The Emperor's knife

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H ands found Sarmin through the confusion of his dreams and the tangle of his sheets. Large hands, rough, closing around his arm, his leg, encompassing him, lifting. In confusion he saw the world move around him, night shades sliding over sleep-blurred eyes. He saw the trail of his bedding, a palace guard bending over Pelar’s bed, Asham’s bed, a man lifting little Fadil, another with baby Kashim in the crook of his arm. And Beyon, his eldest brother, led away, barefoot, wide-eyed.

A palace guard carried Sarmin on a broad shoulder. Two more walked behind, and more ahead. He almost fell asleep again. He yawned and tried to snuggle, but something kept him awake, something grim behind the men’s blank faces. They took him up a long, winding stair, so many steps he thought it must reach to heaven-but it ended at a single door and the small room beyond. Without speaking, the man who carried Sarmin set him upon the bed, wide enough for him and all his brothers, though when he looked, his brothers were not there.

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