The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Five

As they inched toward Aodehn and Dezmer, Tracou's mind buzzed with questions he couldn't answer.

What could Dezmer do to protect itself?

Could Winlea already be launching an assault? If not now, when? Would people believe him if he told them about the powder?

If more Winlean soldiers caught them, how could Tracou contribute to the fight? Or, if not contribute, at least avoid death?

What, exactly, did Mirthal think about him?

The first three subjects took up about half of his time, while the last one took up the rest. When he got sick of one, he switched to another, and so on, and so on. It drove him crazy.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Mirthal spoke to him often and had zero qualms with carrying him around. Constantly being in Mirthal's arms wore on Tracou. He couldn't handle the contact, not when he didn't know how Mirthal felt.

Odds were that he liked women. Most men did. Tracou had yet to meet any man who didn't, though Ina seemed to believe that a number of human men were flawed in the same way as Tracou. Perhaps it was a human affliction. Pendaer had implied that Yash might have been that way, too, which meant that he at least knew about... it. Maybe humans were famous for it among elves.

Maybe elves indulged in such behavior, too. That thought fanned the flames of hope inside of him.

Or... Perhaps Pendaer shared his predilections. The very thought sent shivers down Tracou's spine—he hardly knew how to deal with such an idea. He tried to push it out of his head, but only succeeded in shoving it into a dark corner of his mind, one where his subconscious could retrieve it and taunt him with it as it pleased.

None of this solved his problem with Mirthal. If Mirthal kept touching him, kept smiling at him, kept teasing him, Tracou would never shake these feelings off. If Mirthal preferred women, Tracou had to know now before things got worse.

But how to approach it? If he asked Mirthal straight out whether or not he liked men, that would reveal too much about himself. What if the question offended him? That might be helpful in the long run, to distance himself from Mirthal, but it would wound him now. It would wound him deeply, in a way he could never recover from.

His first rejection had been bad enough.

Tracou had been thirteen at the time. Puberty had begun for him and he had been mid-growth spurt, having just crested five feet.

Twice a year every year, a particular sailor had passed through Ergakan. He had slate gray hair, green eyes, and wide shoulders for a dezmek. Tracou had been captivated by him without fully realizing why, often going into the village just to watch him for the single day and night the sailors stayed. It wasn't until he heard his friend and servant Serpouhi go on and on about how she felt about one of the villagers, a boy named Garin, that Tracou decided he felt the same for that sailor.

He had agonized for months about what to do the next time he saw him. Serpouhi had to endure Tracou speaking at length about this man and how terrified he was of making a move. And Serpouhi, already waist deep in puberty herself, had tried her best to help him. They had devised a plan (rather, Serpouhi had while Tracou nodded) and decided to set it into motion the next time that sailor came to Ergakan.

"Simple is best," Serpouhi had said, sitting next to Tracou on his childhood bed. "You should ask if you can talk to him alone and then... tell him you think he's handsome!"

Tracou had shrunk down at this. What a bold idea! It was too bold.

"Will that work?"

"I'm sure it will! I've heard girls in the village say that they can get any boy by telling them they're handsome. Imagine if he said it to you!"