Page 67 of Envious Of Fire
Kaleb swallows, clasps his hands, lets them drop to his sides again. “K-K—” Why is his throat so dry? “Kaleb, s-sir. Lord.”
“Just Markadian will do.”
Ashara glances at her brother, surprised.
“Markadian …” murmurs Kaleb, as if testing the name. Then he smiles with a pinch more confidence. “It is nice to meet you finally, at last, to … to meet you.”
His jumbled sentence appears to amuse Markadian. “Seems my reputation precedes me. Where’d you hear of me?”
“From Raya,” answers Kaleb quickly.
It’s clear the name means little to Markadian, for the way he brushes it aside. “I would be surprised if you hadn’t heard of me yet, seeing as you’re now living among us. Do you find your new living arrangements suitable?”
“Oh, yes, definitely, more than.” Kaleb worries he’s being too eager. He takes a short breath, nods, and relaxes his voice. “I’m … very grateful for what I’ve been given. It’s more than I deserve. Thank you.”
“Do you mean to say you think you deserve less?” When the question appears to stump Kaleb, Markadian smiles. “Who is to say what we deserve in life? Some of us get it all. Some of us get nothing. Most of us wish we had what others have … even if it appears we already have everything.”
Kaleb squints in thought. “Are you … trying to say you’re not happy with what you have?”
Now it is Markadian who is caught off-guard.
Ashara steps in. “Brother, might I suggest that we—”
“Sister,” he says, cutting her off, his gaze trapped on Kaleb like he suddenly isn’t capable of looking away, “be a dear and go let Miss May know I shall most certainly not be returning to my office until dusk tomorrow.”
The assignment doesn’t seem to please her. “Very well. I’m being … dismissed.” She chuckles at her joke. He does not. She smiles again anyway, apparently deciding to make light out of his shift in focus. “We will talk more about the banquet later.Enjoy getting to know our … talented new musician. Please do send him back to his room in one piece, if it isn’t too much to ask.”
“Farewell, sister,” says Markadian distractedly. Ashara slips off the stage, winks at Kaleb as she saunters by, heads up the aisle, then is gone from sight and mind.
Leaving Kaleb.
Alone.
With the king of the gods.
16.
Taste.
—·—
A moment of silence passes while Kaleb stands by the front row resisting the urge to wring his hands. Markadian studies him from the edge of the stage. Lips puckered. Eyes sharp. It feels as if Markadian’s eyes see more than others’ do, how they penetrate.
Silently. Skillfully. Peeling apart Kaleb without a word.
Finally Kaleb can’t bear the silence. “Y-You like music?” he asks in a small voice, winces at how small he sounds, straightens his posture and tries again: “Do you like music, sir?”
“Just Markadian.”
“Do you … like music … Markadian?”
“I do.”
Kaleb nods, his neck stiff, his throat clenched. “Me too. Do you enjoy any, um … any particular composer? I’ve got some favorites. Franz Schubert.Hope I’m saying that right. Chopin—his nocturnes mostly, but I also love his etudes. I know I should say the classics like Mozart and Bach, but I guess I’ve had different … tastes … lately … and … and I played so much of them as a kid. Tchaikovsky I love, of course, ‘Swan Lake’, a total classic …”
“Come here.”
Kaleb lifts his eyebrows. “Sorry?”
