The najashi sat awake in a pool of moonlight, a cup of wine at his hand. Telemakos stood in the doorway. “Young scorpion,” Abreha said coldly. “What more is there to be said between us?” “I want to buy Athena’s passage back to Aksum.” Abreha looked down at his hands. He twisted his signet ring from his finger. “And what can you possibly offer me in payment?” Telemakos stepped lightly and swiftly across the room. His footfalls made no sound. He knelt before the najashi and pressed his forehead against the floor. The chimes at his elbow were silent. He moved with the sure stealth of a leopard stalking its prey. “My service,” Telemakos whispered. “I offer you my service.” There was a faint click as Abreha dropped his ring against the marquetry of his writing table. Telemakos waited. Abreha picked up a taper and reached over with it to flick through the bells of Telemakos’s bracelet. They rang and rattled. “How do you do it? How do you move so silently?” “I don’t know.
