Page 32 of The Scouts

“In the Mountain Dialect? Yes, I guess I am.” Hernan threw his braid over his shoulder. “Hardly an achievement, given that I’m constantly around Highlanders. At practice and on duty. And at night.” He paused and reddened at that. It appeared he blushed an awful lot. “But when Verhan and Ervyn get together and rabbit on like it’s a speed-talk competition? Then I struggle because their brogue gets pretty thick.” He squinted at me. “How about you?”

“I understand a lot. Speaking’s not great.” In my case, that referred to any language, regardless of my linguistic abilities. After all, besides Common Elven, I had a flawless command of the Standard Imperial and—thanks to Uncle Revendi—even the Old Language.

Hernan nodded as though he genuinely comprehended what I meant. And perhaps he did.

I took in his demeanour. Next to Verhan—the ever-cocky jester—the redhead seemed settled and at ease. He moved and talked in a relaxed manner. His eyes held a warm glow to them, a soft smile perched at the corners of his mouth. He seemed happy and confident. Comfortable in his skin and around his partner. Well-adjusted. Which stood in complete dissonance to the memory I had of him from training camp. The air of haughtiness he used to have about him had now vanished without a trace.

It occurred to me right then that we shared something else apart from our Asirhwÿnian accent, Hernan and I. We both must’ve been regarded as arrogant arses by our peers at the initial training. There was one significant difference between us, though. While for him, his attitude likely had been a front that stemmed from shyness and insecurity, I genuinely hadn’t given two shits about acceptance or fitting in. Or so I’d thought at the time.

For some reason, it pleased me to see Hernan thriving, freed of all that ballast. And why I cared, one way or another, remained an annoying mystery.

“How is it, serving with Dark Elves?” I asked.

“Well,” he started and a small crease appeared between his auburn eyebrows. “Firstly, it’s loud.”

“No shit,” I murmured and glanced up at Ervyn, Verhan and their companions, currently bent over a punch line of some crude joke, braying with laughter like a herd of donkeys.

Hernan’s lips twitched upwards. “The swearing is constant. And very creative. You need to be quick around food or go hungry. And hell, do they like their pranks.” He wrinkled his nose. “Best mind where you sit. It’s easy to find yourself glued to your seat with some foul-smelling substance. Or stepping on a pinecone with a bare foot when practising forms. Never leave your clothes unattended in the bathhouse, besides. Unless you fancy a naked jog back to your quarters.”

I scowled. “Sounds a hoot.”

He giggled and covered his mouth with his palm. “But if you need help or backup, they’re always there for you, you know? Once won, a Highlander’s friendship is forever.”

“And ever. That’s for damn sure.” Verhan plopped his arse back down beside Hernan just as Ervyn lowered himself into his seat next to me again. “Aww, are you two bonding?” Verhan’s eyes darted from Hernan to me. “Don’t act so cold, ni’hanii. Gods, what’s with that face? I’ve known shifters with less bite.”

It didn’t escape my notice how Ervyn’s lips curled upon hearing Verhan call me his brother-in-law.

“I wouldn’t get too cheeky,” Hernan stage-whispered. “He could probably kill us both with his eyelash or something.”

Not quite, but close enough. I’d garrotted people with their own braids when circumstances had called for it. I chose, however, not to volunteer that information. Even assassins had table manners. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Rest easy. I’ve done my quota for the week.”

Ervyn’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Isn’t it grand? Everyone’s getting on so well. Verhan, how about a nice bit of darhê before bed? You must have a stash on you.”

“Does a mountain lion shit in the mountains?” Verhan patted a few pockets before locating the right one and pulling a small piece of yellow root out of it. Concentration gripped his features as he got on with peeling and cutting it, his tongue stuck out to one side. My little brother Basti used to do that while finger painting.

When offered a slice, I silently declined, as did Hernan.

“Not your thing?” Ervyn asked the redhead. “Lochan’s got long teeth for it, too.”

Hernan opened his mouth to answer, but Verhan interjected, “It’s not that. Hernan can’t. Well, not here, anyway. It makes him—”

Hernan swatted at Verhan’s arm, a blush extending to the roots of his hair.

Verhan threw him a sheepish what-did-I-say-now look.

I glanced at Ervyn, who cracked up.

“He means horny,” Ervyn said with a wink. “It often affects lowlanders like that if they lack resilience. Didn’t you know darhê is an ingredient in many aphrodisiacs?”

“Can’t say I ever needed those,” I muttered.

“Very true.” Ervyn rested his hand on my thigh under the table and squeezed the muscle there. My cock took notice at once as if it was trying to prove something.

“Trust me, Hernan doesn’t need any such thing, either. On the contrary.” Verhan kept running his big mouth, clueless about digging himself into a bigger tomb with each word. “He’s very responsive. Once he gets going, he—”

“Carry on like this, Tŭrryés,” Hernan hissed through clenched teeth, his cheeks flaming again, “and I swear you won’t see any going till the Queen’s next Namesday.”

The way Verhan’s countenance fell at the threat got a chortle from Ervyn and even a smirk from me. It should not have been so much fun to watch.