Silk Over Razor Blades (10 page)

He nodded. ‘Perhaps. But you could be
nicer to her. Include her. Don’t taunt her with our time together
while she is busy with the queen. She’s right; you’re equal in my
love.’

‘
I know.’

Saar rubbed his fingers through his
hair again, frustration causing his fingers to shake. It wasn’t
Mosi’s uncertainty and anger that robbed him of sleep night after
night. Made every moment with either of his lovers fraught with
emotional pitfalls.

‘
Explain yourself,’ he
murmured.

‘
May I sit?’

‘
Of course.’ Saar scooted his chair
closer to the table and gestured to another close by. ‘Join me for
some bread. Or beer, if you prefer.’

‘
I still can’t eat or drink, Saar.
You alone have that pleasure.’

‘
You’ve tried?’

‘
Every day. My body continues to
reject food. It’s increasingly painful and I have more important
ways to spend my days. Set has no desire to accept mere food as
tribute.’

Saar frowned but let the matter lie.
‘Leave the bread. Speak your troubles.’

Mosi sat. Back rigid, hands on his
knees, he stared at the opposite wall before speaking. ‘You cannot
read them from my thoughts?’

‘
You know I don’t do that. Not to
you.’

Pink splotches coloured Mosi’s cheeks.
‘Forgive me. I’m nervous.’

‘
You may say anything to me. We have
no secrets.’ Saar leaned forward in his chair.

Several more seconds of shuffling his
fingers, then Mosi looked up. ‘You must not kill the king. Antony
may be weak, stubborn and foolish, but he is king. Destroying him
will cause more trouble than it saves.’

Saar frowned. ‘You know Octavian moves
against us?’

‘
Rumours, Saar.’

‘
Fact.’ Saar pounded his thigh with
his fist. ‘Antony’s insult cannot be ignored any longer. We must
prepare ourselves for the next strike of Rome’s hammer.’

‘
Then why can you not do that
with
Antony?’

His upper lip curled. ‘Because
his
actions brought us into danger. I
want nothing more to do with him.’

‘
So you’ll kill him?’

Saar shrugged, toying with a piece of
flaking paint on the arm of his chair. ‘He’s but one man.’

‘
You’ll kill dozens, if not hundreds
if you pursue this plan.’

‘
Octavian will be here within months
and Antony is too weak to lead us. Continuing to build Red Fang
with god-touched warriors is the only way we’ll survive.’

Mosi touched the sides of his head.
‘Shouldn’t we use our strength and power to help him? Talk to
Antony. Arrange negotiations with Octavian before he attacks with
the might of Rome at his back. You’re wise. They’ll heed you.’

‘
I’m a soldier, nothing to them. Nor
will I be until I have power among them.’ Head cocked to one side,
Saar gazed at his lover. ‘Why are you saying this? Where have these
thoughts come from?’

Irritation flickered through Mosi’s
gaze. He stood and began to pace. ‘I’m not a child, though you
treat me like one. I have thoughts and opinions of my own.’

‘
I never disputed that.’

‘
No?’ He snorted. ‘You say we’ve
been blessed by Set and our task is to pass on the gift. But you
keep your powers secret. You bless only a select few of your
deliberate choosing. You plan revolution and revolt against our
god-picked rulers. You don’t act like the gods’ messenger.’

‘
What do I act like?’

Mosi had the good grace to hesitate
before he answered. ‘A madman.’

‘
Madman?’ The word punched Saar like
a fist. He flinched.

‘
You asked. I’ve always been honest
with you.’

Whilst true, that didn’t stop the words
hurting. Reaching out, Saar trailed his fingers down Mosi’s cheek.
He smiled when the other man turned his face, allowing those
fingers to brush his mouth.

‘
Your honesty drew me to you. One of
the many reasons I love you.’ Following his hand, he stepped close
and kissed Mosi on the lips. A chaste touch but the smaller man
shuddered beneath him.

‘
Don’t. I can’t think when you touch
me.’

‘
Perhaps you’ve thought
enough.’

‘
No, Saar. I’ve not.’ He took a step
back and held his hands before him like a shield. ‘You must hear
me. Your plans are wrong.
You
are
wrong.’

‘
If you would just think on what I
propose you would see it’s the only way. When we kill
Antony—’

‘
No! No “we”. I won’t be part of
your plans for murder.’

‘
What would you have me do?’

‘
Leave Antony alone. Leave the army
alone. Let Cleopatra rule as the gods dictated. To the rest . . .
let change come as is natural.’

‘
And bend before Rome? You know I
can’t do that.’

‘
You must, or else . . .’ He looked
at the floor.

Saar waited. A gust through the narrow
corridors lifted his shendyt about his legs and blew loose sand
across his feet. He remembered then that this was royal property
and that shouting of his plans to kill the king was unforgivably
foolish.

‘
Or else what?’ he
whispered.

‘
I’ll leave.’ Mosi’s lower lip
quivered as he spoke. A wisp of hair fluttered on the breeze and
though he tucked it behind his ear, the strand was too short to
stay in place. Remnants of an unconscious gesture years old and
long redundant.

Standing almost toe to toe, Saar gazed
at his lover and felt a pang in his chest.

The pain wasn’t his. In the back of his
mind he felt Mosi’s anguish, his indecision. Faint imprints of his
emotions lived in that secret place within Saar’s head, put aside
for the thoughts and feelings of all his god-touched children.
Mosi, the first of those fourteen children, had the strongest
signature.

Again he reached out, but Mosi leapt
back. He stumbled over the chair and sprawled on the floor, his
usual grace and calm vanished. Scrambling upright, he fled to the
archway, turning right into the space beyond.

Saar followed, dashing into the
columned passageway filled with statues, paintings and high
ceilings decorated with large squares of blue, red and gold.

On other days he walked slowly through
this space, taking the time to appreciate the beauty of it compared
to his own modest home. Not today. Today he ran after Mosi and
grabbed his retreating arm, spinning him around.

Grunting, Mosi hit a column and Saar
pressed against him, pinning his lover’s hands to the cold carved
stone.

‘
Don’t leave me,’ he begged.

Mosi closed his eyes. He didn’t
struggle, but his arms sang with tension. ‘Don’t touch me. Please.
I can feel you in my head. I can’t get away.’

His words made plain something Saar had
stubbornly resisted until now. He swallowed a painful lump at the
back of his throat and tightened his grip on Mosi’s wrists. ‘I
don’t want you to. I love you.’

‘
Then change your plans. It’s
evil.
We
are evil.’

‘
How can men touched by the gods be
evil?’

‘
We sacrifice others so that we may
live.’

Saar growled at a return to this
irritating recurring argument. ‘Tribute. Men and women should be
honoured to give their blood to the gods. We take only those who
deserve to die.’

‘
What gives you the right to make
that decision? Why should you be special?’

‘
Because I was marked to lead. Me,
no one else.’ Saar squeezed until Mosi’s wrist bones
crunched.

‘
You called it a curse
once.’

‘
I was too afraid to see at first
but this is no curse. This is a blessing from Set himself. A gift.
Given to me.’

The other man struggled, but not with
his full strength, still showing signs of wanting. He looked
up.

Like Kiya minutes before, Mosi’s eyes
changed to reflect his heightened emotion. But rather than black,
his eyes filled with glowing white.

‘
Power isn’t how a man is measured,
Saar. It’s not having power but how that power is used which makes
a man special. Actions make a man great.’

Saar let go. He heard the faint pop as
Mosi’s bones clicked back into place. Leaning against another of
the pillars he wiped his face with both hands. Sweat gathered on
his forehead, beading on his skin to roll down his cheeks and
neck.

‘
My plan will protect us all,’ he
whispered. ‘You must see that. But if you’re not with me, you’re
against me.’

‘
I’m against your plan, not you. I
love you.’

‘
They’re one and the same. Join
me.’

Mosi rolled his wrists. His chin
trembled. A slump to his shoulders made him appear old and frail.
At last, he looked up and as he did, the white glow faded from his
eyes. ‘No.’

The word struck like a punch to the
ribs. Saar sagged against the pillar and tamped down a sickness in
his stomach. ‘Mosi—’

‘
I said “no”, Saar.’

The silence between them was brittle
and cold.

‘
Then leave.’ Saar sniffed,
conscious of a growing burn behind his eyelids. The ache in his
heart threatened to knock him flat. He pointed along the length of
the passageway, between the double rows of pillars, to the exit
doors at the end. ‘Go, before I forget I love you.’

Mosi bit his lip. Shiny tears filled
his eyes and gathered in the corners before falling. With heavy
steps, he walked away.

Saar watched him go then slumped to the
ground, head resting against the pillar.

Though the passageway formed a link to
the rest of the palace complex, he couldn’t move. Not yet. Not even
the thought of Cleopatra herself happening upon him in such a state
could move him.

Instead, as tears streamed down his
face, he watched the first of his god-touched children step through
the doors and vanish from sight.

Lenina woke sobbing, cradling
her face against folded arms. She kicked out but something held her
legs, both ankles bound together by something warm and fluffy.

A cold shard of fear pierced
her chest, dragging a scream from her mouth.

Wrenching sideways, arms
flailing, she tumbled off the bed and hit the floor on her face.
Seconds later the duvet followed, freeing her feet. Gasping,
tingling with pain, she lay still, rubbing her cheek against the
scratchy carpet. Somehow feeling something so normal helped numb
the fear.

Her heart continued to race,
hammering so hard it made her ribs jump. She opened her eyes.
Beneath the bed she saw a pair of Nick’s old socks. Beside them, an
earring, two mugs and a pile of empty chocolate wrappers.

She sat up. Pulled her knees to
her chest. Gazed at the room.
Her
bedroom. Not a palace. Not
an ancient room filled with treasures the like of which she had
only ever seen behind glass at the museum. Not a battlefield soaked
with the blood of dying men.

She saw drawers, clothes
spilling out like cotton innards. The mirror above the unit of
drawers, a selection of make-up, moisturisers and cleansers lined
up in front of it.

All so normal.

Sunlight streamed through the
window, lighting the whirling motes of dust until they glinted like
airborne diamonds. Beautiful if not for the distracting headache
pounding the base of her skull. She turned her back on the light,
shielding her eyes with a curtain of hair.

The dream rushed back, crashing
in on her senses and rolling her under.

A fading sun, warm breezes and
the sadness in one man’s face. A pang in her chest as he stepped
away, the rush of anger from the one named Kiya. Anger followed by
Mosi’s immeasurable sadness. Her own anguish. She relived his
betrayal and clutched her chest as the pain of it speared her
lungs. Her damp cheeks tingled.

‘Just a dream,’ she whispered,
as if to make the statement aloud would prove it true. ‘A stress
nightmare.’

A lively, hip-hop jingle made
her jump and she spun around, trying to locate the mobile.

She found it inside her
dressing gown pocket. ‘What?’

‘Where are you?’

It took Lenina several seconds
to identify the chirpy Scottish voice. She sighed and perched on
the end of the bed, clutching the phone with both hands.
‘Ramona?’

‘I’m in the coffee shop but I
can’t see you. Are you even here?’

‘No, I’m at home.’

‘Why? What’s wrong? You ill?
Should I come over?’

Lenina held the phone away from
her ear. After a deep breath, she brought it close again to
interrupt the exuberant flow. ‘I’m okay, just sick.’ She touched
her chest again, aware of how flushed she felt. How sweaty.

‘Sick how? Vomit sick? Lady
sick? Virus sick? Hangover sick?’

‘I threw up this morning.’

‘Oh, aye? Right, we can handle
that.’ A rustling sound came over the phone, followed by the quick
tap of feet on the pavement. ‘I’m coming over via the
chemist’s.’

‘Why?’

‘Pregnancy test.’ She hung
up.

Head buzzing from the whirlwind
that was conversation with Ramona, Lenina pulled her dressing gown
back on before trudging downstairs.

The air swirled around her as
she disturbed it with her movement, reviving the scents of old
coffee, toast and peppermint. The smells soothed her and she paused
to drink them in, sighing as the minty scent flooded her nostrils.
With it came a thought of green eyes, long hair and a white
smile.

Through the thin walls Lenina
heard the soft murmurs of the neighbour’s television and the barks
of an excited dog. She paused in the living room, gazing at the
off-white walls and the pattern of light falling on them from the
bay window. Squinting against the brightness, she crossed to it and
pulled the curtains closed, plunging the room into comforting
twilight.