Page 62 of Over the Emerald Valley
An elegant shrug. A glance toward Temaj. A step back. Whatever Abasi had planned, Solon was ready to hear it. His muscles twitched, anticipating another fight. If the man didn’t come out with it soon, he’d lose his chance because Solon would attack first and ask questions later.
“I killed the one who made me,” said Abasi cryptically, a grin on his face as if he reveled in being mysterious.
Solon frowned. “The one who made you what?”
“I’ll get to that in due course.” Abasi tilted his chin high. “Are you going to listen to my entire tale poised like that, ready to thrust that dagger into me? Or can we sit like civilized men and have a polite conversation?”
“Enough!” Solon shouted. “A battle rages in your palace while we stand here talking. My men, your guards, even the harem. All of it is putting every servant and resident at risk. Yet you retreat below ground like a coward. Why?”
A bland expression showed Abasi’s lack of concern. “The mortals above matter little to me in the scheme of things. This has been a fine life. Harsh at times but filled with rewards. I’m ready to move on. You, however, will be staying so that I may finally leave.”
None of that made any sense. “I’ll be appointing a new viceroy and returning to Thebes,” said Solon. “You’ll soon become closely acquainted with the blade of this dagger.”
Abasi’s dark brows drew tight. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened. “That’s enough. I asked you nicely to sit, but as usual, I must do everything around here.”
A split second passed. Then Abasi startled into motion, but before Solon could do as much as brace for impact, the viceroy had disappeared.
Temaj squealed behind him.
Solon whirled around. Temaj lay sprawled on the lounge. Neku had been yanked from his ready position and flung to the floor, and Abasi stood in his place, grinning.
The next thing he knew, he’d been shoved to the lounge next to Temaj, and his dagger was plucked from his hand by the blade.
Blinking, Solon focused on Abasi who stood before the three of them, holding the knife in his bleeding palm. “There, that’s better.” He wiped the blade on his tunic, creating a gory spot on the front to match the one on the back, then tucked it into his belt. His tongue flicked out and licked his bloody hand.
Solon grimaced as he watched. Temaj scooted closer and leaned into his side. At their feet, Neku sat upright but made no further move.
Abasi retrieved the wooden chair from the desk and sat opposite their group, just past lunging distance away. He took a breath, leaned back, and placed his hands on his thighs. “Now that we’re all calm, I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Interrupt, and you won’t enjoy the consequences. Do you understand?”
Restraining his anger, Solon managed to nod. They’d sailed too far down the river with no paddle between them, and the current was strengthening ominously. Drowning wasn’t a reality he could accept, but the way Abasi moved, the speed, the strength…if he’d been injured before, he wasn’t now. How could they best a man with such powers?
They couldn’t.
“I know about the rumors the miners whisper behind my back. What did they tell you when you went asking your questions? That I was a monster? A blood demon?”
“Among other things,” Solon muttered. His mind was spinning, trying to come up with any way out of this mess.
“What else did they say?” asked Abasi. He seemed all too eager to hear about himself.
“That you’re a thief. An emerald-stealing criminal. That you line your pockets with the spoils of their labor and get away with it, just as I expected.”
Another shrug as if that part was inconsequential. Perhaps it was whenblood demonwas on the table.
“Why do you care so much about the emeralds? There are plenty of rocks to go around. Your precious pharaoh gets the bulk of them. The Nubians take their lot.” That much was news to Solon. He hadn’t known the Nubians were in on it. Horemheb wouldn’t like that. “If I keep some for myself and share the wealth with those in my service, what is it to you? To the pharaoh? Is he not rich enough already?” Abasi waved this away. He wanted no response; he only wanted to hear the sound of his own voice. “Don’t the other tidbits interest you more?”
Solon wouldn’t grace him with an answer, but next to him, Temaj spoke in a small voice that hardly sounded like the plucky man he’d gotten to know.
“What did you mean when you said you killed the one who made you?”
“Ah.” Abasi huffed with renewed glee. “That’s more like it. My curious Temaj, thinking. Perhaps it’s you who should carry on when I’m gone and not your prickly lover. Tell me. Has he more of a sense of humor in bed, hmm?”
Temaj shook his head. “Not really, no.”
Spine straight, muscles rigid, stomach in knots, Solon didn’t like the turn tonight had taken. He didn’t know whether to hush Temaj or let him continue, or which would have the better outcome for the concubine.
“Pity. I killed the demon who made me, a Nubian who dared condemn me to servitude against my will. I slaughtered him with his own primitive stake.” Abasi paused. Solon gave no reaction, but Temaj let out an audible gasp. “He thought he was so smart, with his ideas and demands, but I take orders from no one.”
“So what was he, this man?” asked Temaj. “What did he turn you into?”
