Page 11 of Twenty-One Arrow Salute

FRIENDS

“Are you as good a marksman as your cousin?” Hernan asked me another dawn while oiling his yaanöŭr arrows the way I’d shown him.

I chuckled. “Ervyn? No.” I shook my head. “Not many are. But I’m not far behind.” Aiming to inspire my trainee’s confidence in me, I puffed out my chest.

He blushed, and his gaze faltered.

I wondered if the ghost of humiliation still lingered within him at the reminder of his failure. “Look, losing to Ervyn is no shame, you know? Take it from me, gods know I’ve been there. Numerous times, in fact. For starters, Ervyn’s a born sharpshooter. It runs in his blood. And for seconds, he had way more riding on it than you, believe me.” My lips twisted into a smirk. “Following his heart, cock and all.”

He gave a small smile in response. “You mean Lochan Féyes, right?”

I bobbed my head.

“What’s he like? Féyes?” Hernan’s curious gaze slanted towards mine. “He would come to watch us shoot at practice sometimes, back at the camp. Never said a word to anyone or picked up the bow himself. He seems so…intense?”

“That’s one word for him,” I muttered, amused. “Scary-arse motherfucker would be another. For all I know, he’s dead in love with my cousin, whether he’s finally acknowledged that truth or not. And I sort of like him,” I finished, surprising myself.

I thought back on the few interactions I’d had with the half-breed assassin. If the instances when I rabbited on and he glowered, supplying only a few reluctant grunts, could be classed as such. Indeed, Féyes had grown on me. Like a blister. He was broody and difficult. Hard work, no question. High maintenance, too. A try-out of patience and sanity. Everything an average, sensible lad would consider too challenging, and therefore off-putting. But Ervyn? Without any uncertainty, those exact qualities were what acted as a lure for him. As far as personalities went, Ervyn and Lochan couldn’t be more mismatched if they tried. And what did you know? Together, they fit like a bow and string.

Secretly, I thought Féyes stunning—enticing in an approach-and-perish manner. However, I would no more have volunteered this observation to Ervyn than I would be keen to find his arrowhead buried in my jugular. He loved me like a brother all right, but when it came to Féyes, my gut feeling advised against fucking about and putting our bond to the test.

In any case, no doubt remained in my mind that those two belonged to each other. As for Ervyn, he saw it as fate. Done deal. Destiny or not, every Highlander from Black Mountain knew that when a Morryés fixated on something, getting them to become, well, unfixated meant a wasted effort. And sometimes, a broken rib too. So that was that.

“I’d bet a hundred silvers on Ervyn buying Féyes a horse even before their contracts with the Scouts run out,” I said, more in response to my contemplation than to Hernan.

He paused, an arrow suspended in his hand. “You mean like getting married?”

When I nodded, Hernan’s plump mouth popped open, and he blinked a couple of times. His ridiculous eyelashes swept over the tops of his cheeks, just above where a small cluster of freckles sat on each side of his button nose.

The focus of our conversation evaded me. Damn, but he looked good enough to lick. It occurred to me that green eyes beat blue in every way.

“Do you miss him?” he asked. “Ervyn?”

“That I do, yes,” I answered frankly. “We’ve been close since we were children. Played Royal Archers when we got our first bows. Kicked the arses of our half-wit cousins, who thought teasing Ervyn about his unusual hair colour a smart plan. I always thought we’d end up serving together, he and I.” I heaved a long sigh. “I’m the youngest, like you. I’ve got two sisters, twins. They left home when I still sucked my thumb, so we never had time to bond. They’re serving by the Imperial border. But Ervyn and I, we grew up as siblings. I suppose he’d always kept me out of trouble. Well, apart from those few times when his bright ideas got us into shit.” I chuckled at the memories. “On the whole, though, he’s the responsible one.” I ran my fingers over my hair. “And I’m the looker. With a big gob.”

“Fancy that,” he murmured with a smile that quickly faded. “I wonder how that feels. To have someone to rely on. A friend. Must be a good feeling.”

He’d throw little comments like that now and again with such a matter-of-fact detachment, as if referring to someone else. It stabbed me like long spikes through the heart every time. I’d known grief and loss, but I’d never known loneliness. “It is.” I nodded. “If it hadn’t been for Ervyn’s and his clan’s help after the death of my father… My mother and I, we were, well, not in a good way for some time.” All those years later and my eyes still felt oddly grainy.

I rarely talked about my father. And never to anyone outside my family. Confiding in Hernan didn’t feel wrong, though. “Wherever Ervyn is now, I know I can count on him if need be. It goes the other way, too.” I paused and looked Hernan straight in the eye. “And if you’re interested in a Dark Elf’s friendship, then you have it.” I spat in my palm to make the promise stick as we did in the Highlands, and offered him my hand.

He followed suit without a moment’s hesitation. “Friends,” he said.

So we shook on it, and grinned at each other like idiots.

“You have yet to see any of the city, have you?” Hernan asked as we set about stringing our bows.

I shook my head. Aside from my native Highlands and the training camp hidden in the wild, southeast corner of the Elven Country, I’d seen fuck-all of our enormous kingdom. If not counting the small glimpses of the land I passed in transit. I’d never fancied myself much of a passionate traveller, but the ancient Silver City—the most beautiful and vastly populated stronghold of the world—had always tickled my curiosity. And no wonder. Asirhwÿn was where the Queen’s favour built careers of the nobles. Where soldiers, merchants, whores and artists won fortunes of their own. Like any other new archer, I could hardly wait for the award of my first gehÿn: a forty-eight-hour leave outside the garrison to explore it all for myself.

“It’s amazing, you’ll love it. So huge!” Hernan said, waving his hands. “You can wander through the streets for hours and never even get close to the city walls. At first it might seem a bit of a labyrinth, but I assure you there’s logic to the layout. Some streets are only wide enough for two riders abreast. Others can fit eight carriages, maybe more. The buildings in the centre are the oldest—tall and grand. All windows have wooden shutters to keep out the heat. Did you know that only white shutters are allowed in Asirhwÿn?” A few vigorous nods followed. “Yes, the City Guard fines house owners for painting them any other colour. Oh, and did you know that the Royal Collectors calculate tax based on how many windows a property contains? That’s why some houses are very narrow, to save the coin. Of course, there’s the main square with the Royal Palace, and the Gardens. But you’ll see that during the parade. And later at the Fete. I like the Gardens a lot. Twice a month, they’re open for all Asirhwÿnians to visit. I never miss the chance. The Great Library is something else, too—always packed full of Mages and healers. And the market! It never closes, isn’t that great? Open all hours. Imagine, you can get fried dumplings and fresh buttermilk scones in the middle of the night. They even sell goods from the Northern Isles and the Empire. But I find human food rather peculiar. For instance, they have this vegetable that looks like a deformed head. When cooked, it turns to mash and stinks of death and rot. Plays havoc on your guts like you wouldn’t believe. Why do this to yourself? Judging by their impractical clothes, human fashion sense isn’t much better. Kinda…frilly.” He scrunched up his face.

My jaw went slack at the word fountain pouring out of the usually reserved lad. He had to feel comfortable enough around me to allow himself to open up like this. Thrilled at the thought of winning his trust, I listened on.

“The Guild of Blacksmiths—now that’s the stall to visit. Gods. Their weapons are to die for. Absolutely superb. You should see the way they craft their arrowheads. Gah! And you must’ve heard that Asirhwÿn is called the city of a thousand bridges, right? That’s because we’ve got, well, a lot of bridges. No two are the same. On Freedays, I used to spend all day by the river, near the docks. Interesting things always happen around there. Boats with cargo come and go. People bargain, shout and quarrel in all languages. If you’re lucky you’ll witness a brawl. I know of this little tavern: they serve the best mead and fish cakes, that’s the Silver City’s special. I could take you there one day and…”

Throughout this speech, delivered at the speed of an arrow, Hernan stopped for breath twice, if that. I hadn’t realised non-Highlanders could talk so fast. Or use such animated gesticulation. It was a pleasure to watch how discussing a matter he fervently cared about enlivened the features of his expressive face. Charmed by this performance, and also a little giddy, I gaped at him without uttering a word, an odd tenderness building in my chest.

What I didn’t expect was for Hernan to interpret my stunned silence and delighted gawking as some kind of spurn.