“That’d be dinner,” Sean said, he stirred the pot, bringing the ladle up for a taste. “A bit longer ought to do it. Your people eat mushrooms, I trust, otherwise it’s going to be just bread for you.”
“Mush—?” Darshan frowned. “You mean fungus? Yes, but generally only the spotted ones and truffles are served at soirées. The rest is considered peasant food.”
Sean’s gaze slid from the spellster to Hamish as he leant closer to whisper in Hamish’s ear, “Do you think their spotted mushrooms are poisonous like ours?”
Hamish shrugged. It was possible that Darshan wasn’t meaning the brown and white ones that were known to cause hallucinations before a careless person spent a half-day vomiting and gasping for breath in-between, being lucky to survive beyond that.
“Are you forgetting spellsters can heal themselves as well as others?” Zurron said, settling down next to Sean. “Do you really think a bit of poison would bother him?”
Darshan’s frown deepened, his gaze darting between the two guards. Clearly, he hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation.
Bloody elf hearing. So often Hamish forgot that elven ears picked out sounds far better than any human—or even dwarf. And for all the conversations to barge in on… “We’re nae trying to kill you,” Hamish blurted, his face growing hot as his lover’s brow twisted into a puzzled arch. “That is…” He glanced wildly over the others, searching for an out. “Have you lot nae eaten?”
Sean shook his head as he gave the pot’s contents another stir before gingerly tasting a sip from the spoon. “About to, though.” He sidled up to Darshan, giving the spellster a friendly nudge in the side with an elbow. “Speaking of magic, I dinnae suppose you’d care to give the fire a little kick in the guts for me?”
Darshan arched a brow at the man, likely wondering how the guard dared to be so familiar. Hamish couldn’t imagine many common Udyneans having a chance to casually converse with an imperial prince, much less doing so.
And to ask for him to do such a mundane task, to boot. Hamish was surprised his lover showed only slight scepticism. Perhaps rumour did exaggerate on how poorly Udynean spellsters treated those ranked beneath them.
Nevertheless, red flushed across Sean’s face, turning the man’s ears a dusky pink. Had he realised just who he’d jostled and requested such an act from? “I— If you would be amenable to doing so, your highness. I’ve nae seen magic fire before.”
Pursing his skewed lips, Darshan extended a lazy finger at the campfire. The flames leapt higher, licking at the pot suspended above it.
Sean whistled loud and long, eyeing the flames much like Hamish’s nephews had done back in the archery range. “Right, lads,” he announced, ladling a spoonful of soup into his bowl. “Grab yourself a bowl if you want some.” He filled Zurron’s bowl as the elf practically shoved it under Sean’s nose. “You ken, before our resident bottomless pit goes for thirds.”
Gently cuffing his fellow guard over the back of his head, Zurron sat down nearer to the spellster than Hamish thought the elf would want to be. Rather than devour his food with a single-minded determination like he had done during lunch, he slipped a hand into his pack in search of something.
Hamish fished out his own bowl from his pack, motioning Darshan to quickly do the same. If there were any leftovers after they’d all had a first fill, then Zurron would most certainly go for the rest.
Quinn was next, the man slurping his meal straight from the bowl almost before he had finished settling back on the ground. Gordon followed swiftly on the last guard’s heels, leaving Hamish scurrying to aid his lover in relieving Darshan’s pack of the single dish within. Like most of the times they journeyed to the cloister, Sean insisted they pack only the essentials. Anything beyond one bowl was apparently what the man considered as a luxury during travel.
The remainder of the bread was divided amongst them as they ate. A disjointed hush fell over the camp now that everyone had their dinner, broken raggedly as Quinn slurped his soup, smacking his lips every now and then. Sean drank much the same way, but far quieter. Gordon sipped at his meal, his gaze intent on the elf and spellster. Neither of the men had swallowed a bite. Zurron still wrangled with whatever he searched for in his pack, whilst Darshan had set his meal aside in favour of doing a similar amount of rummaging in his own pack.
“Lost something?” Hamish asked of his lover. Was it important? Something the spellster would need over the next fortnight? Could they get another at Old Willie’s Farm or was it a specifically Udynean object?
Darshan grunted, pulling out a cloak from his pack before diving deeper into its dark depths. “I am merely looking for a spoon, but I cannot seem to—”
“A spoon?” Quinn laughed explosively, spraying droplets of soup. “We travel light. Nae a lot of necessity for spoons when you can slurp straight from the bowl. You want fancy, then you picked the wrong group to travel with.”
Next to the spellster, Zurron silently withdrew two spoons from his own pack and handed one over to Darshan.
“Really?” Sean sneered. “I thought we agreed to only pack essentials?”
“They are fecking essentials,” the elf snapped back. “Nae all of us are bleeding animals. Dinnae mind him, your highness,” he said to Darshan, jerking his head towards his fellow guard. “I’m pretty sure he strains everything through that hairy creature he has living under his nose.”
Hamish muffled a laugh under the pretence of rubbing a thumb across his upper lip. Like all the human men in Tirglas, Sean sported a thick beard, but his moustache spent a great deal of the time being fished out of the man’s mouth due to the ridiculous length he allowed it to grow. Only his wife seemed capable of getting her husband
