Page 83 of Over the Emerald Valley
“I will not.” Temaj clambered out of the bed and shuffled to his side.
“At least put something on.” Not that he wasn’t gorgeous in only his bare skin, but what if whatever lurked on the other side of that door was dangerous? Best to meet danger fully clothed.
“I could say the same to you.” Temaj eyed him with raised brows.
Right. Clothes. Solon huffed and dug through Abasi’s dressers. Temaj peered over his shoulder. Crisp white linen robes of the finest quality—such that Solon was sure to get dirt all over in a matter of minutes—lay folded in stacks. He preferred the sandy-colored fabric of the army. What started dingy could stay dingy.
He pulled two from the surplus, along with cords to belt them at the waist. Abasi’s garments would be too large for Temaj, but rolled up, they should suit.
“Our shoes are in the other room.” Temaj scrunched his nose. Already, the stench of death assaulted them.
“I’ll fetch them.” Solon jogged to the sitting chamber, which was undisturbed from the night before. He swept his gaze over the dead viceroy, the fallen sheep, the bloodied stones. This was the stuff of nightmares, but they had no time for hesitation. He grabbed their sandals and returned to Temaj, who had his ear against the stone door.
“Hello?” Temaj said to the wall.
Solon repressed the urge to shush him. Better to keep the upper hand. But the more the sound drifted toward them, the more he thought it was crying.
The noise silenced after Temaj’s call. Solon tensed. Whoever it was, they must be afraid.
He handed Temaj his shoes, and they hurried to finish dressing.
“There are two of them,” said Temaj. “I can hear their hearts beating.”
“Me too.”
“Why can I hear that, Solon?” Worry etched across Temaj’s face. “We shouldn’t be able to hear through stone.”
“We have much to learn about what’s happened to us. I can also see with enough clarity to pick out every splinter in each grain of wood. You?”
Temaj nodded, his gaze traveling back to the stone door. “We’re coming in now. We mean you no harm. Don’t be afraid.”
Solon urged Temaj behind him. He’d had his fill of this place. If through this door, they encountered yet another door, he didn’t care. He only wanted to leave the palace and the town of Sikait behind them.
But he wouldn’t be the reason prisoners died within these walls.
One more door. He gripped the stone and slid it open.
Inside, two women huddled together on a mattress on the floor. Solon scanned the small room. Relief surged through him. No other doors, though he spotted a pit leading gods knew where. Whiffs of human waste rose, faint enough that the hole must be deep.
Temaj was halfway across the space before Solon could stop him. He knelt in front of the women, who cringed back in fear.
“I won’t hurt you,” said Temaj gently.
Already Solon smelled their blood, saw it beneath their skin, rushing through their veins. His mouth watered, and the evil thirst roared to life. Was the same happening to Temaj? If so, he didn’t show it.
“The viceroy is dead.” Temaj held out his hand. “You’re safe now. Can you walk?”
Solon backed away from the women. Both were young, both with Egyptian features. Light brown skin, marked by healed-over puncture wounds at their wrists and necks, dark silken hair like his own, big brown eyes, alive with fear. His gut ached. How long had they been there? With only each other and Abasi for company?
“I’m Amunet,” the bolder of the two women answered. “This is my sister, Femi.”
“I’m Temaj, and that is my lover, Solon. We’ll help you to safety. Come.”
Though the fear never left their eyes, both women stood. They clutched one another’s hands. Wearing the same white Abasi preferred, and just as pristine, they looked healthy enough aside from the fang marks.
The room in which they had been imprisoned contained a small pantry with bread, dried fruit and meat, wine, and water. A game of Senet, dice, papyri, reed brushes, and ink. Jewels. Of course. Even the prisoners of this palace had emeralds.
Temaj led them to the main bedroom. “You must be wondering what happened.”
