Page 17 of Over the Emerald Valley
Seli ducked out from beneath his arm and offered him both her hands. “You don’t even like licorice.”
He took her hands, and she pulled him up. “Because I’m convinced it’s poison. Nothing that tastes like that should be swallowed.”
“Ha! I know you’re not picky about what you swallow.” She gestured to the chair at his vanity. “Sit. Let me fix your eyes. You’re terrible with the kohl.”
“I am not.” But he sat and turned his face up for her anyway because he was, in fact, terrible with the kohl.
“You are. You smudge it. Close your eyes and let me pretty you up.”
Grinning, Temaj held still as Seli wiped away his sloppy attempt and added her own precise, perfectly symmetrical lines. She worked with gentle efficiency, humming under her breath, her soft fingers tugging his lid this way and that.
“Open,” she said. Temaj obeyed, and she leaned back, admiring her handiwork. “That will do nicely. I dare that silly general to resist you tonight.”
“He might.”
“He won’t.”
“But what if he does?” Uh-oh. When had that note of vulnerability crept into his voice?
“Then fuck him. Or rather don’t. Onto the next conquest.”
“I’m bored with all the palace conquests, actually. We so rarely get visitors. At this rate, I’ll end up letting Ottah fuck me just to feel pretty.”
“Pfft, Ottah is a buffoon. And you’re always pretty. Who cares what that dusty old general thinks?”
Curse it. I do.
* * *
Solon
To further trySolon’s patience, a long day threatened to turn into an even longer night. If the low throb in his skull was anything to go by, he’d had far too much sun and not nearly enough water.
After arranging a schedule with Irsu, he’d sought out his men and instructed them to take a few shifts at the mines to learn what they could. Follow the trail of emeralds, so to speak.
Then he tracked down Khu—who kept the operation’s records—a twitchy, evasive sort of fellow with an irritating habit of answering questions with questions. When Solon asked to see the records, Khu asked if that was really necessary. After explaining what should have been obvious, that conducting a proper audit would require reviewing the accounts, Khu produced only a dozen or so shoddy papyri with obvious errors.
He’d left that meeting with little useful information and even more suspicion than he’d gone into it with, and his nerves had been worn thin.
Abasi appeared at the evening meal and again made excuses not to partake, instead opting to carry the entire conversation almost single-handedly. Perhaps he thought if Solon couldn’t get a word in, he wouldn’t have to answer any tough questions.
That part, at least, Solon didn’t mind. He had little to say to a thief who was likely embezzling from his own country. But he wouldn’t interrogate Abasi until he’d collected further proof. So the man could chatter on as long as he wished.
Thankfully, no extravagant show accompanied the meal, but musicians played quietly across the open floor.
When the food was eaten and the wine drunk, but before the conversation grew stilted, Abasi clapped his hands and ordered the harem to be brought forth.
At least Solon knew what to expect this time. Temaj would be brazen and feisty, then pout when he didn’t get his way. And Solon would resist being charmed by the entire display. Probably.
The group of young, supple men and women sauntered in, each of them wearing a year’s salary in jewels and silks. Solon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, which was made easier when he spotted Temaj. His gaze was captured like a hare in a trap by the cheeky man’s beauty.
The spirited slave would stand out in any crowd. Not only was he taller than most of the others, but his light hair shone like sunlight glinting off a golden statue.
Only there was more to him than that. He had a smirk that offered something amusing, enticing, or both at once. A swagger that said “you’ll miss me when I’m gone.” And a way about him, a confidence Solon would never expect from a slave.
In his experience, slaves were often cautious, even fearful. None would speak to a general in the manner Temaj had spoken to Solon. None would dare. But Temaj hadn’t thought twice before sassing him, teasing him, and sneaking into his bed.
Why Solon would find such taunting intriguing, he didn’t know, but he wanted the man’s company. After the day he’d had, Temaj would prove a welcome diversion, even if Solon wouldn’t partake of the chief diversion on offer.
