Blaze of Silver by K. M. Grant

Author:K. M. Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2007-11-09T05:00:00+00:00

14

An hour after the Old Man’s arrival, he sat dressed in the finest gold and silver samite under a jewel-encrusted canopy held by four shivering slaves. Four more slaves, equally chilled, held flaming torches aloft. Darkness fell quickly and the ship was swallowed into the black with nothing to reveal its presence save occasional tiny pinpricks from lanterns and the surge of voices carrying clearly across the still waters. Under the flares, a feast of exotic splendor had been laid out. The Old Man was not eating. Instead, he had swapped his juggling oranges for walnuts, which he cracked between his thumbs, a favorite trick and one he had learned from a slave who had afterward been put to death so that he could teach nobody else. Amal had been summoned to sit at his side and the place opposite was empty until Kamil was brought from the tent in which he had been confined. The Old Man gave Kamil a long, hard look, then broke into a beaming smile. His whole face danced though his eyes were glacial. “Sit, sit.” He nodded. Crack, crack, crack went his thumbs. “You must be tired from all the traveling. Sit. Eat.”

Kamil sat but even had he been starving he would not have taken food from the Old Man’s table. The Old Man threw down the nuts and reached for some figs. “You will have missed all our lovely fruit,” he said as if Kamil was a young relation who had been away on a holiday, “and we have missed you, Kamil.” He chewed slowly, over and over, and occasionally his teeth snapped together. A long silence followed. From the beach in front Kamil could hear the murmur of soldiers gathering driftwood and from the caves behind he could hear horses stamp and sneeze at the swish of grain pouring onto the floor for their evening feed. All the time he felt the Old Man’s eyes on him, and eventually, in his own time, met his gaze. He wanted to look fearless but it was hard to stop his cheeks from quivering.

The Old Man paused and licked the sticky fig syrup from his fingers, each in turn. “Well, Kamil, this is a strange place to meet,” he said, darting his tongue in and out of his mouth like a lizard. “Our last conversation took place in the mountains and here we are at the sea.” He bared teeth stained yellow with saffron. Amal shifted his bones. “At the sea,” the Old Man repeated softly and picked up more walnuts. He splintered one shell effortlessly, then threw the kernel away. “Do you know,” he said, “had I really set my mind to it, I could have had you killed anytime over the past two years? Several times I nearly gave the order to find you, but then it occurred to me that you should be given a chance. After all”—his currant eyes were wide with false tenderness—“at the time we last met, you were only young, only a boy.

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