Page 82 of Over the Emerald Valley
Temaj stood back while Solon dug fingers into the notched stone and tugged. This door was just as heavy as the one guarding the hall. Only a demon could enter; only a demon could leave.
The scrape of stone on stone sent a shiver whirling around his spine, but the other side was just a bedroom. Luxurious, overdecorated, and reeking of wealth and poor taste, but otherwise perfectly normal, considering how far underground they must be.
“How in the world did they get these things down here?” asked Temaj as he prowled the perimeter.
In the center sat an enormous bed, made up of furs, puffy blankets, and various cushions. A second, more ostentatious desk with a massive throne-like chair stood along the far wall, yet another stone door on the other side. The ground was covered in thick Turkish rugs. Art decorated the plastered walls, the gods in their golden glory and the yellow disk of a shining sun. A chest of drawers Solon hoped were filled with something they could wear sat at the edge of the bed.
“Servants, slaves, miners—Abasi had no lack of workers. I just wonder what happened to them all. The location of these quarters remained a secret.”
“You think he had them killed?”
“I don’t see him letting them live. Perhaps he killed them for their blood.”
Temaj wrapped his arms around himself. “I can’t believe I thought of him as a good master.”
“That’s not your fault. You explained it to me once. It’s all in your basis of comparison. When one master starves and beats you, being fed and clothed by another would certainly feel like kindness.”
“Mmm.” Temaj stared at the next door. “What do you think lies beyond that one?”
“With any luck, a storage closet. I’ve had enough of monsters and mysteries for one night. Let’s find out tomorrow.”
“Agreed.” Temaj headed for the bed. “I don’t love the idea of sleeping in his bed, but I’m tired enough not to care.”
Solon followed. “Me too.”
They crawled under the pile of blankets, Solon on his back, Temaj curled against his side. One minute awake, the next, dead to the world.
* * *
Solon awoke disoriented.What time was it? He had no way to be sure, only a bone-deep feeling that it was early evening.
Temaj’s weight was a comfort next to him, one slender leg draped over his thighs, an arm thrown over his chest, soft hair tickling his neck.
Though the rise and fall of their chests continued at a slow, steady pace, thethump thump thumpof their heartbeats was noticeably absent. A tangible reminder of everything that had come to pass last night. Solon hoped with all his heart that Temaj would never regret his decision. He’d do everything in his power to keep the young man happy.
A sniffling sound caught his attention. Muffled, quiet, but definitely not coming from Temaj, who still slumbered. He lifted his head and heard it again. It sounded almost like someone crying.
But they were alone. Or at least, they should be.
When Solon heard the wet, breathy sound a third time, he had to get up and investigate. Had one of the sheep lived? Certainly not. He’d felt their hearts stop.
Could Abasi have awoken somehow? Come back from the dead? Horror of horrors. His chest clenched just thinking about it.
Carefully, he shifted out from under Temaj, trying not to wake him. But Temaj stirred to life all the same, grasping his arm.
“Stay,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep. “Touch me.”
Solon gave him a kiss but got out of bed. “I heard something.”
“What?” Temaj sat up, ruffled and bedheaded, lids only half open. He made it difficult to resist jumping back into bed just to rough him up some more. No doubt that was what Temaj wanted. But that sound…
“I don’t know, like muffled crying?”
They held still to listen. There it was. Sniffles. A heavy breath and, somewhere, two hearts thudding.
“It’s coming from behind the door,” Temaj whispered.
Solon nodded. “Stay there.”
