“History,” Bruce groaned.
“Mum’s going over the Great Slaughter,” Mac added, stabbing the air with an arrow as if he brandished a sword.
“The one where this castle’s attacked? I could tell you that one.” Hamish knew the tale well enough. His mother was obsessed with the time and insisted they went over it in their history lessons enough to damn near quote the whole scripture in their sleep.
It had been centuries ago, when the clans were still feisty enough to fight with each other at the very hint of missing sheep. The king back then had been a loud-mouthed sod. He had pissed off one or two of the clans—or maybe it was more, his mother had never been specific on which clans had been involved—who retaliated by murdering every royal child they could get their hands on. It had all ended with those very clans laying siege to the castle. In the end, all that was left of the royal bloodline was a small boy from the king’s youngest son—their umpteenth-great-grandfather.
“I hate the story,” Ethan announced. “She only trots that out when she cannae think of anything else for us to study.”
“Your mum’s probably got her hands full with the trade negotiations.” Hamish stood, dusting off his hands on his trousers. “And I’m sure missing a day in favour of hunting willnae hurt. Nae as if history’s going anywhere. For now, how about we try the forest run?” He glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “You up for it?”
Gordon nodded.
The boys raced ahead of them, making their way behind the archery range where a secret entrance that led to the foot of the cliff lay. To look at, the door tucked between the outer wall and the temple merely opened to the back of the building. Only in entering did it reveal its actual nature.
“Be careful!” his brother yelled at their dwindling backs, the boys pulling ahead even as they ambled along after them. “That was sneaky, ‘Mish, having them take the same path spoken of in the tale.”
“I thought so.” He didn’t know if it was true that their ancestor only survived by fleeing through the secret tunnels out into the forest below, but it wouldn’t hurt the boys to know of alternative exits should the unthinkable happen as his mother so often foretold.
Far ahead of them, the door clanged as the boys vanished through the top entrance and into the tunnel.
“I hope they remembered to take a lantern,” Gordon muttered, casting a glance at the ceiling. This section was relatively bare of cobwebs with a scant few in one corner.
“Like we didnae do the first time?” It had been night, both of them still far too young to venture out of the castle grounds unescorted. They’d made it halfway down the tunnel before it occurred to either of them that travelling down would’ve been so much easier with a light source. That’d also been one of his brother’s more memorable experiences with a spider. “Thank you for what you said at breakfast, by the way.”
His brother shook his head. “You shouldnae have to thank me. I shouldnae have to stand up for you anymore. Mum should ken by now you’re nae going to change.”
Hamish kept his mouth shut. They both knew that was never bound to happen.
Gordon sighed and idly scratched his cheek. “Trouble is, if she pushes too hard, she could start a war this time. They may be willing to trade, but they’ve the clout to take if they so choose.”
They entered the tunnel. A pair of oil lanterns sat on a shelf just inside the entrance. The soft glow further down the tunnel spoke of the boys having already made off with a third. Hamish lit one with his flint, squinting at the sudden brightness.
They descended the stairs after their nephews. The tunnel ceiling could’ve easily allowed his father—a man that stood at seven foot—to walk without stooping and had a breadth wide enough to let the pair of them walk side by side. Unlike most of the caves and little hidey holes dotted across the cliff face, the grey stone beneath their feet was relatively dry.
“So…” his brother drawled after a dozen-or-so steps. “Does your lack of presence this morning mean you’ve gotten him out of your system?”
“Him who?” he replied, trying to act nonchalant. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, just low enough to occasionally brush Hamish’s hair. Although sure that whatever spiders made these webs would’ve scuttled off at the first hint of smoke from the lads’ lantern, he ducked his head to avoid them anyway. The last thing he wanted to fish out from the coils of his hair was a spider. Fortunately, the tunnel looked to contain only the tiny web-spinning sort rather than the bigger, and far more deadly, arrowback variety.
“You ken precisely who I—” Gordon jerked back, sputtering and flailing at his beard as he brushed a mouthful of sticky webbing free. “Bloody creepy little…” he muttered under his breath, hunching his shoulders and glowering at the ceiling. “I meant our magical, princely ambassador.”
Hamish smiled. If Gordon ever decided to side with their mother, he would be screwed as far as keeping things secret went. “Nae as yet.”
“Aye?” Even though Hamish saw no evidence of remaining spider web in his brother’s beard, Gordon continued to distractedly pluck at the hairs. “Well, be careful, ‘Mish. Udyneans are cold bastards, I nae want you getting hurt over this.”
His thoughts went back to last night as they walked in silence, settling on Darshan’s gentleness and compassion. Maybe that coldness was only a front. Being a prince of an entire empire couldn’t be easy. Where did the spellster sit in the order of succession? Second? Only men inherited the Udynean throne. He had learnt that morsel of information from Gordon. And they undoubtedly wouldn’t send their heir to a foreign land.
The glow of the boys’ lantern ahead of
