Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“Do you really have to leave now?” Alys’ voice purred. Her long fingers, each with a matching silver ring, traced slow lines down Ancel’s muscled chest and stomach.

Ancel squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and forced himself to stop her hand. The last thing he needed right now was to be caught up in another session, no matter how much he enjoyed her naked curves and the intoxicating scent of her sweet perfume. “Yes, I have to go.” He brought his hand up and brushed her delicate, sunset orange and red strands from her face. “If I let myself go with you again, I’ll miss the chance to pick the kinai at its ripest.”

She rolled over and pulled him on top of her. “You and those damned fruit. They can wait. I want you,” she implored, her green eyes shining with need.

“If I miss this chance, I’ll have to hear my father’s wrath tomorrow.” Ancel stroked her hair. “You know how important Soltide is this year. Inspectors are coming from the capital, and the Council expects the best product from my father’s winery. I-”

She acted as if she didn’t hear a single word he said and curled a leg over his. Without thought, he stroked her thigh, his tan hand offsetting her pale skin. Her soft, supple body called to him, and her hand reached down below his waist as the warmth between her thighs pressed against him. A groan escaped Ancel’s lips. Almost on its own accord, his back arched with pleasure. He looked down to see Alys staring into his face, her eyes reminding him of his own emerald ones, except his had a slight shade of blue.

In an attempt to resist the ecstatic tingle easing through his body, he pictured his parents’ scathing tongues and the off chance he may miss class if he indulged himself once more. His Teachers’ berating would be just as bad. Another demotion would loom over his head. What did it matter? Surely, he could…No. Mirza had been right. He needed to focus on his training. As the thought crossed his mind, Alys’ hands tugged on him with slow sure strokes. He shuddered . I guess I’ll have to miss my studies. How much could that hurt? Unbidden, his hands reached for her breasts.

“Ancel!” Mirza’s voice rang out. A fist pounded on the bedroom door. “It’s time, man. You don’t want to hear Stefan’s voice today, do you? And the Clan Council’s. And Teacher Calestis’s.” Another thump sounded on the heavy oak door. “Alys, don’t drain the man. He has work to do, classes to attend.” A cackle followed.

Her face reddening, Alys jumped up and pushed Ancel off her with a squeak. “You really need to tell your friends not to interrupt when you have company.”

Ancel rolled over on the soft bed and groaned. He’d forgotten about the bet. His best friend never could resist the chance to play a part in something he found funny, or what he saw as a decent wager. “I’ll be right there, Mirz. Give me a few minutes,” Ancel called.

Mirza snickered. “You have five minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’ll come back with your father.” Footsteps receded down the hall.

Ancel swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Running his hands through his hair, he heaved a great sigh and gathered himself. He stood, walked to where his light green silk shirt and matching linen pants lay in a pile on the polished wood floor, and picked them up.

“Gods, I love your ass.” Alys’ sultry voice trembled.

Turning to her, Ancel grinned. “You probably like this more.”

Alys’ green-eyed gaze roved down his naked body, past his waist and she giggled. She eased from under the satin covers and squirmed in the bed, the red silk sheets beneath her setting off her smooth white flesh. “Are you coming back when you’re finished?” Her voice purred once more.

He shook his head. “I have to train when I return, but you’re welcome to come watch.” He picked up his longsword, still in its white scabbard, from the floor.

Alys’ face reddened again, and her eyes flashed angrily. “I’m not one of those tramps. I’m not going to ogle you while you practice.”

With a shrug Ancel turned and headed for the oak door, grabbing a towel from a wooden rack. “It didn’t seem to bother you yesterday. Either way, I’ll be enjoying myself later tonight. It’s your choice if you want to be a part of it.”

The sound of a frantic shuffle and the clink of metal on glass made Ancel duck. A vase flew over his head. Water droplets sprinkled across his back as the vase crashed into the door, pretty, blue bellflowers spilling onto the floor and the thick, mountain cat fur rug. The head of the beast still attached, its great jaws leered at Ancel. He looked over his shoulder.

Alys stood with the silk sheets gripped in one trembling hand. Her eyes were glistening pinpricks of loathing. “You said I was special. I bet if Irmina was here you wouldn’t treat her this way.”

Ancel’s blood boiled. How dare she mention that woman? He opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut, his lips pressed tight against the hurtful words he might utter. Turning back to the door, he yanked it open and slammed it behind him.

Not long after, the Streamean temple looming ahead, Ancel and Mirza sat atop their dartans as they trotted along the Eldan Road past the neat stone edifices of the now closed Mystera. Dusk lay across the town like the gray cloaks they wore, matching the clouds that roiled above the Kelvore Mountains to the north. Arcane lamps heralding the Soltide Festival hung from almost every building in the town and across the quiet streets, their glow reflecting from the windows, tinting the granite and sandstone buildings like cobalt lightning. Charra loped next to the young men, his bone hackles sighing in soft swishes, and his padded paws near inaudible.

As they rode by the Streamean temple and its tall clock tower wreathed in blue light, Ancel dipped his head in prayer. Their mounts carried two long wooden racks, each nailed to the bottom of the animals’ humped shells. Thick leather straps slung over the dartans’ backs helped to hold the carriers in place. Empty sacks were tied in even spaces on each rack, one hanging to either side of each of the beasts’ six legs. The dartans mewled to each other, snake-like necks swinging from side to side.

Other than Ancel, Mirza, and the occasional town watch, no one else traveled this part of Eldanhill. Most had retired after a long day filled with Soltide preparations. In another four weeks, the festivities would begin in earnest, and these same streets would overflow with revelers. Eldanhill’s celebrations and its kinai juices and wines were well renowned, bringing people from all across Granadia even from as far south as Ishtar and its port cities. Each year Ancel looked forward to the festival more than the year before. The revelry often helped him to forget Irmina. He pushed the thought of her away before it set him to brooding.

“Which patch do you want to go to first? The glen?” Mirza asked.

Ancel tied his shoulder length hair into a ponytail with a leather cord and shook his head. “Let’s go through the Greenleaf first, see if we can’t find a wolf or two for Charra to have some fun. Then we head to the glen.” He flapped his reins. “I fed these boys fresh beef this afternoon. They’re ready for a good run. I’ll race you back home when we’re done.” A grin tugging at his face, he added, “If you’re up to it that is.”

Mirza chuckled and shifted his position in the saddle carved into his mount’s shell. “It won’t be a race. You know, you’ve already lost one bet today. Best not to make another. Dartans may be more suited for the work we’re about to do, but if you think that’s your advantage, then you’re mistaken. Dartan, horse, hmmm…” Red eyebrows raised, his head bobbing to the left and right, he weighed the choices. “It makes no difference.”