“Mere mild curiosity. The climate here must be similar to that kingdom they carved for themselves in the east. They run hotter than humans, did you know that?”
Hamish shook his head. He knew very little about elves, most of it from books or second-hand, and sometimes third-hand, recounting.
“I merely wondered how they had adapted to a cooler climate, it might have helped back home.” The ambassador’s words drifted, his attention seemingly drawn to the clanging of a smithy. Then his head snapped back around, all focus narrowed on Hamish. “You get snow here, correct? What is that like?”
“Cold?” Hamish mumbled. Just what sort of answer did Darshan expect from him? “Wet?” He’d a multitude of unpleasant memories consisting of days trudging through knee-deep snow, be it during his youth training alongside his father and siblings or searching for lost livestock as an adult. “It’s difficult to move through when it first goes down and the whole world’s muffled like you’re hearing it through a thick blanket.”
“I am almost sorry I shall not be around long enough to witness it.”
“Do you nae have snow? The border of Udynea cannae be that far south that it avoids a harsher winter. Or do you spellsters alter the weather there?”
Darshan’s mouth dropped open. “Gods, no!” he spluttered. “Only a madman who believes himself a god would tamper with something as complex as the weather. Never mind the vastness of magical energy that would be required, just one wrong action could throw an entire estate into a barren mess.”
Despite the late afternoon sun warming Hamish’s shoulders, coldness seeped through his skin. At no stage had Darshan said it was impossible. If a single man could cause a drought, then they could weaken a village without any loss of life on their side.
Was that why his mother seemed intent on forming an alliance with known spellsters and slavers, rather than constantly objecting to the presence of Udynean traders crossing the southern border?
The sky had turned into a mixture of dusty-pinks and yellows by the time their horses trudged through the castle gates. The change of guard meant there were twice as many eyes watching them enter. A few of the more knowledgeable men gave Hamish a smirk, whilst some others shook their heads as if he were some unruly child.
“I thank you for indulging me,” Darshan said, his voice carrying across the courtyard where Hamish knew the straining ears of the guards readily collected every word. “Your escort around Mullhind was most insightful.” The ambassador gracefully slid off Warrior’s back, his head swinging from one side to the other in search of something.
It wasn’t until Hamish caught the man fiddling with the end of the reins that he realised what Darshan was looking for. “Come on.” He jerked his head towards the stables, leading his mare into the dark opening. “We unsaddle our own mounts here.”
“Truly?” The word wobbled on a light tone, surprise making it almost incoherent. “How terribly rustic.” Both pony and rider caught up to Hamish with a brief trot. “I am afraid you shall have to show me, your saddles are a mite more complicated than what I am used to. Our riding gear rather lacks the straps on the animal’s chest, or under the tail, unless they happen to be carthorses.”
Hamish halted in the stables. “They come off easily enough. Here, I’ll show you.” With a few quick movements, he unbuckled both the breastplate and crupper on his mare’s saddle, waiting until Darshan mimicked him before leaving the man to the rest and returning to his mare do the same. “I take it that you dinnae do a lot of travelling on hills.”
“Our roads tend to wind around the steep ones,” Darshan replied between grunts as he fought to release the girth buckle.
After a few moments, Hamish took pity on him and undid that, too. He hauled off the saddles one by one and placed them on the racks with the rest of the horse tack before idly snatching up a couple of brushes and handing one to the ambassador.
Darshan looked oddly amused by the gesture, even as he took the brush. “Do you not have stablehands who do all this for you?”
“Aye,” he murmured, turning his back on the man to focus on grooming his horse. He softly hummed to himself as he worked. Most of the time, he left the stablehands to their jobs, but there was something soothing about brushing the accumulated dirt and sweat from the mare’s back after a long day. And it took time to get her spotless. Whatever lazy moments he wasted here was less he had to spend in the castle.
Hamish circled around to the mare’s far side and glanced over to the other pair as he continued to groom her back. Darshan was tending to Warrior, not perhaps as vigorously as the pony’s owner, but methodically.
What could he get away with asking in regards to magic before the man thought it as prying? There wouldn’t be many times afforded to him like this where he could enquire about any limitations. He wet his lips. “I noticed earlier that you didnae mention whether it is possible to control the weather.” He focused on his horse’s back as if brushing her was far more important.
Darshan jumped and a crackling sheen of purple outlined him for a heartbeat. He whirled to face Hamish, his face having gained the slightly sallow look of shock.
“I didnae mean to pry,” Hamish hastily said.
“No, that is not— I merely—” He laid a bejewelled hand on his chest. “My thoughts were miles away until you spoke.” His lips twisted into a strange smile, the
