“Nae but there is your magic,” Hamish pointed out.
“There is little magic I can do that would be useful in any of the trials and not also immediately give away my status as a spellster. Which I gather your mother would see as just as heinous a crime even if I were not a man.”
He was right there. “Nae to mention me mum will claim that you snuck into the contest under the guise of a woman.” And probably a fake name, now he thought about it. His mother would likely try to nullify Darshan’s victory on that reasoning alone.
“I wear only what the other competitors do.” Darshan tugged at the front of his drab-coloured shirt, the overcoat having already been discarded alongside the scarf sometime during their conversation. “Are they not disguised as well?”
“They do it to conceal their clan, nae their gender.” How much damage would removing Darshan do? Could it be done quietly? Would the damage be enough for the other competitors to wonder if the prize was worth winning? Would the other clans seek revenge over the deception?
Darshan brushed the distinction aside with a sweep of his hand. “I have gone beyond caring over such trifling details. Your brother said there is nothing apart from your mother’s stubbornness that can stop me from competing, so compete I shall.”
“There is one thing. I could tell you nae to do it. To forfeit.” It would mean letting the contest play out as he had been dreading only this morning, but it would also keep Darshan and the Udynea Empire out of whatever mess happened at the end. “Would you listen to me if I did?” Although, it could wind up drawing more attention. Maybe the only way to avoid chaos would be for Darshan to carry on, regardless of how Hamish felt.
Confusion twisted his lover’s brows. “If the competition was fair, perhaps. But I am taking you from this place one way or the other. I will not leave you here to die. I simply refuse to let that come to pass.” Darshan strode towards him, determination squaring his jaw. “I have trod the murky depths alone for so long that you blinded me when we first met, but I have basked in your light long enough to know that at your side is where I wish to be.”
Hamish swallowed, attempting to clear his throat. Should his chest feel this tight at being faced with such an admission?
“But know this: losing you, returning home without my light in the dark, is not something I am prepared to go through. I cannot bear the thought of it. Whether you feel the same way or not, I just cannot leave without at least trying to—”
“I do.” The words came out in a rush, almost breathless with fear. They hung in the air between them.
His lover had fallen silent, seemingly content to just stare at him with that hopeful little gleam in his eyes that served only to twist Hamish’s stomach into a tighter knot.
Hamish hung his head. “I ken me brother spoke to you.” Even without Darshan confessing to that, it was obvious. “The thing is, he certainly would’ve used how I feel about you as the carrot to get you where you’re standing.”
Darshan smiled. He held one elbow in his hand and stroked his chin. “And was he wrong? About your feelings?” There was a soft skew to his mouth, a certainty that he already knew the answer was in his favour.
“Whatever he said…” Hamish breathed deep. He was all but offering his heart on a platter to Darshan and still couldn’t be entirely certain the man wasn’t toying with him on some level. “It’s true.” He mimicked the gesture of pressing his hand to the man’s chest. “You are my light,” he attempted in Udynean, the words thick on his tongue.
Darshan winced, just the faint deepening of the wrinkles around his eyes. “Your accent is still atrocious.” But he grinned. Beaming like the breaking of a new spring day after a month of winter storms. “Of course you love me. Everybody does.” He laid his hand atop Hamish’s keeping it firmly pressed to his chest. “I simply emit loveliness.”
“Uh-huh.” Modesty, too. “You think I sound bad? This coming from the man who still cannae use contractions in Tirglasian.”
“They sound weird. But we shall need to work on your language skills some more, especially since I am taking you home.” Such conviction ran through the words that Hamish couldn’t help but grow giddy on that river of hope.
“Oh, aye?” He wrapped his free arm around the man’s waist and pulled Darshan flush against him. “Am I going to need more of your native tongue?”
Laughing, Darshan tipped his head back. “Not letting that one go, are we?”
“Never, me heart,” he murmured, nuzzling along his lover’s neck.
A faint, contented hum flexed the muscles and tendons beneath the flushed skin Hamish was busily kissing. “That one is new. I like it.” He pushed them apart a ways, eyeing Hamish. “Did you truly not realise it was me?”
“I thought the walk was a little familiar, but other than that?” He shook his head. Only the sudden change of Darshan’s higher voice to the man’s natural tone had alerted him to the truth. “It was you about to enter the tunnel entrance that finally tugged at me curiosity.”
“I shall attempt to be a little more discreet in making use of the tunnel. And is my walk distinctive enough that I shall need to remedy it?”
Hamish shook his head. Few would’ve been in the man’s presence long enough to notice, much less make the connection. And of those few, none would want to see Darshan exposed. “Would it make a difference either way?” Trying to affect another stance could draw just as much attention.
“Not really, if we are being honest.” He cocked his
