Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Mirza slapped Ancel’s hand down. “Remember, you promised if she wasn’t back in a year you’d burn that thing. Well, today is the day. A bloody year. We’re here to celebrate, so don’t you dare whip that out.” He somehow managed to say it all without slurring once. His ability to hold drink seemed uncanny to Ancel. He often wondered if Mirza had a hole in his stomach.

Danvir passed Ancel a new drink. “Here, have another.”

Ancel took the glass. “Thanks.”

Again, I find myself thinking you’re right, Mirz . Ancel didn’t dare share the thought with his friends. The fun they would have at his expense would make him miserable. He needed to forget about Irmina, but seeing that Ostanian dancer had served to rekindle those memories. Shoving them aside now would not be easy. Drinking usually helped, so he took a sip. He’d taken to bedding many women over the last eight months. Being deep in some pretty lady’s flesh also helped him to forget Irmina. Yet, both sex and drink often proved fleeting distractions as the memories came crashing back soon after. Yes, both of you are right. I’ll put her behind me starting tonight.

“You know they say she’s Ostanian.” Mirza stared off toward the stage. “They say it’s near impossible for a Granadian to bed one of them. At least not without paying.”

Ancel almost groaned, finding the temptation to wager that he could bed her almost unbearable.

Danvir snorted. “Really?”

“Well, that’s the word going around. And she sure isn’t local.”

“Speaking of Ostania,” Ancel chimed in. “Have you heard the recent talk?” He needed some way to change the subject.

“About that so called army?” Danvir scoffed. “Peddlers’ tales.”

“I’m not so sure.” Ancel lowered his vice. “I mean, I heard it myself when I delivered the kinai to the palace. Someone sent word to a Herald at the Vallum, and they passed it on to the cities. We may be going to war.”

“I’d look forward to that,” Mirza said. “To see the rest of the world and be a Dagodin just like my Da once was.”

Hearing such words from Mirza was strange. Ever since Mirza’s mother died and his father turned to drink, he and his son argued most of the times Ancel saw them. Mirza once complained he believed all his father’s old stories about the wars and battles were all lies. He’d turned to hunting and working with Ancel at the winery ever since, instead of mining and quarrying with his father.

Ancel sighed. “I’m not so sure I’d be ready. I’ve skipped Mater training the last few months.”

Mirza gaped. “I knew about the sword classes, but I never expected… Did u give that up because of her?” Mirza’s eyes studied Ancel for a moment.

The warmth of embarrassment bloomed across Ancel’s face. “It just doesn’t feel the same without her there. Before we left home, I had thoughts about beginning again. This report from the palace has me thinking it would be for the best. Completing my training would give me a chance to get away from Eldanhill.”

“I agree,” Mirza said. “Ancel.” Mirza’s voice became softer, almost pleading, but at the same time serious. “Promise me you’ll complete your Mater training.” He scratched his head. “I mean, I’d hate for you to lose control and-. Never mind.”

Ancel frowned, but Mirza clapped him on his shoulder. “Listen. If she loved you like you loved her she wouldn’t have left you the way she did. Besides, at the rate you’re going, both me and Dan will surpass you in school. And if you think your Da’s upset now, can you imagine how he would be if you’re no longer top of the class?”

Danvir sloshed his wine around and said with a snort, “Um, he hasn’t been top of the class for a few months now.”

“Maybe, you’re right,” Ancel confessed as he thought about his father’s recent displeasure. Only his mother’s words had saved him from Stefan’s wrath.

Mirza smirked. “Of course I am, you fool. When am I ever wrong?”

Danvir snorted again. “You almost always are.”

Mirza’s red brows bunched, and his head turned from side to side like a sparrow.

A smile touched Ancel’s lips at Mirza’s cluelessness. “Speaking of being wrong. Dan hasn’t cursed. You owe me coin, Mirz.”

“That’s not fair,” Mirza cried. “You need to give me more time.”

“You said three drinks.” Ancel pointed to Danvir’s drink. “That’s his fourth. Now pay up, I’ll need the coin for your little Ostanian dancer.”

Mirza chuckled. “In that case.” He reached into his pocket and took out four gold coins with a bird imprinted on each. “There you, go. Four hawks.”

“You bet four hawks on me cursing?” Danvir slurred. “Amuni’s balls. You’re as stupid as they say when it comes to wagers.”

Mirza closed his hand over the coins. “There, he just did it.”

“Oh no, you don’t. You bet three drinks. You already lost.”

Mirza gritted his teeth and handed over the coins.

“Thank you. Nice doing business with you, my good sir.”

The music started up again, this time a slower song. Another girl came out and danced. A black-haired girl, wide as a bull, with ear lobes pierced in multiple places in the typical Dosteri fashion. Her dancing paled in comparison to the Ostanian, but the patrons showed their appreciation all the same. War did not matter to the Sendethi men when it came to enjoying a woman’s pleasures.

The honey haired dancer now visited tables. Ancel tried and failed to watch subtly, and instead, openly stared.

Mirza signaled for more drinks. “So, do you really believe what you heard at the palace?”

Ancel’s shoulders rose, eyes still riveted on the dancer. “Why not? I’d bet there’s a lot of truth to the story.” Ancel didn’t quite know why he felt that way, but something in his gut told him he was right.

“I’d take that bet.” Mirza grinned and held his hand out.

“Me too,” Danvir slurred.

Ancel wagged his finger. “Now you know I’m not making that wager.”

“How about another then?” Mirza’s eyebrow arched.

“I’m listening.”

“You and the Ostanian.”

Ancel suppressed the need to draw in a breath.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Mirza chortled. “Not good old Ancel who can charm scales off a fish.”

“Fine, fine,” Ancel said. He wasn’t about to be outdone by Mirz. “Let’s say five hawks. Each.”

Mirza pursed his lips and stroked the stubble on his chin before nodding. “As long as you don’t pay for her services. Charm the dress, well, underwear off her.”

“I’ll only use what coin it takes to get her to the table.”

Danvir and Mirza glanced at each other. “You’re on,” they said together.

The serving girl returned with their drinks. She winked at Ancel and smacked Mirza’s hand before he could slap her ass again.

Ancel did not really want to, but he would have to disappoint this serving girl. He scratched his head. What was he saying? He wanted to disappoint her, especially since it meant chasing after the Ostanian dancer. That was indeed half of the intrigue-the chase. This serving girl offered no challenge; he could have her any time. Now the dancer, she was special. Several men were after her, and she’d already refused quite a few. He needed something unique to stand out.

Ancel flicked a gold hawk to the girl. “Tell the Ostanian I want a word with her. There’s another hawk in it for you and four for her.”

Danvir spit out his drink. “Did you get knocked over your head? That’s fifty silver owls you just offered to go with the ten you gave her. Enough to buy drinks for everyone in here twice over.” Danvir slurred so hard now he sputtered.