***
Saar stepped from the shadows, wiping sweaty palms against his shirt. He felt lightheaded. Breathless. For the first time in seventy years he recognised the presence in his mind that belonged to his first child. His fingertips itched with the need to touch him again. His lips burned with a desire that two thousand years had yet to quench.
Two feet away, a tall, slender man in a fine brown overcoat sprawled on the cobbles. Mud coated his back and shoulders. His cravat and rumpled white shirt boasted several damp spots, a pathetic combination of tears and rainwater from the grimy street. Several feet away, a dented top hat rolled into the gutter.
A second man stood above him, as shabby as the first was fine. He held a dagger, long, with a wavy blade and a pommel studded with blue and white gems. Though his hand obscured it, Saar knew that the hilt was made of silver and gold.
‘Please!’ The man on the floor wept and wrung his hands. ‘You need me. Don’t kill me.’
The shabby figure raised his arm. The dagger glinted in the light. ‘The others are dead. Only you and I remain. We can weaken him like this.’ His voice, so familiar, weakened Saar’s knees until he feared he might fall. The thought that this whole scene was simply a means to bring him down made Saar’s blood run cold. He rubbed his chest, wishing he could ignore the pain of the old wounds reopening.
‘Mosi.’ He took another step forward. The scene before him froze.
The man on the ground slumped back into a puddle. His pleading dissolved into desperate, mumbled thanks.
Saar ignored it, focused instead on the first man he’d ever loved. As he took in the long, tangled beard and dirty skin, he felt a pang in his chest. ‘What have you done to yourself? You’re a disgrace.’
‘I much prefer to look a disgrace than be one. I wondered when you would come.’
‘You wanted me to, or else the link would be closed.’
‘I want? Saar, I want to die. No man should live as long as you or I.’ Mosi looked away, his fingers slackening around the dagger hilt.
The man on the ground looked up. Hope bloomed in his eyes. ‘Saar? Lord Saar, help me. Please. I’m your servant, I beg you, don’t let him kill me.’
Saar glanced down. ‘Who are you?’
‘Tristen Blake, Master. Please, save me.’
‘Why? What are you worth?’
Tristen flinched. His gaze darted back and forth as though seeking answers. ‘Mosi killed all his children. I’m the last. He hopes to weaken you before you fight.’
Growling, Saar looked back at Mosi and tried to find the truth. Though the link was there, he felt Mosi form a barrier against him and block the way. Blindly, he groped through the darkness of Mosi’s mind. He found no clues.
‘Is this true?’ he said at last.
‘You no longer care for my privacy, I see.’ Mosi’s lips twisted in a ghost of a smile. ‘The years have changed you.’
‘Of course they have. But not everything. I still love you. Abandon this foolish plan of sabotage.’
Mosi shook his head. His face, unchanged but for tiny lines about his eyes and lips, was as beautiful as it had been in Gyasi’s whorehouse.
‘Please.’
‘I remember this conversation. Your plans still bring death to those around you— in that you’re unchanged. I want no part of it.’
‘This time is different.’
‘Really? Monsieur Bonaparte won’t slaughter hundreds in his quest to conquer?’
Saar sucked in a sharp breath.
‘Yes. I know your plans. And like before I’ll be on the opposite side. Duke Wellington invited me to join him in laying plans of defence and I was pleased to accept.’ He stroked his chin. ‘Obviously I’ll shave first.’
Tristen Blake crawled across the cobbles. He pawed Saar’s boots while blinking sweat and tears from his eyes. ‘I told you! He betrays you. Your love for him is legendary and yet he deserts you when you need him most. But I won’t. I never will. I’ll help. Please! Save me and I’ll tell you everything.’
Snarling, Saar jerked his foot away. He snatched the smaller man by the scruff and drove his face into the cobbles, again and again until blood mixed with the puddles.
‘I have no time for weaklings.’ He spat, releasing the sobbing form with a flick of his wrist. ‘It is not my job to save you. If you survive, seek me out. I may have use for you then.’
With a last, lingering glare at Mosi, Saar turned on his heel and stalked away.