The man wiped at one of the spots, transferring it to his forefinger. “Same as the others,” he said to a grey-haired woman.
Terror stole Darshan’s breath. To be undone by a few spots… Surely that wouldn’t be enough to fail the trial. It could very well have come from another competitor dripping dye as they trudged through the forest to announce their failure.
But no one declared him disqualified or called for the removal of his veil.
The elderly woman shook her head, the thick cords of her hair swaying heavily with the motion. “What are these trials coming to that foul play is all too common?”
“Foul play?” he squeaked.
The woman gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. “It’s all right dear. Someone, possibly one of the competitors, has marked the underside of the ferns.”
Darshan frowned. When would someone have time to set up such a trap? He had seen no one near here yesterday except for the children. And surely, the absence of ink on one competitor would single out the perpetrator.
She pointed to the row of women standing just off to the side. “Everyone with ink on their boots has been allowed into the final trial.”
His stomach sank. Everyone. What were the chances that another would have Hamish’s accuracy? If the competition in the final test had been whittled to a handful, he would’ve considered it a slim one.
“With only ink on their boots,” the man growled, holding up a cautioning finger. “Only. Let’s check you over, lass.”
Darshan stood still, almost holding his breath as the man tugged and poked at the borrowed attire. When the man started tugging at the sides of Darshan’s trousers, it took every fibre of his being to stare straight ahead and pray a certain bulge wouldn’t make itself known from within the folds of fabric.
His gaze flickered to the group of competitors standing to one side. Former competitors, he silently amended. Even without his glasses, the rainbow hue of their clothes was obvious in a fair number. It helped that every single one had their veils down, if not having removed the entire scarf. As Hamish had proclaimed, the disqualified group seemed to be the majority.
What of those who had made it through? He looked about, spying a handful of women near the front edge of the crowd who appeared to still be covering their faces. Eight in all.
Would he make nine?
A hearty pat on Darshan’s back jolted him into the present. “It seems the Goddess favours you,” the man rumbled. “Go join the lot over there.” He jerked his thumb at the women standing at the forefront of the crowd. “Dinnae dawdle, Queen Fiona is about to address them.”
Darshan staggered towards the crowd. The other eight competitors turned to eye him as he joined their ranks. Any hint of irritation at his presence was hidden in a swathe of shadow, but he couldn’t imagine they were at all pleased.
“My dear noblewomen,” Queen Fiona said, jerking his attention to where she stood at the edge of the crowd. Hamish stood on her left, his fiery hair a beacon in the blur of colours. “You blessed few have proven yourself to be fleet of foot and as cunning as the winter crow. Tomorrow, one of you will lay claim to my son and take their place as a mother within our clan.”
Hamish took a step towards them and paused. They’d been informed at the beginning of the trial of how he would bestow his favour upon one from those who had made it through. A simple thing that rational people knew bore no weight to the skill displayed in the final trial.
Darshan’s heart thudded as Hamish continued to dither about. Could his lover not identify him from the line-up?
Whilst he made a bit of a show in sauntering up and down the line, as if the task of selecting the right woman was proving difficult, Hamish’s brow twitched every time he walked by Darshan.
It eased the tightness in his chest some, but the impatient vein in him did grumble for the man to hasten things along.
Finally, his lover halted before him. With very little ceremony, Hamish lifted the necklace over his own head and placed it around Darshan’s neck. “I choose you,” he said, barely loud enough for anyone but Darshan to hear. “May the Goddess favour your arrow tomorrow.”
Darshan bowed his head in acknowledgement. Everything hinged on his lover and his ability to utilise a talent that he had only begun to consciously control. If Hamish missed the target, if they didn’t time everything right, there was nothing Darshan could do about it.
His hand went to the ruby heart dangling from its simple chain. The gem was still warm with his lover’s body heat.
And far heavier than any mere ruby had any right to be.
Hamish stepped back, watching alongside his siblings as both the disqualified and safe competitors dispersed with the crowd. Whilst he couldn’t pick out Darshan from them now, he had spied his lover making his way across to the finish line earlier. And had almost had his heart fair jump into his throat when one of the judges went and clapped a hand onto Darshan’s shoulder.
Still, his lover had made it.
He clambered into the saddle and nudged his mare to follow his parents and brother, also returning to the castle via horseback. They remained silent as they rode through the forest, but it didn’t take much deciphering to know they also mulled over the outcome. Especially his brother.
Where had the ink come from? That question hadn’t stopped tumbling through his mind since the first otherwise unmarked competitor had stepped through the ferns. Who could’ve done it? Nae the lads. Whilst his nephews might’ve been devious enough, they were also aware of Darshan’s participation and that if the
