After Padréc flew away, Diarmán led Uachi back into the shadowed house and into a musty bedchamber.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said. "I'll have someone bring you some water to wash away the travel-dust."

"I don't want—"

"You need it." Diarmán gave Uachi a pointed once-over. "Handsome you may be, but I recently realized that you smell worse than a room full of bird shit. I'll collect you on my way down to dinner." Without waiting for further argument, Diarmán turned on his heel and left Uachi in the strange bedchamber.

After spending some time looking around the room, Uachi sat down on the bed. It seemed that the sheets had recently been aired, but the whole rest of the chamber had a look and an atmosphere of splendorous neglect, as if the grandeur of ages past had been too much—whether in cost or in energy—for the family to maintain.

Uachi had never been one to desire luxury, nor to perceive it as merited when others had it. He even struggled now and then not to be resentful or amused at the luxuries Matei and Mhera enjoyed as emperor and empress, although they had taken pains to diminish the lavish levels at which the palace was maintained. Even so, he found being here in this faded room almost sad. Perhaps that was what he had seen in Diarmán: sadness. Beneath the man's bitterly amused facade, his love of jokes, and his easy manner was a young lord whose home was in decline. It was clear that there was a dearth of servants, and probably a dearth of money, too, and if what Diarmán had said was true, things stood to be unsteady once his grandfather passed away. Uachi wondered what had become of Diarmán's father.

Things had certainly aligned in Uachi's favor: to meet a man already on the path to Aólane to consult with the High Queen. Already on the path to the palace where Prince Koren and, if the rumors were to be believed, the archmage had been holed up. He wondered if Padréc would find Ealin and Uarria on the road and, if so, how far along the path they'd be. Koren and the archmage had been seen riding out into battle, after all, and Uachi had told Ealin as much; could she hope to come across the archmage elsewhere? Perhaps she had some intelligence that would tell her where to meet him. But it was a journey of many weeks, one that was challenging to measure precisely. Surely it would be better for her to find her way to the archmage's base and meet him there.

He wondered how the journey would unfold. Would he have a chance to find Uarria, save her, before Diarmán went to Coratse's home? If so, he would need to leave immediately to bring the princess back home. But if they were close to Aólane and the renegade prince...if they were close to the archmage, the man who'd ordered his brother's death...

A hesitant knock sounded at the door. Uachi looked up as the door opened to reveal a young blonde servant girl, a soiled apron over her dress. She was carrying a bucket. "M'lord?"

Uachi stood. "Not a lord, miss." He gestured to the pitcher and basin standing nearby on a washstand. The servant crossed the room, the bucket sloshing.

When Uachi had first lived in the palace, he had sometimes taken up the servants' burdens, carrying a bucket or a tray especially when he could tell they struggled. He had learned soon enough not to do it. It flustered them, hurt their pride, and made them anxious that they might get into some kind of trouble. So especially here, in a foreign house, he held his hands at his sides and watched as she poured the bucket of water into the pitcher, a task he could easily have accomplished for himself.

This work being done, the girl bobbed a curtsy and disappeared back into the hallway, only to return a moment later with a set of clothes.

"Oh, I don't need—"

"My lord Diarmán said I was to bring you these, and then take yours away to be washed, sir," she said. "I'll give you privacy and return at supper-time for the things to be washed. If you don't mind, sir, please just leave them there near the door."

With a sigh, Uachi tugged his tunic to un-tuck it from his breeches. "That will be just fine," he muttered. "Thank you."

He waited until the girl had left the room, pulling the door shut behind her, to roll his eyes. All the same, he shucked his tunic and unlaced his breeches. He was glad of a quick washing-up, he would not deny that, but it seemed indulgent. Wasteful. While he was scrubbing his face, Uarria was worlds away from home, alone and afraid. He itched to be on the road.

Unlike the room, which was redolent with dust and musty fabric, the soap smelt clean and fresh, and the water was warm. As he clenched the cloth in his fist under the water, Uachi closed his eyes. The scent recalled to him Ealin's sweet and beautiful face. How many times had he stood like this at their wash basin, splashing his face of a morning, as she crept up behind him and slid her arms around his waist—

Another knock sounded. Uachi flinched, pulled instantly from his reverie. He pulled his hand out of the water and shook it, turning to answer the door, but Diarmán had already entered. His gaze skated over Uachi's naked chest; he had opened his mouth, as if to speak, but said nothing.

"What?" Uachi snapped. With Ealin's shadow hovering at his shoulder, he felt even more naked than he was, and he didn't like the way Diarmán was looking at him.

Meeting Uachi's gaze, Diarmán closed his mouth. After another few seconds' silence, he asked, "Ready for supper?"

"I'm ready to leave," Uachi replied with a frown. "But as for supper, unless you want your mother to get an eyeful, you'll need to give me a minute."

Diarmán's slack expression resolved itself into a grin. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind—I certainly don't—but as you wish, Uachi of the North." He made a mocking, courtly bow, and then retreated from the room.

Uachi stared at the closed door, confusion mingling with irritation. He'd had occasion in the past to deflect coquettish comments from women, but he'd never before been subject to the same from a man. Diarmán was an attractive fellow—Uachi had eyes, didn't he?—but he'd told him directly about Ealin, the woman he considered his wife, for all they'd never exchanged vows in a temple.

He made quick work of washing up, trying to focus on anything but the clean scent of the soap. He even dunked his head and gave his hair a hasty wash. Then he scrubbed his hair roughly with a towel and jerked on the tunic and trousers he'd been given, clothes which were too small for him. They felt strange and rough on his skin after weeks on the road without a proper wash.

When he emerged into the hallway, raking his fingers through his damp hair, Diarmán was leaning against the wall. He looked up with a smile. "You smell better."

Uachi's response was a scowl. He spread his arms, displaying the tunic, which fit too closely in the chest and was a handspan too short in the sleeves. "I look like a fool."

Diarmán closed the distance between them, reaching out for his arm. Uachi stepped back at once, jerking his arm away. "What are you—"

"Stand still, you idiot, and give me your arm. I'm not going to bite you."

When Uachi raised his arm, Diarmán neatly rolled the sleeve up to his elbow, then gestured with two fingers for the other arm. Uachi pressed his lips together, watching him roll up the second sleeve. He did not like feeling like a child.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that your face would stick in a scowl?" Diarmán asked, grinning up at Uachi. He gave him a once-over, then turned and started down the hall. "You'll do. Come along and meet my brothers. You'll be glad of a hot meal."

Uachi followed Diarmán down the hall. He could not quite hold back his sound of impatience. They turned down toward the stairs; if Uachi recalled correctly, they were headed in the direction of the great hall again.

"I know you're anxious to leave, Uachi, but you'll have to be patient. Padréc will get there and back faster than anyone else in the world, that I promise you, and he'll be able to tell us if we're headed in the right direction as long as your woman is not far from the high road. For tonight, let's just get a good meal in our bellies and a good rest. I've already given orders to pull together supplies to go southward, mounted."

"I don't care about good meals and I can sleep on the road," Uachi said.

Diarmán fixed him with a pointed look. "I don't believe that for the time it takes you to say it," he replied. "Besides, it matters little what you care about. I care about good meals and feather beds, and I'm the one with the horses. So, hold your tongue and be nice to my mother."

Well, friends, what d'you reckon? Will Uachi be able to hold his tongue? He has not been known for his tact in the past. 

I just crossed the finish like with my most recent NaNoWriMo project! If there are any other writers out there braving NaNo 2020, good luck and full speed ahead. 

Take care. Stay safe. Be kind. 

xx Mina