Iryana couldn’t bring herself to respond. She didn’t find the way soldiers partied to be pleasant. Too loud, too violent, and too crude.
Shahn looked up from his game, though, laughing. Then his eyes grew wide.
Iryana tensed, wondering where the danger was. But it was only a girl of perhaps fifteen. She bounded up to Shahn, her two braids swinging across her back.
“What are you doing out this late, Lyona!” Shahn demanded, looking more alive than Iryana had seen him in the almost month she’d known him.
“I finished training late, and I’m hungry.”
“You’re too young to be in the hall this late.”
Iryana silently agreed with Shahn, watching their exchange awkwardly.
Lyona pouted. “I’m almost sixteen. And it’s not like it’s anything I’ve never seen before!”
“No,” Shahn ordered. “We’ll take back food. I’ll eat with you.”
Her face lit up, but instead of letting him usher her out immediately, Lyona grabbed the closest drink at the table and threw the whole thing back. It just happened to be Iryana’s.
“Now we can go!” Lyona giggled, leaving Shahn to gather their stuff.
Instead of seeming upset, Shahn smiled so openly at the girl that Iryana almost couldn’t decipher the expression.
Maybe he didn’t care about most things, but he certainly cared about his sister.
“Sorry, man.” Shahn called back to Mezhimar as he left the room, hand on his sister’s back as he gently led her.
Mezhimar sighed at their unfinished game.
Vaneshta leaned over and refilled Iryana’s cup. “He’s going to age early if he keeps fussing over that sister of his,” she said with a laugh.
Iryana nodded slightly, just because it seemed the easiest thing to do. But she thought it was good to be protective of family. She hoped Hadima fussed at least as much over Misha.
Chasing off that train of thought, Iryana took a long sip of her vodka.
She was feeling warm and buzzy, which helped a bit to fight off the tightness of the room.
A series of cheers exploded from the other side of the room, Iryana turning to see a scuffle break out between two soldiers. It wasn’t the orderly match that had been going on before; this was a proper fight. One man shouted curses, claiming some sort of offense that Iryana couldn’t quite parse. The other two tackled him, someone grabbing a stool and raising it.
“Whoo!” Vabihn cheered, standing with muscles tensed as if he wanted to join in.
Pepha sighed, grimacing. “They’re making such a mess.” And they were, the table getting bumped hard enough that a few plates and cups had ended up on the floor, stew and vodka being dragged around beneath the fighters’ feet.
“They’d be running laps early tomorrow morning if I were their captain,” Vaneshta grumbled.
“Their captain will probably reward them,” Vabihn laughed. “Darish certainly would.”
Iryana didn’t doubt it, given how much she’d seen others get away with.
She took another sip, another wave of burning tumbling down her throat, and watched those watching the fight. It would be good to note the faces that seemed to like this kind of display.
The alcohol had blunted the sharpest bits of her discomfort, panic no longer crawling at her neck.
The room grew quiet as the fight eventually finished, the two sides slinking off back to their tables. One soldier’s face was bloodied, but he didn’t seem bothered.
Vabihn sat down with a disappointed huff.
“What idiots.” Vaneshta shook her head back and forth, lips pursed. Iryana had to agree with her; it was a waste if they were injured and had to recover. A strain on the entire post.
