A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (i am reading a book txt) 📕

silver arm-rings, their dragon-head terminals pressed tight against her sun-bronzed skin. She felt more herself. She needed to.

General Arbasdos filled a silver chalice with red wine. ‘From Rhodes,’ he said, offering it to her. ‘It was the finest in the empire. Until the Arabs took the island from us. It’s wasted on them, of course.’

The wine tasted sweet and strong. She knew the Byzantine habit was to dilute their wine to a thin, refreshing drink, often flavoured with other spices. The general served his undiluted. Perhaps he wanted to appear extravagant, or else cloud her head. She took a sip and twirled the chalice in her fingers. It was solid silver with gilt filigree, encrusted with fat pink rubies. War had made this man rich.

Everything in the chamber reeked of opulence. The silk curtains, the white stone balcony overlooking the point of the promontory, the green marble table, the gilded chairs, the murals of half-clad men and women dancing about a sunlit wood. It showed a certain degree of taste, she supposed, and said more of the man before her than the impersonal extravagance of the palace said of the emperor.

‘Lord Katāros wanted to join us. He seems to think you cannot speak our language,’ said Arbasdos. ‘I told him we would cope.’

‘I hope you are right,’ she said. ‘I am still learning.’ She had already decided that this general was a different breed to the emperor. She detected a streak of vanity in the little details of his appearance – the curls in his hair not entirely natural, the gold ring in his left ear, the musky perfume drifting off him. Not unpleasant, she had to admit, but deliberate. His tunic stopped a little higher than those of other men, revealing tanned, muscular calves under the leather bands of his sandals, and his dalmatica – a kind of lightweight coat, open at the front – was of deep green silk, studded here and there with pearls as big as her thumbnail.

‘You’re too modest,’ he smiled. ‘Anyway, I can’t stand the creature. He somehow oils his way into everybody’s business.’

Lilla offered a non-committal smile in reply.

‘And what is our business, my lady?’

‘It is simple enough. You hold a man here. His name is Erlan Aurvandil.’

At mention of that name, the general’s smile soured. ‘You mean my Northman.’

‘So you don’t deny he is here.’

‘Why on Earth should I? He may be a disobedient wretch. But he belongs to me.’

‘I have come here for him.’

‘For the Northman,’ he scoffed. ‘Why?’

‘I have my reasons.’

‘Hm. How very mysterious.’

‘I’ll repay you whatever he cost you.’

‘He’s not for sale.’

Lilla frowned. ‘If he’s so worthless to you, what reason have you to keep—’

‘I never said he was worthless. He’s difficult, for sure. But the truth is I’ve never seen a man use a sword with greater skill, nor fight with such. . . rage.’ The general chuckled. ‘He’s actually quite terrifying. That’s why I’m keeping him.’

‘He’ll never fight for you. Not after being kept like an animal.’

‘Every man has his breaking point. We will find his. And once broken, once he is a slave in here –’ he tapped his temple – ‘then he may be of some use to me.’

‘He will never break,’ she said sadly, because she knew she was right. ‘He’ll be nothing but trouble for you. Trouble and expense.’

‘He’s no trouble to me at all. Until he learns what he is – a slave entirely under my will – he can stay where he is.’

Lilla felt her temper rising. ‘You’ll have to kill him first. I tell you, he will never break.’

‘I’ll not kill him because I paid good money for him. If I destroy my own property, who loses out but me?’

‘He’s not property.’ She could hear the tremor in her own voice. She expelled a long breath to draw the heat from her temper. ‘He’s a man honoured as high as any among my people. But,’ she added, ‘I will still pay you for him. So I say again, name your price.’

Arbasdos gave a condescending snort. ‘My lady, look around you. Do I look like I need your money?’ There was no crack in the armour of this man’s arrogance, that was clear. She felt suddenly ashamed at the blithe way she had treated the thralls amongst her own people. It had never occurred to her what it must feel like, to be owned by another. To be nothing better than a milking cow or a prized axe.

This Arbasdos didn’t look like a man to treat his slaves well. She could only imagine what cruelty Erlan had already suffered. But if the general would take no money and the emperor would not force his hand, what could she do? She had crossed half the world. . .

‘You’ll waste this man’s life. I know him. He will never fight for you.’

‘Is our business concluded then?’

‘If you will not take gold or silver—’

‘No.’

‘Then I suppose it is.’ She put down her cup. Her mind was already working, feeling blindly for the edges of this perfumed wall of muscle in her way. Perhaps there were others within his household whose purses were not so full.

‘Why not stay a little?’ A sly smile crept over his melancholy face. ‘Have another cup.’ He topped up her chalice, which was full enough already, and handed it to her. Then he dismissed the servants.

‘You know, I’d always heard the people of the north were canny traders,’ he said when they were alone.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if you came here to trade with me, you should have understood what I want, or at least what I might value.’

‘I’ve not yet met a man who didn’t value more gold.’

‘Well, now you have, Lady. And what I value is a little more. . . subtle.’

‘Go on.’

‘Do I have to?’

He edged closer, skirting the table. All she could see was the sardonic tilt of his mouth under those soft, sad eyes. They were alone and she sensed a choice opening up before