Not enough. And he certainly couldn’t use the same trick twice without people finding it suspicious. He would have to win one point without such aid.
Darshan lingered at the railing whilst the children wandered off to watch yet another duel. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He should’ve thought of using his magic sooner, then he would’ve had time to practice such a feat. Sparring with Gordon wouldn’t be at all possible now, not without earning attention.
“I hope the scamps have nae been bothering you,” Hamish said, causing Darshan to look around for his lover.
Hamish stood not that far away, leaning on the arena railing.
“They were no bother.” In truth, it had been somewhat of an education listening to how they would’ve countered particular moves. Perhaps he should’ve trained with them as well. The children weren’t as impressive in stature as their uncle, but the two older ones weren’t far off from his own height.
“Really? I hear they’ve been making right pests of themselves so far.” Hamish tipped his head to one side. “You seemed a little uneasy in their presence.”
“Did I?” After Mac’s outburst, he had been waiting for the boy to voice even more of his opinion on the sort of person Hamish would prefer marrying. Mercifully, the boy had remained silent on that topic. “I do not mind the presence of other people’s children. It is the thought of having my own that is mildly horrific.”
A number of his sisters had learnt the unfortunate way that the Crystal Court was a hazardous place for a family, especially when they’d a killer within the bloodline.
Not that the court needed Onella’s assistance in thinning the imperial family. He recalled little of his early childhood years beyond Nanny Daama’s teachings, but the records on his twin and himself were rife with reports of assassination attempts. At least one from a governess his father had selected from a supposedly trustworthy few.
Hamish’s brows twitched downwards before the man seemed to become conscious of the movement and smoothed his features. His lips parted, but that too halted.
Darshan’s gaze drifted to their surroundings. There was nothing about the crowd that would spark an immediate alarm in regards to his proximity to Hamish. But that didn’t mean there weren’t any guards keeping the man under careful watch.
“I wonder,” he said, ensuring his voice was loud enough for those nearby to overhear. “Does his highness have the free time to explain a few of the finer points in all this sword clashing?” He squared his shoulders and pretended to ignore the snickers his question garnered. Playing the part of the clueless noble was an act he had become well accustomed to.
If he couldn’t attempt an actual practice with one Tirglasian prince to test how effective the magic attacks he had in mind would be, then he would have to settle with a theoretical conversation with the other and hope they were right.
Hamish smiled and stepped away from the arena railing. “I think I can manage a moment or two. How about a wee stroll whilst you explain what you find puzzling?”
I should’ve trained without my glasses. He might’ve been less able to keep up with Gordon—he had barely managed as it was—but at least he would’ve been prepared for this.
He could see his competitor, in a vague sense of the word. She paced before him like an impatient hound, standing at perhaps half a head taller than himself and swinging her sword. But whilst he could identify the being before him as human in shape, the details were blurred and overlaid by other impressions that he couldn’t pinpoint the source of.
Aiming with any precision was not going to happen. That didn’t entirely rule out the idea of sending a dusty blast her way. It did limit its effectiveness, though.
He dared to glance at the closest railing. The crowd was a blur of shifting colours. Hamish stood amongst them somewhere. He squinted briefly, trying to focus on the spots of orangey-red amongst the crowd, before giving up. Maybe it was best that he couldn’t be sure his lover was watching.
Darshan hefted his sword, testing the balance. The chosen weapons were clunky things in comparison to what he had briefly trained with back home. Even the Stamekians favoured the more graceful and swifter scimitars when magic wasn’t an option.
“Competitors,” bellowed that same deep voice he had heard all through yesterday’s duels. “Begin!”
No sooner than the words had left the man’s mouth, did Darshan’s opponent rush forward.
Darshan jerked back. A shield sputtered around him, mercifully clear. No, no, no. He couldn’t allow himself a sliver of magic, not until the right time.
Yet, suppressing the urge took a surprisingly great deal of concentration. Certainly more than he had bargained on.
He backed away from the woman, his sword raised in warning. I should’ve realised. The usage of magical shields was rooted in instinct, like breathing or blinking. But however much having even a thin barrier between him and a training sword might stop him from being hurt, he couldn’t risk it. Unless he was extremely lucky in not getting hit, casually shrugging off any lack of a reaction to a blow would draw the wrong sort of attention.
His opponent circled just beyond reach, her sword low and ready to strike at any opening. She feinted a few times, her blade darting this way and that as she tested his reaction.
Darshan mimicked her stance, keeping his balance on his toes. One thing he could do without rousing suspicion was to outlast her. His healing magic would see to it that his muscles didn’t tire as quickly, but it would require a great deal of dodging. Any hit on her part would only make her bold. A hit on his could bring
