Etchings of Power aotg-1

by Terry C. Simpson

  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.

  Ancel shrugged. “It’s just coin.”

  Danvir grumbled under his breath about wasting good coin and put his drink back to his mouth. Mirza had one of those leers of his written across his face. The girl’s eyes widened at the coin, before they narrowed when she grasped what Ancel asked her to do. She gave him a look that said he didn’t know what he was missing.

  “I guess this means it’s you and I threading the needle,” Mirza sang and flicked her another hawk. “There’s more where that came from.”

  The girl caught the coin despite the tray she carried, and now she graced Mirza with a smile. She saved a pout for Ancel and strutted away.

  Mirza rubbed his hands together. “This, I can’t wait to see.”

  A few moments later, the honey-haired dancer arrived at their table. Up close, she was even more breathtaking. Her slim curves reminded Ancel of Irmina again, but he pushed the thought from his mind. A thin mouth and a dainty nose highlighted her smooth face. Looking into her deep, lemon-colored eyes made him feel as if he could drown in them. Perfume drifted from her carrying the spicy scent of bellflowers.

  “Well, are you going to say something or just stare all night?” She asked in a thick, singsong accent.

  “Oh, um, hullo.” Ancel said, fidgeting with his hands. Direct, like Irmina too. He almost pinched himself.

  Mirza chortled. “Why I never thought I’d see the day when some woman made your silky tongue stick to the roof of your mouth.”

  Ancel glared at his friend before turning back to the dancer. “Would you mind taking a seat?” Under the table, he kicked Danvir’s chair.

  The big man pulled his face from the mouth of his glass. “Hmmm? Why’re you kicking my chair?”

  The Ostanian shook her head. Ancel rolled his eyes. He stood, walked around to the other side of the table, and pulled out a chair for her.

  “Why, thank you,” she said in a sweet tone, but her eyes spoke in volumes of ice.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Ancel’s mouth. Without the use of coin, this conquest appeared more difficult than he expected. A refreshing thought. He’d noticed how standoffish she was earlier when she patronized other tables. The men in this place were so lost in their drink they either did not notice or did not care. Music started up again.

  Ancel took a chair next to her and met her defiant gaze with a smile. “I’m Ancel. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

  “Iris.” She still wore the same cold look in her eyes.

  “That’s a very old Granadian name for an Ostanian woman.”

  Her expression changed, and she leaned forward slightly. “What do you know about Ostanian names?”

  “I know,” he said as he took out a silver flask from the inside pocket of his velvet jacket. “That Ostanians love good kinai.” He took a swig and nodded to the flask. “I also know you say your names and eyes are windows to your soul as-”

  “Your words are doorways to the heart,” she finished in a soft voice.

  “So, should I ask again?”

  “Kachien.”

  “Ah, a flowing wind. It suits you.” Ancel passed her the drink.

  Kachien sniffed at it, and her eyes widened. “You know our sayings. You understand our language. And you have distilled kinai. Who are you?”

  “Miss, I was about to ask the same thing myself,” Mirza said, his gaze fixed on Ancel. He stood, flipped on his hat, and left a gold eagle on the table. “I think I’ll retire now. Dan?”

  Danvir grumbled and stumbled to his feet.

  “One moment,” Ancel said to Kachien.

  Ancel stood and helped Mirza get Danvir’s big arm over his gaunt friend’s neck. His gaze followed them as they stumbled out. At the door, Mirza paused and tipped his hat to Ancel, who smiled in return.

  “Now, back to me.” Ancel savored the tone of her tanned skin as he sat. “My parents are famous for their kinai wine. My father always brags about his travels, saying Eastern Ostania was the most cultured place he ever stayed in. They lived there for many years before moving here and brought the art of kinai making with them. I used to drink in
all his stories about Ostania. Not that I had much choice. He always talked about the place.”

  She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly into a dubious expression. “Did he also tell you that many of the women from that part of Ostania are hard and not easily impressed by boasts or flattery?”

  “Indeed. But more than most, you have an undying love for song and poetry.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes. If you let my father tell it, many of our songs were taken from old Ostanian lore. He even claims the best musicians lived in your side of the world, and much of their music was steeped in truth.”

  Eyes keen, Kachien leaned forward even more.

  “Take the song you danced to for example. Damal’s Sacrifice. A strange song to dance the Temtesa to.”

  “Why?”

  “Well as the legend goes, Damal was one of the last Eztezians. A great Teacher. Supposedly, in a desperate attempt to save Denestia, he ventured into Hydae in order to battle a Skadwaz overlord. The battle took place at the once great city of Jenoah with its gleaming spires and famous fountains. Having found out he was betrayed by the Exalted Ashishin-something I don’t believe-Damal sacrificed himself to trigger some great Forging. One that would make the Kassite impassable, sealing the Planes of Existence, not only imprisoning the gods in the Nether, but locking away Denestia from Hydae’s threat.”

  Kachien sat staring into his face, her eyes wide with wonder. Ancel smiled. When her lips curled with the same warm expression, this feeling came over him. Not the heat of his loins or the racing heart that often began when he knew he’d made some headway. This was different, seeing her smile. It was sunshine glowing through dark clouds to spark a rainbow over freezing waters. Whatever coldness he harbored toward women, somehow fled, chased away by Kachien’s radiance.

  She broke into a mischievous grin and took a sip from his flask. For an instant, a flash of hunger filled her eyes. “So was your curiosity what made you call on me?” She set the flask down, her thumb playing around the rim.

  Ancel blushed, but he didn’t waver. He knew he had her now. Drinking from his flask meant her interest was assured. “No.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

  “By the way, your Temtesa…it was…exhilarating.”

  This time, she blushed. So far, his father’s words proved true. Ancel shrugged. Why not? “Kachien, I came here tonight to seek pleasure and hope to forget about some things in my life. I’ve decided. I will forget about them with you.”

  Her slim fingers brushed against his. They sent a tingle up his spine.

  “I thought you would never ask,” she said in a breathy voice. “Come.” She stood and swayed toward the door leading upstairs.

  Did all these women go to a school to learn to walk that way? Ancel picked up his flask, firmness pushing against the fabric of his trousers when he stood. As he placed his drink container into his jacket pocket, he felt Irmina’s letter there. He took the letter out and dropped it into his glass. Red kinai soaked into the paper. A thin tinder stick the smokers used to light their giana pipes rested on a stand next to him. Picking it up, he lit it in an oil lamp, and touched it to the paper in the glass.

  Irmina’s letter burst into flames.

  With that flare-up, the kinai took hold and another kind of blaze soared through his loins, enveloping his mind as he stared at Kachien’s swaying form. Yes, tonight marks a new beginning. And I’ll start by threading your honey-haired needle. He strode after the woman with a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER 18

  A week later, Ancel strolled alongside Kachien through a field outside Randane. They had left behind the fifty-foot wall, the cobbled and flagstoned streets, the King’s castle and its spires and parapets, the Streamean temples and their shining pillars, the network of canals, and the din of the crowds.

  Lilies, roses, and bellflowers around them adorned the air with their sweet perfumes. Still, none were as aromatic as the smell wafting from her. He’d grown to love the powders and paints she used to make herself even more beautiful, but those paled in comparison to her scents. She’d explained each. Today, her fragrance of choice was jasmine and lavender mixed with a hint of mint.

  The time spent with Kachien had flown by like a dream. An unforgettable kinai induced fantasy filled with passionate lovemaking. Most days they listened to music while he lost himself in the sway of her body as she danced the Temtesa. Other days they sampled fine foods from different taverns around town. There were tender delicacies such as river crab legs, eel in a gooseberry sauce, and lamb served with creamed potatoes. Kachien always made sure to dress in the most enticing and revealing clothing, many of which Ancel chose. Their conversation often involved sharing stories of their homes while they strolled in each other’s company.

  At night, that would change when Kachien needed to work. He tried to convince her several times to give up her profession, but she refused. Glancing at Kachien, Ancel heaved a sigh.

  He longed to touch her hand, kiss her lips, and feel his body against hers, but he resisted the temptation. There would be time enough for that later. Instead, he enjoyed the day’s warmth while admiring the way the sun played through her honey hair, giving it a golden sheen. He had no wish to break the hypnotic pull of her beauty, so he studied her curves in silence.

  Ever vigilant, Charra loped through the short grass a few feet from them. He’d not taken to Kachien on the first day he met her, and more often than not, he growled when she touched Ancel in any form. However, his reaction then was nothing compared to how he acted if Ancel attempted to keep him out of the bedroom or sneak away with Kachien. Charra resorted to uncontrollable howling fits then. Ancel had resigned himself to taking the daggerpaw wherever he traveled.

  “So what will we do today, my dark haired Granadian lover?” Kachien asked, her tone light and playful, a lazy smile playing across her face. “Shall I teach you some new positions?”

  Ancel gaped. He had difficulty dealing with her openness about sex. He used to think of himself as bold and experienced, some said cocky, but he was a mere candlelight next to Kachien’s flame. “Out here? For anyone passing to see?”

  She giggled, her ample chest heaving. The tight bodice of her yellow dress amplified the movement. “Why not? Maybe the lover who gave you the charm you will not part with will pass by.” She indicated the replica of his mother with a nod of her head.

  “I told you several times, my mother gave it to me for my naming day.”

  “Oh, yes. You are a man now or so they say. But what man has never made love in the open?”

  “I’ve had plenty women. None have ever complained. I don’t see what’s so special about outside.”

  Kachien’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, my dear, you have not experienced true love-making until you feel the wind caress your body as the heat takes you. Your people have strange beliefs about passion. The gods made us naked. Why hide behind all this?” She pointed at her clothing. “In most parts of Ostanian, it becomes too hot to wear this much clothes. Come, let us go down to the stream so I can show you what I mean.” With those words, she hiked up her dress by its flared ruffles and took off running.

  With a chuckle, Ancel chased after her. Charra bounded beside him, growling all the way.

  Kachien led them through the flowers and past budding oaks and cedars until the ground slanted down toward a stream. At the water’s edge, she paused long enough to remove her dress with a speed Ancel refused to believe. Garbed only in her diaphanous shift, she waded into the stream.

  Ancel paced along the rock-strewn riverbank, pebbles crunching underfoot, as Charra ran back and forth cooing and growling at Kachien. Almost out in the middle of the stream, she turned toward him and waved for him to join her. Peering around to make sure no one watched, Ancel shed his clothes. He took a running leap into the cool water. Within moments, he was frolicking beside Kachien while Charra sat and whined.

  “I think today I will teach you how easy it is t
o float.” Kachien’s mouth curled into a mischievous grin.

  Before he moved, she gripped his arm and drew him closer. He attempted to pull away playfully, but she kept her hold firm. Vaulting onto him, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  When he felt the warmth of her body against his, coupled with her scents and her eyes that almost matched her hair as she stared into his, he gave in. Or rather, all his inhibitions fled. Not that he needed much more convincing. His hardness sang its own song.

  He cupped her ass, her shift already having slid up her body. Closing her eyes, Kachien leaned away from him with her neck arched, exposing her chest. Her nipples stood hard and proud, darker still than the already tanned beauty of her skin.

  No other invitation was needed. Ancel raised her ever so slightly and suckled on the curves of her neck. Her pulse became a fluttering bird beneath his tongue. His lips slid down until he took one nipple in his mouth. A moan escaped her throat.

  The warmth of their bodies built to a transcendent heat as he nibbled her succulent flesh, his nips increasing to bites, and her moans growing louder and more breathless. She arched her back and neck until he could no longer feel her heavy breaths against his ears. Her eyes opened, glazed in ecstasy. Their gazes locked, and she smiled warmly. She drew his head to her, and they kissed long and deep, their tongues playing against each other. The feeling was sweeter than cold water on a blazing day.

  Her hands slid down his body, below his waist. Ancel arched his back. When their flesh entwined, his world exploded.

  Their lovemaking became a blur of gyrating hips, moans, gasps, and digging fingernails. In the water, his strokes became effortless. When he climaxed, it was as if he saw the world through a new light.

  He opened his eyes, and a ragged moan tore from his throat. Colors bloomed all around him. Everything appeared more alive than ever before. Reds were deeper, blues darker, pinks brighter. On and on the hues swirled about him across every living surface.

  Whites, grays, and browns wavered around Kachien herself.

  Ancel gasped as another release shuddered through his body. His eyes snapped closed against his new sight. When he opened them, all was normal.