He couldn’t see the cloisters operating on the same low ratio of students to teachers, but perhaps the same number of spellsters walked those halls as did in the academy. It made sense, if he viewed it from a Tirglasian standpoint, for small groups of spellsters to be contained across the land rather than something like the massive prison setup they used in Demarn.
“They’re nae expecting us,” Gordon said. “Or you.”
Darshan frowned at the man. Had he heard a note of reassurance in Gordon’s voice? Did the man think Darshan held reservations about entering the cloister after asking to visit in the first place? Under ordinary circumstances, he supposed the average spellster would be at risk of confinement. Not that they called it as such. “It is kind of you to be concerned, but I already gathered my ambassadorial status grants me immunity from such laws. Was I wrong to think so?”
Gordon hastily shook his head, his flushed face having nothing to do with the mild heat of the pond.
“And I trust we shall be camping somewhere nearby after our visit?” He spied several places with room enough for a tent. Their camp might be a little more spaced out than usual, but it was doable.
“We’ll nae need to do that,” Sean said. “They’ve beds to spare.”
Bless. Actual beds with mattresses and pillows. He would even settle for something as lumpy as the back-aching bed he had left behind in the castle’s guest quarters. Anything to stall another night sleeping on the unforgiving ground.
“Single beds,” Zurron added. “One per room, typically. You’ll nae be able to sleep coiled up to your walking heat source.” The man waggled his brows suggestively. It was no secret that Darshan shared a tent with his lover, but the others clearly thought more was happening within than mundane slumber.
Gordon splashed the elf. “Dinnae you start again. Shut your gob and get out.” Taking his own advice, the man hauled himself out of the pond and started drying off.
One by one, the rest abandoned the warm water and hastened to their separate piles of clothing. Darshan lazily followed suit, turning his power to forming a barrier just around his body and heating the air within. It was an old trick that enabled him to dry off far quicker whilst also keeping the cool wind at bay.
He abandoned the Tirglasian-made attire in favour of his original garb, with the exception of the thicker undershirt. His sherwani was wrinkled from a week folded within the depths of his pack, but nothing a little moist heat couldn’t fix.
His gaze returned to the cloister as he did up the last few buttons. The priests must’ve had ways of keeping their charges within the walls. Hopefully, it would be made clear that he wasn’t to be a new addition to the spellster ranks.
Once clothed, the rest of the group returned to their mounts with a wordless syncing that spoke of a great many travels together. They’d done similar actions along the way.
Darshan strolled along behind them, his thoughts mostly elsewhere as he checked Warrior’s straps and tightened the pony’s girth. “I must admit,” he said, trying to maintain a light edge to the words. Not an easy task when the Tirglasian language already sounded quite harsh on his tongue. “I am surprised that all of you are quite laid back about me and…” He glanced his lover’s way, trying to gauge the man’s feelings on the matter of speaking openly when it came to who he desired.
Hamish showed none of the usual signs. No wincing, however minute. Not even the slight shifting of his gaze to suggest Darshan remained silent. Hamish merely went about his usual task of checking his horse’s straps before mounting, as casual as if Darshan had remarked on the cloudy nature of the sky.
“That is to say, the current sleeping arrangements,” Darshan continued. Although they hadn’t spent many nights sleeping in tents, he still felt the warmest snuggled against his lover. Not that they’d done more than slumber—no different to the rest of the group—but he supposed cruder minds would wander below the belt far more often. “I would have thought that such things were rare and—”
“Frowned upon?” Gordon finished. “Aye, and I wouldnae blame you for thinking it the truth after those bloody guards attacked you. Or what with how me Mum’s treated you. She’s certainly nae trying to be open-minded there.”
“Gor picked us because we’re nae likely to judge,” Zurron said, clambering aboard his horse.
“Your head’s full of tar if you think that’s the only reason,” Gordon snapped back at the guard.
“Aye,” Sean said. “We ken there are others, but it was a factor, you must admit that.”
Gordon shook his head. “The point these two lugs are trying to make is that they’ve personal experience with those who prefer the same gender. Zurron’s brother is a bit like you and ‘Mish.”
“A bit?” Darshan echoed.
“He’s married to a nice human lass from up in the northern farms now,” Zurron added. “But he’s always been just as fond of chasing men.”
Gordon bridged the gap between mounts to nudge his brother. “Didnae we try to have the pair of you step out for a bit?”
Hamish sneered whilst picking at his teeth with a fingernail. “Dinnae talk to me about him,” he grumped. “Nae offence, Zur, but your brother’s a prick.”
The elf laughed, rocking back in the saddle. “You cannae offend me there, I’ve called him far worse.”
“And Quinn’s brother was exactly like you two,” Gordon continued.
“Was?” Darshan echoed, his stomach twisting with the all-too-familiar queasiness of dread. He never liked that word. There’d been far too many instances of its use with his half-sisters. Had the man been a victim of that now-illegal practice innocently referred to as a hunt?
“He hung himself just last autumn.” There was just a little bit too much of a flippant edge to Gordon’s voice, an echo
