Does It Matter?

Chapter 11

Dara sat tall upon his white horse, his blue uniform standing out in the sea of the king's red worn by the guards who watched over him. They were riding somewhere, towards someone who needed Dara's help. Dara couldn't remember if he'd never been given the specifics of the job or if he'd simply forgotten, but it didn't really matter. He would deal with whatever it was when they arrived.

His horse's name was Clover. He remembered the immense disappointment he'd felt when she'd first been given to him. He had been told he would be getting a finely bred horse from the king's own stables, but then she had been presented to him and she'd been so... passive. There was no fire or spirit in her, no personality. She was simply obedient. Functional. That was all anybody wanted around here, it seemed.

But over time she'd grown on him. Sure, she didn't have the raw energy of the yenkarth, but what she did have in spades was love. He would have fallen apart long ago without her company.

Dara was surprised when he looked around and found himself within the castle walls. They never brought him here. He was to one day be a surprise for Prince Maric, and that meant keeping him hidden while he was trained.

They dismounted and one of the soldiers led Dara inside, down a hallway that held memories that didn't belong here. Dara stopped, not wanting to continue in this direction, but when he looked up he saw blue eyes, a blue uniform. Brayan.

Brayan's eyebrows lifted, questioning, and Dara nodded and continued following him further and further down the hallway, a far greater distance than Dara remembered it covering, before they finally stopped in front of a door. Brayan opened the door and stepped aside to let Dara in.

Maric stood in the middle of the room, and for a moment Dara thought he was dressed in the king's red. But no, the fabric was blue. It was just the blood that drenched it that made it appear red.

"I can't help you," Dara told him, because he remembered now. He wasn't thirteen, fourteen anymore. He was a grown adult and his magic had eluded him for years.

"It's okay," Maric said. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding," Dara said, but he already knew that wasn't true. He couldn't feel any cuts on Maric's skin, just a deep and miserable ache in his chest.

"Are you going to keep your promise?"

"I want to, but I don't know how. I don't know how to find my fire again."

"Yes you do. You felt it."

"No, I—" But he had, hadn't he? At the time he'd characterised it as a comforting warmth and dismissed it as a fleeting emotion, but it was more than that. So much more. And he'd felt it when Maric had laid down with him, had looked him in the eye and talked to him about all of his fears and insecurities, had asked to see the real Dara and hadn't pulled away when Dara had complied. "Oh."

"You made me a promise, Dara. Are you going to keep it?"

"How?"

Maric smiled. "You know how."

Dara gasped as he woke up, heat burning deep in his belly, and he knew. Oh gods, he knew what he had to do. He just hoped he wouldn't be too late.

The first rays of morning light had only just begun filtering through the window of his little room that connected to the stables as he quickly dressed. He considered leaving Paige a note to apologise because he genuinely did like her, but he suspected she was an earlier riser and if she found it before this was done she would either get in the way of what Dara needed to do or make the decision not to and risk getting in trouble for it.