His brother gave a noncommittal grunt. “Even if you could convince Mum to let you travel such a distance from the castle…”
Hamish hung his head. The occasional trip to the spellster cloister was at the limits of their mother’s tolerance of her children’s journeys. She had only gotten worse with the death of her older grandchildren—taken at the hungry jaws of bears or the watery talons of the sea. Whilst the strict nature of the rule often fell on him, none of the royal family could leave the castle confines for more than a few weeks.
Gordon scrubbed at his face. “Did you tell him anything?”
“Aye,” he sighed. “I told him I cannae leave.” There was more keeping him here than his mother’s arbitrary rules.
“I dinnae see how you could without Mum dragging you back, but I ken you’re nae happy here, ‘Mish. Everyone can see that. Maybe you should go.”
Hamish shook his head. “You ken why I cannae just up and leave. If Mum finds out about—”
“Ethan?” His brother scoffed. “The lad’s barely seen ten winters. You cannae use him as an excuse for the past.”
Hamish ground his teeth. His brother was right. Being both diversion and shield to keep their mother’s attention off her grandson had only given him an easy excuse to remain.
He could’ve run a long time ago, back before Gordon’s wife and eldest daughter had met their grisly fates, before the trade ship, The Princess’ Fortune, had fallen afoul of a storm and taken more of his family with it. But— “Where would I have gone?” This was the first time he’d been offered a chance at a life that wasn’t just running and hiding.
Gordon sighed. “Look, Mum will learn eventually that Ethan likes his own sort and when she does, you’ll have wasted your life for nothing. Do you really think that’s what he’d want?”
Nae at all. If anything, the boy would be disappointed in him. “I dinnae ken what to do.”
“How about starting small?” Gordon clapped him on the back. “And perhaps leave out any romantic declarations until you ken a little more about him?”
Hamish inclined his head. He could keep his mouth shut on that subject well enough. More time getting to know Darshan would either see him repelling such feelings or strengthening them. And he could start with whatever conversation the spellster wished to have in the library come sunrise.
Hamish pushed open the library door. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he hadn’t ventured into the room since his childhood days, preferring the freedom of hunting and ensuring the people in the surrounding farms had a means to air any misgivings. The library always seemed dark. It also bore a mustiness that he couldn’t help comparing to a closed mind. This was a tomb to history and tradition. New ideas weren’t formed here.
In the early light of dawn, the richly dark wood of the bookshelves were illuminated only by the glow of a single lantern resting atop a table. Darshan stood near the light source, his attention taken by a particularly thick tome. He alternated between tapping his forefinger against his lips and chewing on a nail as he read, pausing only to turn a page.
Almost reluctant to disturb the man, Hamish padded through the doorway and inched the door shut behind him.
Darshan glanced up, visibly startled for a breath before a wide grin took his face. “You came.” He snapped the book shut and trotted to Hamish’s side. “I was beginning to think the worst.” That hazel gaze scrutinised him, small and quick, but definitely with a degree of worry tightening the edges. No mistake there. “How are you this morning, mea lux?”
“All right.” What had the man just called him? Although he couldn’t seem to grasp languages like his siblings, he had picked up a smattering of what Udynean sounded like, mostly from sailors passing through. Whatever Darshan had uttered, the words didn’t have the same resonance of any language he’d heard before.
“No trouble with the guards last night, then?” Darshan swung to indicate the lantern-lit table before Hamish could answer. “Come.”
“Me brother showed up before the guards became a problem,” he mumbled, eyeing the table as he tailed the man. A few books were scattered across the dark wood surface. What had Darshan been researching?
“I did not expect him to have waited so long.”
“Neither did I,” he admitted. Not when he hadn’t recruited Gordon’s aid for some years. The fact Darshan was both an ambassador and an imperial prince likely set a fire under his brother’s arse when it came to them being caught.
As briefly as Hamish could manage, especially with Darshan snickering at some parts, he relayed what had transpired after leaving the guest quarters.
Sighing, Darshan settled into a padded chair. “It is a relief to hear you made it back to your bedchamber all right. I would not have been able to sit idly by if you were punished for my mistake.”
Hamish shook his head. “We made that mistake together.”
“Still… I shall endeavour to be more careful.” The faintest twitch of Darshan’s fingers had a stool skittering out from underneath the table. “Please, sit. I shall get a dreadful crick in my neck if we talk for much longer this way.”
Smirking, Hamish straddled the stool. “Were you studying?” Now he was closer, he could spy several of the books’ spines. Customs, for the most part, and a few slim books that he’d hazard a guess were either on the topography of Tirglas or outlined her various ore resources. “I dinnae think you asked me here for that.” Darshan had to know that Nora was far better at trade. “What was it you mentioned me doing last night?” He remembered bits of it since waking, the rest floating on the edge of comprehension like a dream.
“Ambassadorship,” Darshan replied, thumbing through the book he had been reading when Hamish arrived.
