Page 38 of The Scouts

“Aren’t you quite an innovator all of a sudden,” I sneered. “And who had a fit at the suggestion of using natamo nut oil instead of larfenia on your bow? Wait, it was you. And who was wrong? Oh, you again.”

Verhan gave my shoulder a shove, so of course I had to push him back. It seemed every time we spent time back home, we inevitably regressed to infancy.

The table lamp between us wobbled, threatening a mishap. We retracted our limbs and settled for offering each other a scowl, which Verhan followed up with a rude, self-pleasuring gesture executed in the air with a flourish.

“You’re such a gobber,” I informed him.

“I think you’ll find that you’re a bigger gobber,” he said.

“You’re both gobbers. A hard choice to decide which is bigger.” My father sighed. “Be quiet. I can’t focus with your constant gibbering.”

The slight impatience to his tone meant only one thing: my mother had bested him in a game of ichhan. Again.

Keen to witness his defeat, I immediately lost interest in continuing my squabble with Verhan.

He must’ve felt the same because he jerked his chin towards the centre of the room, where my parents and Verhan’s mother sat around a low table.

We hopped off our chairs and sauntered over.

Tugging on the end of his braid with his black eyebrows knitted, my father regarded the board in front of him with an intensity suggesting he fancied setting fire to it. My mother—the epitome of calm and poise—sipped her favourite herbal infusion. It emitted a pleasant aroma I forever associated with my childhood. Aunt Reiya kept score and, during the gaps between the turns, carried on with her needlework. She had a rare knack for embroidery, stitching nature scenes in particular. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her without her silver thimble flashing away.

A glance at the large, lined board confirmed that my father had found himself in an unenviable position. His obsidian stones were overbalanced by my mother’s blue crystals three to one. As far as I could tell, she had blocked all of his possible lines of attack with her last move.

“Damn.” I whistled. “That’s a brutal arse-whipping right here.”

Ichhan—an old game governed by complex rules— required good memory, strategic planning and quick wit. As a pair, my parents were considered the Highlands’ most formidable players. At clan gatherings, they obliterated challengers every year. But when they played against each other at home, my mother walked away the victor more often than not.

“Aye. Uncle H’agan, you’re so f—”

“Verhan.” Aunt Reiya’s eyebrows arched in a warning.

“What? I meant to say finished, Ma,” Verhan said with an insincere smirk. “Like proper done and buried.”

“Good job, Mother,” I said.

My father sent us a wintry look. “I’m still evaluating my options if you don’t mind.”

Aunt Reiya checked her notes and delivered the final blow. “Hundred and three to nineteen,” she said.

My mother put away her dainty cup to sign a response.

Signing had been her communication method since we’d returned to the Highlands in the wake of our ordeal in captivity. I’d been a toddler when my father found and freed us, killing the human Mage who’d held us in his tower for three years. After that, my mother would sometimes hum a tune to herself or a lullaby to me at bedtime, but she’d never spoken another word. Whether losing speech had been the result of Magic, trauma, or her conscious choice, I didn’t know and didn’t think it a good idea to ask. Given that all close clan members understood the sign language specific to her, it didn’t matter.

“At least you’re damn handsome, darling. So you’ve got that going on for you,” my mother’s hands danced. She blew my father a kiss.

Verhan and I snorted.

My father’s lips curled upwards. “Fine, I concede. Well done, mu’hrōnye.” He reached for my mother’s wrist and brought it to his lips. “I’ll take defeat from an exceptional opponent over a mediocre victory any day.”

Their gazes and fingers remained fused for a while. Heedless of their audience, they appeared lost in a world of their own, as they often did. Seeing that the distance between their mouths began to shrink dangerously, I cleared my throat and averted my eyes.

“All right, then,” I said, ignoring Verhan’s immature snickering. Queen’s Guard and a chohorta’s second or not, he still behaved like an imbecile. “Shouldn’t evening meal be about ready, I wonder?”

A mention of food sufficed to divert Verhan’s attention. “Gods, yes. I’m famished,” he whined.

“When are you not famished, son?” Aunt Reiya said with a fond smile.

“I’m a growing Elf, Ma. I’ll go and check with the kitchen,” he said, being useful for once. Considering he acted in his own interest, it wasn't much of a selfless deed.