Read Online The Sarantine Mosaic by Guy Gavriel Kay - Free Book Online
Authors: Guy Gavriel Kay
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to do? Ask the other man to sit with him for a night and hold his hand and tell him being Emperor would be all right? Was he a child?
âOf course. Do you want Excubitors?â
Petrus began shaking his head, then caught himself. âProbably a wise idea, actually. Thank you.â
âStop by the barracks. Tell Leontes. In fact, a rotating guard of six of them for you, from now on. Someone used Sarantine Fire here today.â
Petrusâs too-quick gaze showed he didnât quite know how to read that comment. Good. It wouldnât do to be utterly transparent to his nephew.
âJad guard and defend you all your days, my Emperor.â âHis eternal Light upon you.â And for the first time ever, Valerius the Trakesian made the Imperial sign of blessing over another man.
His nephew knelt, touched forehead to floor three times, palms flat beside his head, then rose and walked out, calm as ever, unchanged though all had changed.
Valerius, Emperor of Sarantium, successor to Saranios the Great who had built the City, and to a line of Emperors after him, and before him in Rhodias, stretching back almost six hundred years, stood alone in an elegant chamber where oil lanterns hung from the ceiling and were set in brackets on the walls and where half a hundred candles burned extravagantly. His bedroom for tonight was somewhere nearby. He wasnât sure where. He wasnât familiar with this palace. The Count of the Excubitors had never had reason to enter here. Helooked around the room. There was a tree near the courtyard window, made of beaten gold, with mechanical birds in the branches. They glittered in the flickering light with jewels and semi-precious stones. He supposed they sang, if one knew the trick. The tree was gold. It was entirely of gold. He drew a breath.
He went to the sideboard and poured himself a flask of ale. He sipped, then smiled. Honest Trakesian brew. Trust Petrus. It occurred to him that he should have clapped hands for a slave or Imperial officer, but such things slowed matters down and he had a thirst. Heâd a right to one. It had been a day of days, as the soldiers said. Petrus had spoken trueâhe was entitled to an evening without further planning or tasks. Jad knew, there would be enough to deal with in the days to come. For one thing, certain people would have to be killedâif they werenât dead already. He didnât know the names of the men whoâd wielded that liquid fire in the Cityâhe didnât want to knowâbut they couldnât live.
He walked from the sideboard and sank down into a deep-cushioned, high-backed chair. The fabric was silk. Heâd had little experience of silk in his life. He traced the material with a calloused finger. It was soft, smooth. It was ⦠silken . Valerius grinned to himself. He liked it. So many years a soldier, nights on stony ground, in bitter winter or the southern desert storms. He stretched out his booted feet, drank deeply again, wiped his lip with the back of a scarred, heavy hand. He closed his eyes, drank again. He decided he wanted his boots removed. Carefully, he placed the ale flask on an absurdly delicate three-legged ivory table. He sat up very straight, took a deep breath and then clapped his hands three times, the way ApiusâJad guard his soul!âused to do.
Three doors burst open on the instant.
A score of people sprang into the room and flung themselves prostrate on the floor in obeisance. He saw Gesius and Adrastus, then the Quaestor of the Sacred Palace, the Urban Prefect, the Count of the Imperial BedchamberâHilarinus, whom he didnât trustâthe Quaestor of Imperial Revenue. All the highest officers of the Empire. Flattened before him on a green and blue mosaic floor of sea creatures and sea flowers.
In the ensuing stillness, one of the mechanical birds began to sing. Valerius the Emperor laughed aloud.
Very late that same night, the sea wind having
âOf course. Do you want Excubitors?â
Petrus began shaking his head, then caught himself. âProbably a wise idea, actually. Thank you.â
âStop by the barracks. Tell Leontes. In fact, a rotating guard of six of them for you, from now on. Someone used Sarantine Fire here today.â
Petrusâs too-quick gaze showed he didnât quite know how to read that comment. Good. It wouldnât do to be utterly transparent to his nephew.
âJad guard and defend you all your days, my Emperor.â âHis eternal Light upon you.â And for the first time ever, Valerius the Trakesian made the Imperial sign of blessing over another man.
His nephew knelt, touched forehead to floor three times, palms flat beside his head, then rose and walked out, calm as ever, unchanged though all had changed.
Valerius, Emperor of Sarantium, successor to Saranios the Great who had built the City, and to a line of Emperors after him, and before him in Rhodias, stretching back almost six hundred years, stood alone in an elegant chamber where oil lanterns hung from the ceiling and were set in brackets on the walls and where half a hundred candles burned extravagantly. His bedroom for tonight was somewhere nearby. He wasnât sure where. He wasnât familiar with this palace. The Count of the Excubitors had never had reason to enter here. Helooked around the room. There was a tree near the courtyard window, made of beaten gold, with mechanical birds in the branches. They glittered in the flickering light with jewels and semi-precious stones. He supposed they sang, if one knew the trick. The tree was gold. It was entirely of gold. He drew a breath.
He went to the sideboard and poured himself a flask of ale. He sipped, then smiled. Honest Trakesian brew. Trust Petrus. It occurred to him that he should have clapped hands for a slave or Imperial officer, but such things slowed matters down and he had a thirst. Heâd a right to one. It had been a day of days, as the soldiers said. Petrus had spoken trueâhe was entitled to an evening without further planning or tasks. Jad knew, there would be enough to deal with in the days to come. For one thing, certain people would have to be killedâif they werenât dead already. He didnât know the names of the men whoâd wielded that liquid fire in the Cityâhe didnât want to knowâbut they couldnât live.
He walked from the sideboard and sank down into a deep-cushioned, high-backed chair. The fabric was silk. Heâd had little experience of silk in his life. He traced the material with a calloused finger. It was soft, smooth. It was ⦠silken . Valerius grinned to himself. He liked it. So many years a soldier, nights on stony ground, in bitter winter or the southern desert storms. He stretched out his booted feet, drank deeply again, wiped his lip with the back of a scarred, heavy hand. He closed his eyes, drank again. He decided he wanted his boots removed. Carefully, he placed the ale flask on an absurdly delicate three-legged ivory table. He sat up very straight, took a deep breath and then clapped his hands three times, the way ApiusâJad guard his soul!âused to do.
Three doors burst open on the instant.
A score of people sprang into the room and flung themselves prostrate on the floor in obeisance. He saw Gesius and Adrastus, then the Quaestor of the Sacred Palace, the Urban Prefect, the Count of the Imperial BedchamberâHilarinus, whom he didnât trustâthe Quaestor of Imperial Revenue. All the highest officers of the Empire. Flattened before him on a green and blue mosaic floor of sea creatures and sea flowers.
In the ensuing stillness, one of the mechanical birds began to sing. Valerius the Emperor laughed aloud.
Very late that same night, the sea wind having
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