Page 27 of The Scouts

“I’d still do it, and for free, if he annoyed me enough,” I muttered to Ervyn, crossing my arms over my chest.

His snort mixed with Verhan’s indignant gasp. The latter covered his mouth with his hand in pretend shock. “Oh, my gods. He speaks and all. It’s a miracle.”

I clicked my tongue the way I’d seen Ervyn do sometimes. The context must’ve been right because they both roared with laughter.

“Give us a twirl, then,” Ervyn said to his cousin, pushing him away and squinting at him appraisingly.

Verhan, the eejit that he was, didn’t need much coaxing into prancing about. He guffawed and went for a full turn. On coming out of the spin, he struck his heels together, stood at attention with his back ramrod-straight, and saluted.

Ervyn laughed too, but quickly sobered. “Look at you, brother.” He wouldn’t stop fussing over Verhan’s swanky uniform, brushing the non-existent lint off it. Pride shone in his eyes when he pointed at Verhan’s upper sleeve. It displayed the insignia of his rank as the chohorta’s second leader. “You’ve got your shit together at last, eh?”

“Aye. Some way or another.” Verhan kept his tone light, but it didn’t take sharp observation skills to see how pleased and moved he was by the praise.

Something about witnessing this scene aggravated the anxiety that had been simmering inside me ever since we’d reached Asirhwÿn.

I hadn’t missed a flicker of nostalgia in Ervyn’s sooty eyes at spotting the blue and silver banner of the Highland Regiment upon entering the bastion. He wore that same wistful expression now, smoothing the fabric on Verhan’s chest.

I rarely—if ever—felt insecure about Ervyn’s affections. Sometimes, though, I couldn’t help but wonder whether he wished he hadn’t chosen the Scouts and the nomadic, unregulated lifestyle that came with it. Had he come to regret his decision? After all, being a Queen’s Guard had been his long-time ambition. Would he have preferred the comfort of a designated garrison and his clansmen around him?

Ours wasn’t the structured life of a stationary soldier. The Scouts were like raindrops in a storm—leaves swept up in the gale. Here today, gone tomorrow. The service in our unit came with little permanency and no fancy uniform. While we had a grand base and training headquarters—located south of the Lava Lake District, where beautiful land met harsh weather and rough terrain—we seldom spent time there. Not nearly enough to enjoy it, never mind putting down roots.

In this, I saw many advantages myself. It appealed to my inner sense of freedom. Things were simple. After a job, we moved onto another. For me, home was where Ervyn was—my anchor, my rock. The only source of stability I needed in an otherwise unstable environment. As long as his arms locked around me at night, I had no concern for anything else.

But Ervyn liked steadiness. Would he grow tired of this transient life one day, fed up with wandering from place to place, mission after mission?

Something Verhan had once told me rang in my ears. Do you realise how traditional Ervyn is, deep down?

My thoughts reeled back to the present and I forced myself to follow the chatter.

“How’s your redhead?” Ervyn asked Verhan. “Where is he?”

“Hernan’s well.” The moment that name spilt from Verhan’s lips, his expression turned sappy. He sighed. “Now on duty. Shit,” Verhan jerked and bounced towards the door. “Speaking of which, my shift starts in a minute. I just popped in to say hello. We’ll see you lads at evening meal in the food hall, all right?”

“Aye,” Ervyn said.

“Do you know how long you’ll be staying this time?” Verhan asked, one hand on the door handle.

“Three days at the most.”

“Huh, so short? Well, that’s better than a kick in the bollocks,” Verhan rattled out and disappeared with the last syllable.

I almost smiled. With such an outlook on life, at least he didn’t set himself up for many disappointments.

I felt Ervyn’s gaze on me.

He stepped towards me and put his arm around my shoulder. “What’s wrong, mu’hrōnye?” he asked, his black eyes narrowed and watchful.

The very fact he could tell right on the spot that something had bothered me closed my throat.

I leant into him. “The Queen’s Guard… do you ever think it was a mistake not joining the archers?”

Without hesitation, he angled my chin down to pull me into a kiss. Not an innocent one, either, but an owning, searing token of his emotions. That on its own would have sufficed to shatter my doubts. His features—so sure and honest—made any words redundant. He offered them anyway. “Never. Not once.”

Chasing his touch, I tilted my head and waited for him to capture my lips again.

* * *

Chapter 9