To Target the Heart Read online

  “I was wondering…” Darshan mumbled before catching himself. Good grief, had that breathy tone actually come out of his mouth? Really now, this is just embarrassing. Next thing he’d find himself fawning all over the man like some simpering concubine. Pushing off the doorframe, he cleared his throat and tried again. “I would very much like to see some of your city.” He had originally considered remaining confined to the guest quarters, but now he had seen it? The thought of remaining here more than he needed to felt terribly constricting. “And I think a guided tour would be best at this moment. If you are of a mind?”

  “Sure.” Hamish grinned as he spread his hands, indicating his bloodstained clothing. “But let me clean meself up first.”

  Darshan inclined his head, his cheeks heating ever-so-slightly. He had rather forgotten about the man’s less than immaculate attire after the first word had left Hamish’s mouth. Clearly, the man had been indulging in what Darshan’s tutors had taught him was the local pastime here.

  Hamish went to leave, then swung back around in the corridor to eye Darshan. “And you might want to change into something plainer if you have it.”

  He reluctantly lowered his gaze from the giant of a man to his own clothes. In cut, his sherwani wasn’t terribly different from the overcoat Hamish wore, knee-length where the man’s attire stopped mid-thigh. And, of course, the fabric was leagues apart. Hamish’s overcoat looked to be made of soft leather whilst all of Darshan’s clothing was either silk or fine linen.

  “Do I look so out of place?” he finally enquired. He thought this particular sherwani was plain. It had very little in the way of gemstones and the embroidery was limited to the fabric edges and his shoulders. He had a few stark outfits in his travel chest, but he had packed them in the off chance he’d need to travel beyond the city limits. “You seemed shocked to see me earlier.”

  “To be fair, aye, you do. But by the way the court’s been talking, everyone was expecting a woman.”

  “You mean Countess Harini.” Darshan nodded. He’d had only brief conversations with her whilst in court, but he knew what had become of her. “She was supposed to take up this duty. Sadly, she had the poor taste to… uh…” He gnawed on the inside of his lip, trying to remember the correct word. “I do not believe I was taught the Tirglasian equivalent,” he mumbled. His tutors had been diligent in focusing on more than the phrases he would need for the coming negotiations, but there were a few words they’d skimmed.

  Hamish waited. Silently polite just as when the man had introduced himself.

  A fresh flush of heat washed over Darshan’s cheeks. He could stand there all day and still be no closer to the word he wanted. Technically correct would have to do. “She was… slain.” He waved his hand, his mind racing for the words to explain. “A political affair. Terribly ill-mannered of her, of course.”

  “Political?” the man echoed, his brows lowering in thought.

  Darshan rather wished they hadn’t when Hamish’s sapphiric gaze also disappeared beneath his lashes.

  “You mean she was assassinated?”

  “Ah!” Darshan grinned, immensely pleased he’d managed to get across what had transpired. “You do have a word for it, after all. Splendid.”

  “And that’s ill-mannered?”

  “Of course. She should have had ample power to counter any attack on her person.” Unless those attacks had come from one of the Nulled Ones, who were immune to direct magic. But the Nulled Ones served his father. “It is not as if we are a bunch of barbarians.” On the other hand, his father was the type of man to eliminate barriers for his son. And it had seemed a little too convenient for the woman to die at the precise time Darshan was to be sent far from his homeland.

  “Says the slaver,” Hamish replied, his voice flat.

  Warning bells rang in his head. That was a topic he had been advised to speak sparsely on, if at all. “Heard about that, have you?” He wasn’t surprised. Every northerner he had ever spoken to seemed to be fond of pointing out the same fact, as if Darshan had no idea in regards to the status of the people around him.

  “Doesnae everyone ken Udynea is the centre of the slave trade?” Hamish asked. It could’ve been the accent, but the question certainly sounded sarcastic.

  “The centre, yes. But not the only country that deals in it.” Whilst his homeland’s neighbouring empires weren’t as large, Niholia and Stamekia both had a thriving slave trade. Yet, their trading in people also seemed to go largely unnoticed. At least by northerners. Geography likely had something to do with that, with the Udynea Empire taking up much of the continent.

  “Do you have slaves?”

  Darshan didn’t bother trying to hide his wry smile. There went his hopes of a stay in pleasant company. “Going straight for the personal questions, I see.” Sighing, Darshan rubbed at his temple. “I am certain you can deduce the answer there—and, should you wish to continue this conversation at another time, I will be quite willing to accommodate you—but I would prefer to discuss it when I have not just spent several months travelling aboard a wretched sea-going tub.”

  “Fair enough,” the man muttered. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard in about an hour. You can find your way back, right?”

  Darshan inclined his head, not at all keen to admit he’d been far too preoccupied in studying Hamish’s backside than the route they’d taken, especially not to the man in question. If it came down to it, he would enquire as to the proper direction from one of the servants.

  He waited until the door closed and the sound of footsteps faded before he plonked onto the bed, grunting at the solidness of his landing. Already, he missed his bed back home with its goose down mattress. He dug the heel of his hand into the bedding. At least it didn’t seem like straw. Wool, most likely. Marvellous.

  Rubbing at his cheeks with a hand, he gave the room a more in-depth look. The window was at his back, throwing his shadow over an open fireplace set into the opposite wall. A stack of wood had been piled nearby. That looked freshly done. No doubt in preparation for his arrival. Or Countess Harini’s, at least. Either way, he wouldn’t be expected to freeze.

  He had also missed the full-length dressing mirror upon his initial perusal and the sight did gladden him somewhat. Still… had this been home, the walls wouldn’t have been able to breathe for tapestries, murals and paintings. There would’ve been tables and seats aplenty as well as an entire room for his clothes to hang. And, whilst this window at least had curtains, the imperial palace would have made a show of using the richest, gauziest fabric a man could make rather than what looked to be the remnants of a blanket.

  This is going to be a long month. A blustery sigh bubbled against his hand.

  Some ambassador he was. He had barely set foot on foreign soil and, already, the call to return home ran strongly through his blood. It wasn’t just the luxuries of the palace he had left behind. The very air seemed off. Wet in the wrong way. Home could be humid more often than not, but this was the kind of damp that clung to stone and promised rain.

  He had already spent several wretched months aboard the blasted rocking coffin they dared to call a ship—crewed entirely by women at his father’s request. His stomach still hadn’t quite settled from that journey, but he would gladly suffer it twofold for a chance to leave Tirglas sooner.

  And he could, in all likelihood, get the trade agreements sorted within a few weeks, but that would vastly depend on Queen Fiona’s willingness to accept the starting terms his father had laid out for him to offer. And that was unlikely.

  Grumbling under his breath, Darshan hauled himself to his feet. If he was going to leave this wretched place swiftly, then giving the docks and markets a more thorough look would be a good place to start.

  He dug into his travel chest and hauled out the plainest sherwani he’d brought. The silk was creased from its time folded into a neat parcel. Wonderful. He somehow doubted the local servants knew how to treat such fabric. What passed for royalty here certainly didn�
��t dress all that extravagantly.

  It took little effort to switch out one top half for another. The tiny, diamond-studded buttons parted as he wove his magic through them in a manoeuvre he had long since perfected. He shrugged out of the sleeves and tossed the sherwani atop the bed. The muted chill in the air nibbled at his skin through his undershirt.

  He checked himself in the mirror as he fastened the plainer top’s silver buttons, seeing his outfit properly perhaps for the first time. The cut wasn’t too outlandish for the area; almost tunic-like simple without the heavy embellishment of thick embroidery and gems. Even without that, the shimmering white fabric would have him standing out like a black snake in the sand. If he’d been planning to stay for longer than a few weeks, he would’ve sought something closer to the native attire. As things stood, there was little point.

  Garbed, he ventured out into the corridors. Finding his way down to the courtyard took far longer than he would dare admit to anyone, even after asking for the way… thrice. His every move seemed to be watched by someone, be they servants or animals—never before had he encountered dogs almost as big as himself.

  The courtyard was no longer as full as it’d been upon his arrival. The horses the royal family had ridden all appeared to have been stabled. Of Hamish, there was no sign.

  Darshan briefly considered that the man had gone looking for him, or had perhaps given up on waiting for his arrival, before venturing into the stables. Whilst Mullhind was the biggest city in Tirglas, it might as well have been a village in comparison to Udynean towns. He didn’t believe he’d get easily lost, so if he couldn’t get a guided tour, then a solitary one would have to do.

  That, of course, depended on whether he could borrow one of the horses.

  He poked his head around the open door. Rows of occupied stalls filled the building. His ears were greeted by the gentle sounds of animals eating and the heavy shuffling of hooves.

  It seemed rather quiet for a castle stable. He had barely been near the palace stables, and even then only as a boy, but it was always bustling with stable hands attending to the tack or the horses. Here, there was no one.

  One of the nearby horses, a heavy black and white beast of a thing, nickered at him with the curiously hopeful note of imminent food. He had travelled to the castle via cart, a simple one that likely served to carry sacks and barrels most of the time. It had been pulled by a massive beast such as this.

  Darshan stepped into the building to give the place a more in-depth look. He couldn’t even spy a single soul checking a hoof or leg for soundness. Odd. Had he somehow managed to arrive whilst everyone was on break?

  The black and white horse stretched out its neck and lipped at his hand, sniffing at his clothes in heavy blasts of hot breath.

  Chuckling, he gently rubbed the pink muzzle. “Sorry, greedy one. I have no treats on me.”

  A faint grunt came from the other end of the stalls.

  “Hello?” His call echoed.

  “Darshan?” Hamish’s grinning visage appeared from the far stall. “I thought you were nae coming. Got a pony all geared up for you.” He led out a hairy barrel on four legs. Like the beast Darshan stood next to, it was mostly black with splashes of white and great hair-clad hooves.

  “You can ride Warrior,” Hamish continued. “He’s me niece’s pony, but I’m sure Sorcha willnae mind you borrowing him.” He gave the animal a heavy pat on the shoulder and grinned at Darshan. “Dinnae let the name fool you. He’s as gentle as they come.”

  Darshan eyed the animal. Warrior might’ve been smaller than the monstrous horse Hamish had arrived on—with a little room to spare between Warrior’s wither and Hamish’s armpit—but if that animal was a pony, then he was an elf. The animal stood almost as high as himself. He could barely peer over Warrior’s back. “Is everything in this kingdom so frutzian huge?” he muttered.

  Hamish arched a brow in silent enquiry. Quite possibly in part due to the usage of a Udynean word that didn’t generally get used in polite company.

  Darshan waved his hand about. “I mean the horses, the hills…” His gaze slid Hamish’s way and a flush of heat touched his cheeks as he mumbled, “The men.” He cleared his throat, hoping the Tirglasian hadn’t caught that. “A little forewarning that this was a land of giants would have been nice. Is it something in the water? What you eat? What—?” He stalled as the man started laughing. “Did I say something amusing?”

  Wheezing in an attempt to halt his laughter, Hamish draped himself over the pony’s back. “We’re nae giants.”

  “I beg to differ.” There were men of all heights in Udynea, but people this statuesque weren’t considered the norm. “Your father must be over seven feet tall.”

  Hamish wiped his eyes with the back of a finger. “That’s a good guess. I wouldnae say he was over, though. But they’re all tall in his clan.”

  “Clan?” Darshan had vague recollections of such from late night lessons in his cramped quarters aboard the ship.

  Hamish frowned. “They live out on the plains near the Cezhory border. Lots of cattle, I hear.” He tilted his head, puzzlement furrowing his brow as he eyed Darshan. “But I thought you would already ken that? What with being an ambassador and all?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. And Countess Harini probably did have quite a bit more knowledge than what had been crammed into his head during the journey here. “But I was recruited at the last minute.” If he hadn’t been so foolish back home, he would still be there. And the countess would likely still be alive to do her duty.

  “Oh aye?” The man grinned broadly, the expression shaping his beard until it mimicked the long-haired hounds Darshan had encountered on the way here. “Well then, this should be an education for you.”

  “I welcome it.” Years had come and gone since anything as challenging as this position had reared its head.

  Leaving Warrior to stand placidly in the middle of the stables, Hamish disappeared into another stall and returned with the same massive horse Darshan had seen him arrive on. “Is there any place in particular you’re wishing to visit or are we just doing a general tour of the area?”

  “I would rather like to see the docks.” Father often said that facts were better checked firsthand and, no matter how honest a people claimed to be, there was always something hidden in the dark.

  The man glanced up from where he was adjusting the horse’s tack. “But you just came from there. I thought you’d want to stay away from ships and waves.”

  Darshan inclined his head. He was utterly sick of both those things. “I would like to see a little more, if you do not mind.” There were few places where he would get a better idea of the kingdom’s commerce than the docks. But he’d seen very little of the area on his arrival. Queen Fiona had taken one look at him and whisked the entire greeting party back to the castle so fast that he was surprised he didn’t have scorching on his heels.

  Hamish shrugged and swung into the saddle. “Suit yourself. But if we’re leaving, we should do it before someone realises we’re missing and comes looking.”

  “Quite.” The last thing he wanted was any manner of formal tour, especially involving guards. That would hardly give him the truest outlook of Mullhind.

  Clambering onto Warrior’s back, Darshan followed the man’s brisk pace out of the castle gates. There were a number of guards at the entrance. But whilst the men eyed them, not a one made any move to stop them from leaving.

  The road leading to the city wound down the hillside, clearly taking a path once trod by wildlife. In Minamist, this sauntering journey would never stand. The rock would have been moulded by labour and magic, these naturally easy curves eradicated in favour of stark lines and high-arching bridges.

  Darshan’s gaze swung towards the harbour. From their position high on the hillside, the ocean lay spread before them like an undulating rug. He breathed deep, taking some small comfort in the familiar salt tang in the breeze. Too cold. Even with spring rearing its head, he would need t
o invest in warmer undergarments if the negotiations dragged on.

  Home might’ve boasted a fabulous view of the sea-green ocean in the south, but it was nothing as all-encompassing as this. The Imperial Palace had no clear line of sight to the docks. Nor did his homeland have any towering hills or cliffs upon which to perch on like a Niholian sea-diving hawk. It was a structure designed with only luxury and segregation in mind. Whereas Mullhind Castle was clearly built to withstand a siege inside and out. Even concentrated magic would be hard-pressed to do more than dent the walls.

  When the next gentle curve in the road turned them away from the sea, Darshan let his gaze wander across the city itself. He tried to follow the roads with his eye, not an easy thing to attempt when streets would seem to stop without reason or curve off into a direction that appeared nonsensical. “I had no idea your capital was so winding.” Unlike Minamist’s straight, well-defined roads, Mullhind twisted towards the ocean like a shore-stranded eel.

  “Aye?” Hamish replied, his heavy brows lifting. “She’s grown like any other city, whenever and wherever she’s needed to. Come on, if you want to see the docks before me mum sends guards after us, we best shift it.” With the click of his tongue, the man urged his horse into an easy trot with Warrior following at a slightly faster pace to keep up.

  Hamish glanced at the ambassador every-so-often as they rode through the middle of Mullhind. The man didn’t seem the least bit interested in the stalls and shops they plodded by. Darshan had expressed mild interest when Hamish mentioned visiting a nearby pub, but insisted on the docks first.

  Now they stood in the midst of the raucous. Black-backed gulls screamed as they circled the ships and stalls, seeking an easy meal. People shrieked to be heard over the birds and each other. One man nearby battled with one of the bigger gulls. It was precisely the type of noise Hamish often sought to avoid.

  That and the smell. Unlike the earthy, alive scent of the surrounding forests and the dry, grassy aroma of grazing fields, there was nothing welcoming about the docks. When the fishing vessels weren’t in, the breeze had an almost pleasant briny smell, but with them moored, their stench of death permeated the air.