“Cheating against children,” Bruce murmured, sounding suitably aghast. The boy tut-tutted as though he were a man thrice his eleven years.
“Aye,” Ethan added. “That’s a low blow.”
Mac stuck out his tongue and blew a long flatulent noise. “If I had magic, I would use it all the time. You would, too. Dinnae deny it. You’re just sore you lost to him.”
Hamish frowned. After Darshan had proved he had told the truth about magic running through Hamish’s bloodline, his lover hadn’t said a word about whether the rest of Hamish’s family were spellsters or Nulled Ones. Any one of them could harbour a spark that would see them sent straight to the cloister. Or worse, be unable to be saved from illness or injury by some magical fix.
“Lads,” Gordon sharply cut in. “Dinnae badger.” The reprimand had barely left his lips before a chorus of apologies bubbled from the boys.
Hamish leant back against the yew tree they sat under. His mind sluggishly mulling over the trials.
Using his unique ability wouldn’t come without its own risks. Here, he had relatively few distractions and no sudden gusts to compete with. Fortunately, he would be standing amongst the competitors to aim the arrow they must beat, so his presence there wouldn’t be suspicious. Would they think it strange if he stood directly behind one? Would he need to mimic the move for each archer?
He gnawed on a thumbnail. He already planned to gift the ruby heart to Darshan. Surely showing concern over the possibility of the one who had gained his favour failing would be a natural one. Hadn’t Nora been practically beside herself at the notion of Calder failing? Aye. Hamish might’ve been quite young when Gordon had married, but he’d a vague recollection of his brother being the same.
Ethan sat back, eyeing the yew tree. He’d been slowly chewing for some time, like a cow with its cud, and only now finally swallowed what had to be paste. “Do you think—since we’re here—we could do the forest run?”
Mac bounced on the spot. “Can we?” Half-chewed crumbs of bread flicked out his mouth as he spoke. “Please. We havenae done it in ages.”
“I would very much like to see it,” Darshan murmured, delicately brushing off the crumbs the boy had managed to spray onto his trousers. “Where does it begin?”
Gordon patted the yew trunk. “Right here,” he replied around a mouthful of bread and cheese. “It’d be a bit hollow for you lads to attempt it without anyone aiming at you, but I dinnae see why not.”
“We could play root ‘em out,” Mac said, still bouncing. His brothers perked up at the suggestion. “Us against you three.”
By the gleam in Gordon’s eyes and the slight lift if his mouth, Hamish knew his brother already agreed to the idea. Still, he made a show of mulling it over, stroking his beard and humming. “I suppose that would be a good way to test your aptitude for stealth. A little better than sneaking into the kitchens at night,” he added with a conspiratorial wink. “We’ll give you lads to the count of—” He jiggled his hands as if comparing weights. “Let’s say to twenty. That should be plenty of time for you scamps to make yourselves scarce.”
“One,” Hamish began, standing. “Two…”
Like a warren of flushed rabbits, his nephews scrambled to their feet and raced into the forest.
Darshan stood alongside Hamish. “It shall be safe for us to wander through? Are they not preparing it for tomorrow? Will they not notice our presence?”
Hamish shook his head. “Naebody comes here.” Not often, at least.
“Nae until tomorrow,” Gordon added. “Then everybody will.” He swallowed the last of his meal and took a generous swig from the water skin. “The trial consists of a run through the forests along the hills just beyond those trees.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Make it from here to a specified line on the other side without being hit and it’s through to the final round.”
Darshan peered at the forest, one brow cocked. “Hit by what?”
“It’s nae dangerous,” Gordon insisted. “Dinnae be concerned about that. I reckon if you keep that shield of yours handy, they’ll nae be able to touch you. And you’ll nae need to fash over being the first, either. You just need to make it through unscathed before noon.”
“Your confidence in me is staggering.”
“Except he’ll need to remain inconspicuous,” Hamish interjected. “Or the other competitors will ken there’s a spellster in their midst. Do you think you’ll be able to find your way without your glasses?” he enquired of his lover. “If you’ve been there before?”
A faint frown briefly touched Darshan’s forehead. He lowered the lenses enough to peer over the tops. “Maybe.”
“Maybe will have to do,” Gordon rumbled. “I reckon that’s long enough for the lads. Let’s go flush them out.”
The section of forest lying beyond the two yews wasn’t terribly difficult to navigate, if the runner was used to foliage and rough terrain. The task was more evading the men and women who would be hiding up in the treetops tomorrow. Others would line the crude rails on either side so that competitors couldn’t completely skirt the area. All would be armed with small packets full of dye. Anyone who came out the other end marked was eliminated.
How well Darshan would handle the trial was a question Hamish didn’t want to think on. Now that Gordon had gone off on his own path, the spellster crashed through the undergrowth, demolishing anything small in his way, be it the brisk skitter of a stone or the vicious stomp of winter-dead undergrowth. Curiously, he seemed to be avoiding any living foliage.
“You’re upset,” Hamish said. There was no chance the man was this clumsy and Darshan hadn’t even attempted to skirt the small, reedy stand of broom that had yet to show any
