I’m Tekchin,” he said, exchanging an empty gourd for a full one. “The handsomest and most skilled of the Galantians.”
This brought an immediate and loud moan from the other Fhrey.
“That scar suggests otherwise,” Moya replied. “On both counts.”
More laughter, louder this time.
“Pretty and smart,” Tekchin said to the others in Fhrey.
Persephone was thankful Moya couldn’t understand their language. A comment like that would have been tantamount to putting torch to tinder.
“This?” Tekchin returned to Rhunic and touched his cheek. “Naw, this is a beauty mark given to me by a special friend. He’s dead now, of course, but he was a gifted opponent and aiming for my throat. I can assure you it proves my skill. So what’s your name, or shall I call you Doe-Eyes?”
“Doe-Eyes? Seriously?” Moya rolled her same-said eyes in disbelief. “I would have expected something less sappy from a god. My name is Moya. Call me anything else and you’ll receive a second beauty mark.”
Tekchin struggled but failed to resist smiling. Behind him, the rest of the Fhrey laughed once more.
“God, eh?” Tekchin said.
“Don’t get too excited. Apparently it’s only a rumor.”
“I like you, Moya.”
“Most people do,” she replied.

Michael J. Sullivan