Page 47

Along each wall stand three Imperial Guards. On a small chair sits Selim’s page.

In the very centre of the room is an ornate golden throne, glinting dimly in the light from the fires and the candles on the altar.

Damon steps towards it and sits down.

Selim turns from his prayers and walks towards Damon with his head bowed. He’s a short, stout man with a bare-shaven head. He wears no crown and no shoes. His robe is plain white linen. On his forehead is a black painted mark of Zai.

Selim kneels before Damon on a low, padded stool. Damon closes his eyes, leaning back on the throne, as Selim removes the sandals from Damon’s feet one by one in slow, delicate movements. This ritual always makes Damon feel queasy. He prefers not to watch it.

Doroth Zain brings over a golden bowl of rose water and places it in front of Damon’s feet. Damon puts his feet into the bowl.

Selim lifts the small linen cloth and carefully wipes the warm water over Damon’s skin. It’s a pleasant sensation, but the intimacy of it makes Damon prickle all over.

“My dear nephew,” Selim says, looking up from his ministrations. “Jur-Mattan is ours, part of our great empire. No doubt due to your prowess as a Darek warrior blessed by Zai’s hand. I am in even greater debt to you. You bring honour to your father’s name.”

“I did my duty at your command, Your Grace,” Damon says.

“Nevertheless, you remain the greatest of my servants. Oh, that I could have a hundred of you, I could take this whole world into the heart of Zai. Your father’s appetite for breeding bastards would be nothing but a blessing if all of them were strong loyal warriors like you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Damon says to the strange compliment.

Selim smiles indulgently. “And now, with but one of you, we have run the Hevelikar out of Jur-Mattan. We will pursue them to Ik-Sundal and beyond. We will take this whole world if we must, to rid us of the scourge of the Hevelikar. Can I not persuade you to rejoin my army and be part of that great battle? We could use your strength in Ik-Sundal. The Imperial Army aches from your loss. I know your sentence is long served but many join the Imperial Army as freedmen. I could give you very generous terms. Lands outside the city perhaps. A second wife?”

“Your Grace,” Damon says, taking great care with his words. “When my sentence ended two years ago you were very generous. I agreed to finish the mission to take Jur-Mattan, in your honour, but no more. I have no more appetite for war.”

“Perhaps I was too generous,” Selim says with a soft chuckle. “I gifted you too sweet a life to return to, Damon Darekul. Sanglora is a fine manor. I have given you many servants — and your bride Lady Inez is a fair woman from a good family. She will give you sons.”

“You have given me more than any bastard born would ever expect from a great Emperor, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps after some time idling in your fine manor, you will regain your taste for battle.”

“If I do, Your Grace, I know there will be a place for me.”

“Always for you, first son of my brother and heir.” Selim pauses. “I have asked Vindar to arrange a small celebration of your achievements,” he says. “A Hero’s Gala. It breaks my old heart to have you leave my service, but I cannot compel you. I will delight in all you have done.”

“There’s no need,” says Damon. In truth, he can’t think of much worse than the thought of an Azurian Hero’s Gala in celebration of him and his blood-soaked career.

“I am afraid that on this, I will insist, Master Damon. Your achievements are a great example to the citizens of the empire. How you took a sentence made as punishment and wrought from that such glory for yourself and the empire. I will present you with the Order of Azuria.”

Damon sucks in a breath. The Order of Azuria is an unthinkable honour for a man such as him. “Yes, I see, Your Grace. For the glory of Azuria and Zai, I will be delighted to attend.”

Selim runs his hands over Damon’s feet, looking up at him. “However, the gala would be the perfect place to announce your return to the front.” Selim pauses, humming. He runs his wet hands a little way up the back of Damon’s legs. “And I am considering making you Warden of Vashti.”

Damon does not do anything to show how much that startles him. The Order of Azuria is one thing. An honour, but a token. Warden of Vashti is a different offer entirely. There will be a price for such an honour. And a high one. It’s not hard to guess what it will be. “By rights,” he says, “Endrew holds that office as Duke of Vashti.”

Selim nods. “When Ik-Sundal falls, as it will, I will make Endrew Warden there. He will not mourn the loss of Vashti. Ik-Sundal is rich in gems and minerals and will be our gateway to the eastern lands and The Cradle.”

“I see, Your Grace.” And there it is. When Ik-Sundal falls. A simple bargain. Take Ik-Sundal and you can be Warden of Vashti. “Ik-Sundal is mostly desert,” Damon says, wondering if he is truly considering this. “A desert campaign will not be easy.”

“You would do well in Vashti,” says Selim. “Your namesake ancestor King Damon conquered Vashti for the empire. He spent most of his life there.”

Damon nods. King Damon, who rebelled with his traitorous Hevelikar mother and killed his own father, then turned against her, did years of penance and went mad. What a name to be saddled with. But this is certainly an intriguing offer. He has to confess, Selim has discovered just how to tempt him. If he was sent to Vashti he would be far from the centre of the empire. Far from Attar. He’d be far enough away that any rumours about his preferences in bed would surely be whispers on the wind.

He could take Lyr there. Perhaps even have Lyr share his bed if he was so far away. But at what cost? How long would defeating Ik-Sundal take? Jur-Mattan had taken two years. Could he ask Lyr to wait that long?

Could he bear to? No, he thinks clearly, even for such a prize he could not bear to return to war.

“You flatter me, Your Excellency,” Damon says. “But I am six and thirty summers. I have a wife to bed and sons to raise.”