“You took forever,” Mac moaned once Darshan joined the group waiting near the gate. He tugged on Hamish’s overcoat. “I’m hungry,” he said, his voice suddenly small and teary.
“Then I guess food should be our next stop.” Hamish ruffled Mac’s hair and laid a guiding hand on the boy’s shoulder as they stepped out onto the street. “Lest you lads waste away before me eyes.”
On foot, the distance to the central market square seemed far longer. Darshan did his best to remain close to the others, his legs burning with the effort to mimic the brisk pace the boys kept. He considered himself as a fit sort of person, unlike some in the Crystal Court, but the trio were easily able to put him to shame.
They wove through carts caught at a standstill and skirted groups of people crowding various stalls, their individual voices lost to the general clamour of noise. He peered around a few elbows, curious as to what could draw so many, but caught only glimpses of colour.
The stench of animals was far more of an assault on the senses than it had been on horseback, bordering on knocking him out at one point when a pair of cattle sauntered by and deposited their own cargo. He started paying a little more attention to the cobblestones after that.
Eventually, the boys chose to crowd around a stall stocking dark loaves of bread and gleaming buns. The heady aroma of baking bread filled Darshan’s nose, emanating from the building just behind the stall. He breathed deep, sighing and casually wiping at the corners of his mouth.
His stomach issued an embarrassingly loud query. When had been the last time he’d eaten? He had no memory of breakfast.
As one, the boys twisted to shoot Hamish a lip-quivering plea.
“I dinnae think so,” Hamish replied, folding his arms. “I ken what you’re after and you’re nae stuffing yourself with honey cakes. Your mum would kill me if I let that happen.”
“Who said she has to be told what we ate?” Bruce suggested. The boy waggled his brows slyly and Darshan had to cough or forsake his neutral face to laughter.
Fortunately, his lover seemed a little more hardened to the act. “Now lad,” Hamish warned, shaking his head. “You ken that mums have ways of finding out. Even if we dinnae breathe a word, she’ll ken.”
“But—” Mac blurted, instantly silencing his protest as his uncle raised a finger.
“Dinnae think I’m at all willing to go toe to toe with your mum over this. She’ll want good food in you and that’s what you lads are going to get. You want honey cakes? You have something else first.”
Three heads lowered in the most dejected stance Darshan had ever witnessed. He had never seen anyone other than his father manage to wrangle his siblings with barely an argument. How ever did Hamish manage to quell them so deftly?
Catching Ethan eyeing him, Darshan swiftly backed up with his hands held high. “I do hope you are not thinking of dragging me into this. As far as I am concerned, what your uncle says goes.”
One by one, the boys’ shoulders slumped. They each grabbed what looked to be a rather inedible clump of pastry and began to unenthusiastically devour them whilst their uncle paid.
“Here,” Hamish said, offering up one of the pastry clumps. “I ken it’s nae your usual palace fare, but you’d do well to get something in your belly.”
Darshan accepted the food, although still slightly hesitant to call it such. A glance at the boys revealed that the clumps were pies with thick crusts. Whatever lurked inside had to be cold, the outer crust certainly was. He bit into the pie.
The aroma of meat hit him. Hard to tell if it was meant to be beef or mutton. Flakes of pastry and a tepid, claggy substance filled his mouth. Coughing and fighting back the bile rising in his throat, he choked down the mouthful.
“I didnae think they tasted that bad,” Hamish said, attempting to hide a smile behind his hand.
Darshan discreetly wiped the corners of his eyes, sniffing in an effort to clear his head even with an echo of his old Nanny Daama berating the uncouthness of such a sound. “Not so much the flavour,” he clarified, his voice a little hoarse. “More the consistency. The pies back home are a little… firmer.” And with meat he could readily identify. Even looking at the pale brown, minced mess sitting mournfully in its crumbly shell told him nothing.
A gentle nudge in the ribs drew his gaze up to meet Bruce’s eyes who flicked his gaze down to the pie like a ravenous crow.
“If you’re nae going to eat that…”
Darshan wordlessly handed over the remainder of the pie, his stomach bubbling at the sight of the boy happily devouring the slop. He rather doubted his ability to take another bite from anything containing meat for quite some time.
Hamish clapped an arm around Darshan’s shoulder. “Sorry about that. Let me get you something that’ll have the taste out of your mouth.”
A kiss would be nice. The thought surfaced and sank almost immediately. If the mere sight of Bruce eating the pie was enough to turn his stomach, then kissing his lover after the man had finished one would definitely not be a good idea. The last thing he wanted was to throw up. “One of those honey cakes sounds interesting.”
It took only a mention of them for the boys to start clamouring for their own promised treat. They circled Hamish like fledgling birds whilst the man made good on his word.
They strolled along the street with the boys silently munching away. The honey cakes were more bun-like than Darshan had expected. Spongy, soft and incredibly sweet. After a few bites, he could see why Hamish insisted on other foods first. It wasn’t as sweet as the cane syrup they produced back home, but it was filling nevertheless and quite sticky. Not that the
