The Lantern's Curse by Hannah King

Author:Hannah King [King, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TALITHA

TATE WAS A very ugly man. His hair (what was left of it) and beard were a dull brown, mottled with streaks of gray. His nose seemed too small for his face, and his eyes were a murky shade of green. He was certainly old. His face seemed hardened by too much thinking, and the skin beneath his eyes was deeply creased from pouring over books late into the night.

The Hull was not as dark and secluded as I had imagined it would be. Instead, beams of pale daylight illuminated the grand space from windows in the ceiling. Lamps were still lit to compensate for the cloudy day.

“Leave us,” Tate said, gesturing to the Ambassador who still held my arm. I hadn’t been happy to have him slowing me down during our walk to the Hull, but as his arm slipped away I felt a surge of panic. My hovering, sad-eyed escort suddenly seemed to me to be far better company than the frightening figure in the corner, but he left me nevertheless, shutting the door quietly behind us.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Tate addressed me, “I’ve some-thing to finish before we begin.” I nodded and he made his way to a small table. Pulling out a low stool, he sat himself down in front of a plate, filled with greens and a sizable portion of red meat. With a large knife he began to cut the beef, and then took a small, two-pronged utensil to poke at the pieces and deliver them to his mouth. He used his fingers to eat the greens, a leaf or two every other bite of meat, then took long gulps of wine from a crystal goblet.

He offered me no chair to wait, and once he’d finished the first course, he directed his utensils to a bowl of potatoes that were hardly any larger than his thumb. When these were finished with gusto, he took a jar of honey, opened a folded linen napkin and began to slather small cakes with a thick layer of the golden spread.

As he seemed to be taking extra time to relish that particular course, I allowed my attention to wander while he chewed. The room was much like a library; lined with shelves, display cases filled with artifacts, and tapestries hanging in optimal places. However, it was not a cheery, fire-crackling sort of library. There was no cozy scent of dust or pipe smoke, no piles of old scrolls or tilting stacks of books with bindings that needed attention. Nothing was crowded or dingy, everything was neat and retained a sort of sheen to it. Every single object seemed to serve an exact purpose and was arranged with perfection.

“Well?” his gravelly voice startled me. He was standing up, pushing his plates aside and turning to face me.

“Yes, sir?” I faltered. He looked down at my hands.

“Hand me the gloves.” He waved at me impatiently. I placed them in one of his hands. He turned them over a

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