He knew it must be long after midnight, because the dancing on the terraces had ceased. The small uncurtained window by his bed let in faint light from a single moon. Dawn was still far away. ‘Beeman?’ he whispered. ‘Is that you?’ There was no reply, only a sinister silence. Skir found himself thinking assassins. Beeman had warned Skir a thousand times to be alert for danger, and every time Skir scoffed at him. ‘Arvestel’s stuffed so full of guards you can’t walk down the corridor without poking your eye out on a spear. Not to mention the dogs. An assassin couldn’t get in here unless they flew up to the balcony.’ ‘Stranger things have happened. Just be careful.’ There: a definite noise. A rustle in the outer room. Skir’s heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to croak for Beeman, but no sound came out. Then, with a surge of relief, he remembered that he’d left a plate of pancakes from supper half-eaten on the table. Not assassins – mice. He almost laughed.
What do You think about Taste Of Lightning (2007)?
