Spectred Isle (Green Men Book 1)

by K.J. Charles

Glyde was watching him, face unreadable. He didn’t speak for a moment, as if he knew Saul had been struck dumb, and then he said, gravely, “You’ve had a hell of a time, haven’t you?” “Others worse,” Saul managed. “That is the most specious form of consolation possible. One can always find someone who has it worse. If I’m having my fingernails torn out with pincers, it is unhelpful to observe that my neighbour has been hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

And for the first time in years, he found himself believing that one day he might. It didn’t make him happy. It hurt like hell, like the agony of blood returning to a long-numbed limb, but, Saul realised, the painful prospect of hoping again was better than the dull knowledge he never would.

The world is changing, Mr. Lazenby, and we who are old must leave it for younger men to tackle.” Saul briefly considered pointing out that the younger generation had a fair bit on its plate already, thanks to the decisions of old men, but swallowed the thought along with a mouthful of bacon.

No castles in the air, he told himself. He’d enjoy this time day by day, and not wonder how many days there might be.

You bring light, you have brought me more light than I had thought would ever be possible. I didn’t know there could be someone like you, I had no idea at all, and if you should choose to be rid of me tomorrow I shall nevertheless and always be bloody glad we met.” “And if I don’t choose to be rid of you, tomorrow or later?” “Well, that would be significantly better.”