a short run of losing games for the crowds to lose their enthusiasm. For now, he just enjoyed it for what it was, knowing that once he was bonded to Mikinze, he would most likely have to give this up—he would have to give all his energies to his mate and his duties, as was only proper. A small part of him thought he maybe wasn’t quite ready to settle down, but he only had to remember the last time he’d made love to Miki to know there could be many compensations for giving up doig-ito.

  The summer slowly edged its way towards autumn, and Juimei’s impatience grew. Still, there were many things to occupy him—his oldest brother and sister-in-law had their third child, a healthy girl, and his other brother’s wife announced she was pregnant for the first time. Their parents positively glowed with happiness at the news, and Juimei held his breath, expecting one of them to hint about how it was time he settled down and started a family of his own. His mother made a remark or two which left him wondering if she had guessed his secret, but nothing more was said, thank Sephiz, and though he was much in demand at the high summer ball, the usual jockeying for his attention as a potential partner was not followed, as it sometimes had been, by artless matchmaking by his sisters-in-law. Love them both as he did, he had occasionally got a little irritated by their belief that everyone should be married with children. Children he liked fine, the idea of being married he liked fine. But he had wanted to wait for the perfect partner, and now he had found one. Children, sadly, would not be possible, but it looked like being an uncle would be a full time job, if his brothers kept up this pace.

  Mikinze had not mentioned children—perhaps they needed to discuss that too. But like him, Miki had siblings with offspring a-plenty. Both families had secured their dynasties quite healthily. Neither of them would feel any great pressure to procreate, at least not for that reason. Once the intention to bond was announced, all such talk would end. Love was the important factor, in all things. If Sephiz had thought it essential that he should breed, then either he or Miki would be female, simple as that.

  The first frosty night and the chill morning that followed, announcing the arrival of autumn, put a spring in his step and a smile on his lips. “In four weeks, he’ll be back, Neime,” he said as they ate lunch, forgetting, until he said the words, that this was not necessarily good news for his page. Neime hadn’t mentioned the upcoming betrothal even once since Miki’s departure. Juimei suspected he hope the arrangement would quietly die—not a chance of that, though.

  Neime only bowed his head a little. “It’ll be a time of joy for you. I’ll do all I can to help it work for you.”

  “Will you?” Juimei said, startled and pleased at the declaration. “Then you’ve already made me happy. This will the start of a new adventure in my life—a great partnership. Miki and I will accomplish many things together, I feel it in my water.”

  “I’m sure you will, your highness,” Neime said neutrally.

  “Come now, lad, don’t get all stiff and cold with me. This will be a great adventure for you too—travelling to new parts of Andon, new responsibilities. You could be chamberlain one of these years.”

  “Perhaps,” Neime said, smiling a little. “It’s not something I’ve an ambition to do. Hadn�
��t we better be leaving?”

  “Sephiz’s beard, yes, we had.”

  He’d let himself be distracted, but if they were going to win the match this afternoon, he had to get his mind off his lover and onto the more mundane matter of doigs and itos. This wasn’t a big event—just a friendly between the palace team and the army, a warm up for the final tournament of the season in a week’s time. More games might get played after that, depending on the weather, but at this time of year, the first snows could come at any time, and then it became too dangerous to play. Ice-ito was fun too, but it would be two months at least before the lakes froze hard enough for that. Normally he wouldn’t be looking forward to the interval, but this year, he had more than enough to fill his thoughts.

  He smiled to himself as they made their way to the palace stables. Next year, he’d be playing ice-ito on the lakes on Miki’s estate—and maybe he could finally interest his mate in a sport he loved himself. Miki disliked doig-ito because of the mud and the mess, but the ice form was far cleaner and faster. Yes, Juimei had high hopes of getting his fastidious lover onto skates within a year.

  They encountered his mother in the courtyard, carrying a basket of baby clothes and other mysterious items. “Ah, off for another match, Jui?”

  Juimei bowed. “Yes, Mother. Are you coming to watch?”

  “Not today, dear—I’ve got a meeting with some of the council and then I’m visiting Lekwinu and the baby. She wanted some advice and some reassurance, I think. You should be finished early, I believe? Isn’t it just the single game?”

  “Yes—I could come to their apartments for drizu after.”

  “Clean up first, won’t you?”

  He grinned and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry—I’ll be scrubbed and presentable. Say hello to them both and tell them to get ready for uncle Jui.”

  “I don’t know there’s enough warning in the world for that. How are you, Neime?”

  Neime bowed. “Very well, your majesty. Do you mind if I come along too?”

  “Not at all—Lekwinu’s very fond of you, you know. More than this great oaf,” she said, chucking Juimei’s chin.

  “Charming. Rejected by my own kin. How can I bear it?”

  “With your usual grace,” she said dryly. “Well, be off with you—make sure you win.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And make sure that helmet’s on tight this time.”

  “Yes, Mother. It was a broken strap, you know. It’s not like I tied it badly.”

  “Hmmm. Neime, you make sure you check the strap. Go on.” She shooed them off, and grinning, Juimei did as he was told.

  “It’s a new helmet anyway,” Neime said quietly.

  “I know, she just worries. I probably won’t need the gear any more after the end of this season.”

  Neime stopped. “Why?”

  “No time. When I’m here, I’ll have to be working on court business, and when on the estate, I’ll have to work on Miki’s.”

  “Oh. I never thought about that. But you love doig-ito.”

  “Yes, I do. But I love Mikinze more, and I’m prepared to make that sacrifice. You could take over for me as palace champion though,” he said teasingly.

  “No thanks. Unlike a certain prince of the blood, I like to look after my bottom.”

  “Cheeky brat. Come on.”

  More people had come to watch than he expected, and his appearance on the field was greeted with enthusiastic cheers, which he acknowledged with a wave. This was a highly informal event, and no one stood on ceremony around him—even less than they usually did. People called his name and yelled out encouragement in fairly earthy terms—just as they did to the army players. He would miss this a great deal, he thought wistfully. This more than the big matches in a way, for being equal, part of a team where every man counted for themselves, was a precious thing if you were born in the royal line. It was only here—or in bed with Miki—that he could really set aside the fact he was a prince, born to great privilege and responsibility. He didn’t resent the fact of his birth—but it was sometimes nice to pretend he was just an ordinary man. It was very restful.

  It was only a two-side match, so there was a lot more ground to cover. He almost preferred two-side, because the riding was a lot faster and more furious, the ito flew higher and harder, and in his opinion, there was more skill involved, at least in manoeuvring the doigs and anticipating the flight of the ito. The army were merciless players too, and not above some damn dirty tricks—more than once, Juimei blocked a seemingly accidental strike against his animal’s rump. “Curse you, keep your stick to yourself!” he yelled at the offending groi after the second attempt, but then had to jump for it as the ito flew his way and the game pressed on.

  Dust rose from the much-travelled field, too late in the season to have any protective grass. The hooves of the doigs sounded like winter hail against the constant cheers and encouragement of the crowds, the smack of stick on stick, the yells from the teams crying out tactics, punctuating the noise. Back and forth, high and wide, the ito flew, and the goals mounted up, a closer game than he’d been used to of late, and everyone nursed bumps and bruises from enthusiastically—or maliciously—wielded sticks. “Your men need to learn some bloody manners,” he cursed at the army team’s leader as they jostled for position in the line up for a new throw.

  “You’re just too soft, your highness,” the man said with a sneer. “This is how real men play.”

  “Oh? I thought real men used their balls for better things—my mistake. Obviously you army types wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Don’t you worry, we’ve got balls to spare—”

  “Heads up!” the marshal called, and the ito came their way, cutting off the jiren’s banter. Juimei had to jump for it, but managed to sweep the ito away from the range of the officer, then he whipped up his mount and pounded across the field.

  “To me, Jui!” Tetwei yelled. “Hurry!”

  The danger was behind him, he knew, so he stood to fling the ito from the catcher towards his second. He leaned forward—and was flung back as his doig jerked and then bucked ferociously. He struggled to get control, and tossed the ito ungracefully before turning to find that cursed groi behind him.

  “My beast bit yours—accident, I swear!”

  “Keep away from me, you little shit!”

  The marshal was looking their way, but Juimei did nothing to call his attention. It was all part of the rough and tumble—the rough was just a bit worse than usual. But he’d get that little bastard back if he could.

  At half-time, it was time for strategy. “I’ll kill the next man who hits me with his damn stick,” Tetwei growled, rubbing his arm, and glaring balefully over at the army team. “What’s got into them?”

  “Their tezrei wasn’t too happy they lost to us in the tournament last month. I think he said they’d let the reputation of the army down,” Lonizig said.

  “So they’re taking that out on us?” Juimei said. He coughed and spat—damn dust got into everything—then swilled out his mouth with the water Neime handed him. “I thought they had more honour than that.”

  “Not all of them—just that groi and that bloody jiren. He’s new,” Tetwei said.

  “Then I think, lads, it’s up to the palace to teach them a few manners, don’t you think?”

  They were only a goal ahead, and Army levelled it within minutes. Juimei was determined that was the last flight they’d make this game. At the break, they’d identified the strongest Army players, and now they put the tactics into play, boxing those riders in mercilessly, and giving them no room to throw or to defend. It made tempers worse, and sticks were now being employed without much discretion—players from both teams were sent off, and the marshal told them sternly to knock it off, before giving Army a free throw. That made Juimei grind his teeth with frustration—no way was it fair—but it was the game, and the game had to be won.

  Godo hooked the ito and fled with it. Juimei pounded after h
im to help him defend, but found himself hounded by three Army—returning the compliment, it seemed. Time and again their mounts jostled his as he fought for possession of the ito, and he was forced to watch helplessly as Tetwei fumbled it and lost it to Army again. His oppressors suddenly abandoned him to charge after their teammate, and Juimei belted after them. The man with the ito was one of their worst players, couldn’t fly an ito for a bag of seed.

  “Watch him—he throws badly,” he said to Godo as his teammate galloped close. “Be ready!”

  Godo saluted, and sure enough, the ito went wild, well out of quarter. Tetwei hooked it, flung to Godo, who tossed it immediately to Juimei. He raced off towards their goal end, but here came those bloody Army thugs again, determined to stop him getting a clear throw. Tetwei was ready, positioned discreetly, looking as if he was defending, but ready to take Juimei’s play. Juimei kept up the pace, the riders pursuing him.

  “To me! Jui, to me!”

  Riders bore down on him fast. Tetwei was right where he needed to be, so Juimei raised his arm to throw—and was flung from his doig as a thundering mount crashed into his, the animals colliding with angry screams, sending him hard across the dirt, his unprotected hands scraping painfully. The crowd roared in dismay at the fall of the favourite, like thunder over the squeals and snorts of the panicking animals, but he was too distracted by the immediate danger, aware of flying hooves and wildly cavorting beasts too close to him. Hemmed in by the doigs, he instinctively covered his head, but a moment later something powerful and heavy hit his helmet, knocking him sideways, dazing him.

  “Jui!”

  He didn’t know who yelled. Something struck him hard in the stomach, and he curled over the pain, all the breath driven out of him, his vision whiting out.

  “Jui, watch out!”

  He never did find out what for.

  Home Ground: 3

  “Squeeze again, your highness? Very good. Try your toes again? And again? Thank you.”