The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three

by Draven, Grace

  “Of the many things I might have expected you to say, I didn't expect that,” Rodan said. “Let me ask you this first. Why would you want to marry Serovek? Surely, the Khaskem wouldn't approve of such a match between his sha and one of my noblemen?”

  The words stuck in her throat for a moment, but she forced them out and past her lips. “I would no longer be his sha, nor will I be allowed to remain in the Kai army.”

  His frown deepened. “Surely you'd give up more than that. Are you not third in line for the throne after the queen regnant and the Khaskem?”

  The question surprised and sent a spike of unease through her. How had he known she was related to Brishen through his father's line? Even most of the Kai only thought of her as his sha, nothing more, and those who knew otherwise didn't discuss it, especially with humans. “I'm not in any line, Your Majesty. I'm gameza, a bastard; the daughter of King Djedor's sister and a stablehand.” She described her heritage without embarrassment. She didn't place her personal value on her bloodlines. “Kai inheritance laws bar gamezas from succession of any kind.”

  “Interesting.” Rodan's face had soured even more with her explanation. Anhuset prayed it wasn't because he didn't believe her but because he suffered from the same prejudices against bastards many of noble birth possessed. Disdain in this instance was of no importance. Disbelief was a problem. “Why,” he said, “would a high-ranking Beladine like Serovek choose to bind himself to you? Granted, his debt to you for saving him should you win the trial would be immense, but such debt can be satisfied with payment, and he's a wealthy man.”

  Disdain it was, and Anhuset almost fell to her knees to thank the gods for Rodan's prejudiced haughtiness. “I believe he desires such a bond as I do, Your Majesty,” she told him with a shrug. “And what is the harm in asking? If he says no, I still offer myself as his champion.”

  And for your sake, you better say yes, Stallion, she thought.

  The king stared at her for so long, she began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep on the throne with his eyes open. Did humans sometimes sleep that way? She hadn't witnessed such a thing before, but those strange eyes did things no Kai eyes did. With any luck, he was still wide awake and concluding what she and Brishen had hoped to impart: that with a Kai wife destroying any chances of Serovek pursuing the throne, it would benefit Rodan more to keep his capable margrave alive and governing the hinterlands.

  Finally, he spoke. “Fascinating. I'll consider your words and take council with my advisors regarding the request for trial by combat as well as a marriage.” He tilted his head to the side, regarding her with the intensity of a man trying to figure out a baffling puzzle. “I'm undecided, sha-Anhuset, if you're very brave or very reckless.”

  “One can be both, Your Majesty.”

  For the first time in this unending audience, Rodan gave up a small huff of amusement. “Very true. You're welcome to take lodgings in the palace if you wish it.”

  Anhuset couldn't think of any place in this entire city she'd rather not spend an evening than under the king's roof. “I consider it an honor, Your Majesty, but I'm an unexpected visitor and don't wish to rob one of your courtiers of space. I have a place to stay just outside the city, though I would ask a boon of you.” She didn't lie. That space was a narrow tent pitched in the conifer forest covering the canyon walls surrounding Timsiora.

  “What is that?” he asked, the slight narrowing of his eyes warning her, he was tiring of this meeting as much as she was.

  “That I may see Lord Pangion.”

  The narrowed eyes went to slits for a moment, reminding her of a feral cat. He stared at her, then shrugged. “One visit. On the other side of the bars, and accompanied by guards and at least one of my sorcerers.” He still believed the Kai possessed their magic and was taking precautions. Anhuset had no intention of enlightening him.

  She bowed low. “Of course, and you have my thanks.” Excitement bubbled inside her, anticipation and no small relief. Soon she'd be gone from here, and while she'd never before delighted in a visit to a prison, she'd engaged in many firsts today. One more made no difference, except in this case, she'd see a man whose face and touch had haunted her dreams since she left him in a monastery, prepared to give himself over to royal troops as a prisoner.

  “A messenger will find you when you have my answer,” Rodan said and dismissed her from his presence with an abrupt shooing motion.

  His guards wasted no time escorting her out, though it was they who jogged to keep up with her as she left. The flock of courtiers were still outside, their faces avid. Word of what she'd said at the gate had obviously reached to all corners as many in the crowd wore smirking expressions, even horrified ones. Anhuset ignored them all, striding through their midst and threatening to stride over them if they didn't get out of her way.

  Droginin was waiting for her outside the castle. Anhuset hadn't expected to see him again. “I've volunteered to take you to the Zela, sha-Anhuset. It's the prison here in Timsiora and where the margrave is currently kept.”

  Once at the prison, he spoke with the guards there and was met by the warden, a refined-looking man whose appearance seemed at odds with his grim profession and even grimmer surroundings. Droginin offered to keep an eye on her horse while she was inside. “I'll take you back to the city gates once you're through here,” he said.

  Anhuset studied him before offering a closed-lip smile. “So you're to be my nanny while I'm in Timsiora, captain?”

  He gave a small laugh. “I prefer to think of it as your escort. So you don't get lost here in our beautiful capital.”

  There was no obvious sarcasm in his words, but she heard it just the same. Escort, nanny, whatever one might want to call his role, he'd been assigned to keep an eye on her while she was here, an unwanted and unexpected guest that everyone was sure would cause trouble during her stay.

  The warden greeted her with a half bow and a knowing glance. “It seems the Beladine Stallion casts his seed far afield. I wouldn't have believed it if you weren't standing in front me.” She stared back at him, unmoved by either anger or amusement at his lewd banter. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Come. This way.”

  They passed through a small antechamber into a narrow hallway that led into a labyrinth of other dark, narrow hallways. The Zela looked enormous and imposing on the outside but suffocatingly cramped on the inside. She welcomed the gloom but guessed for humans who sought sunlight, those imprisoned here found the Zela a sepulchral place and chillier than any tomb.

  The warden led her up flights of stairs until they reached the topmost floor. Here the hallways were only a little wider and the cells on either side spaced in a staggered fashion so that the occupants couldn't see each other across the way. As they moved farther down the corridor, the warden called out, “Margrave, you have a visitor most eager to see you.”

  A swarm of butterflies erupted into flight in Anhuset's belly. Worry. Anticipation so fierce she almost shook with it. Her ears strained to ear a voice but no one replied. The warden halted at one cell door, a latticework of metal with openings large enough to see through but too small to do more than put a hand through the spaces. She spotted a shadowy figure seated at a table, limned in the meager light of a small brazier. The scratching noise of a quill on parchment was the only sound.

  “You have a short time only and will be watched.” He tipped his chin toward the small audience behind her and she glanced over her shoulder. She'd known they were there. Footfalls growing in number as they climbed the stairwells and traversed the hallway. Four guards in armor and one man in robes decorated in sigils. The sorcerer Rodan sent to counter any magic she might try to wield in helping Serovek escape. His presence was superfluous now, and the thought sent a melancholy twinge through her.

  The warden banged on the cell door. “Margrave, do you want to chat or should I send her away?”

  Serovek straightened in his chair and finally stood to stroll toward the door. He halted abruptly and a mus
cle tic jolted across his cheek once, twice even as the rest of his face froze. “Sha-Anhuset.”

  “Margrave,” she replied in an equally cool voice. Those butterflies spun in a whirlwind through her ribcage. He looked uninjured if a little haggard around the edges. Still handsome in the way humans defined handsomeness and handsome to her in the way her heart dictated she see him. She slid her fingers through the openings in the bars, the metal freezing in her grip.

  “I'll leave you to it then,” the warden said. “Say what you need to. I need to retrieve something from my desk. When I return, you leave.” He paused to say something to the group clustered within hearing distance before disappearing down the hall.

  Serovek's demeanor didn't change though he nearly broke her fingers in his grasp. His voice was low, no longer indifferent. “What are you doing here, firefly woman? Does Brishen know?”

  Obviously a refrain she'd hear often while in Timsiora. When had Brishen exchanged the role of her liege for that of her parent? She sighed. “He knows.” For the first time since she arrived she was in the presence of one who wouldn't flee in alarm at the sight of her toothy grin. “I'm here to make you the subject of idle gossip in every tavern, brothel and court gathering in Timsiora,” she teased.

  The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened with his answering smile. “You've never done things by half measure, though I can't guess what you did to make me even more a target for gossip mongers than I already am.”

  While her public declaration to and sundry that she and the margrave of High Salure were lovers had been done for a specific purpose, she wasn't ashamed that others knew. She didn't know how Serovek might feel about it. “I announced at the entry gate that I was your lover and had come to visit you. I'm afraid I've diminished you in the eyes of your countrymen.”

  Sincere confusion and puzzlement settled over his face. “How would such an announcement, a true and glorious one I might add, diminish me?” She must have made an odd noise because his eyebrows crashed together. “What's wrong?”

  If she weren't made of hardier stuff, her knees might have buckled. No practiced charm or seductive quip would ever equal in power what he just said to her. It was a punch to the gut in the best way. “Nothing,” she said. “Now that I'm here.” She twined her fingers hard with his, careful to keep her claws from digging into the backs of his hands. “I've come to tell you the return trip to Saggara was mostly uneventful. I met up with our friend Ogran on the road.”

  Those deep-water blue eyes went nearly black for a moment. “And how is our friend?” he said in a tight voice.

  “Taking up worm farming when we parted ways.” The flit of a smile across his mouth told her he understood her allusion to Ogran's death. “We didn't speak long. My horse was tired, and we were both eager to get home.” She didn't mention Magas's name, knowing word would get back to the king who, according to Serovek, coveted the stallion.

  He stroked her knuckles with his thumbs. “You were always patient with your steeds,” he teased.

  She snorted. “This one, like all stallions, requires it, but they do the job adequately if you ride them hard enough and keep a steady hand.” His sputtered laughter made her grin.

  “Gods, firefly woman,” he said softly in bast-Kai, “how I have missed you.” He switched back to Common before their audience grew suspicious. “Did you really tell all and sundry I was your lover?”

  “Practically shouted it from the rooftops.”

  He pressed closer to the bars, and she did the same. “Well then, since the word is out...” He kissed her, his lips cold against hers but no less seductive for their chill or the fact a wall of steel separated them so that it was more the brush of a moth's wings across her mouth than the passionate play of lips and tongue she wanted from him and wanted to share with him.

  When they parted, he let go of her hands to trace the juts of her cheekbones with his fingertips. His features were solemn, mouth drawn down with worry. “Why did you come? Surely Brishen didn't approve.”

  Brishen had been very clear about his opinion of her journey. “This decision is yours, cousin. I have no say in it, therefore I don't sanction for or against it.”

  “I didn't come as the Khaskem's second,” she told Serovek. “Only as Anhuset. I represent myself, not the kingdom of Bast-Haradis.”

  His eyes closed for a moment. “Thank the gods,” he said and opened them again. “I figured Brishen would know how to handle this. I didn't want to be the spark that started a war between two kingdoms.” The grim lines in his face didn't ease. “Even so, you shouldn't be here.”

  “Neither should you,” she said. “Yet here we are.” She eyed the guards and sorcerer askance before turning a telling look on Serovek, hoping he could read in her expression the message that he go along with the charade she was about to enact.

  She relaxed her body, draping herself against the bars. Her voice, usually clipped turned breathy. “I have many things to say to you, my love.” Serovek's eyebrows shot to his hairline. “How I've thought of you and missed you.”

  He looked just like the gate guards when she announced she was his lover, and Anhuset would have laughed out loud if she was doing this out of jest. But this was a serious game, one with stakes too high to lose.

  She switched to bast-Kai, keeping the breathy tone of a lover's pillow talk but speaking fast before the guards put a stop to it. “I don't have time to explain,” she said. “If you want to walk out of this with your head still intact or your neck not stretched, don't argue or protest what I do or say. And if the king asks you if you'll marry me, you say yes. Understood?”

  Jaw slack, he gave a single nod, and as Anhuset predicted one of the guards snapped out a warning. “Speak Common or you're done.”

  She immediately complied. “Do you not feel the same, my darling?” When this was over, she was going to wash this false sweetness off her tongue with a dram of hot lye.

  Serovek contributed wholeheartedly to her sham. “I can't begin to express how I feel at the moment, my dove, but I understand,” he cooed. Anhuset almost gagged.

  “Time's up,” one of the guards said, and she turned to see the warden moving down the hall toward them, returned from his foray downstairs to his office.

  “What are you up to, Anhuset?” They were both so close to the bars, Serovek whispered the question in her ear.

  She looked back at him, memorizing his face and the play of shadows across its angles and hollows. “Saving your life.”

  “Why?”

  Anhuset stared at him for a moment, flummoxed by the question. Surely she didn't just hear doubt in his voice? This man of supreme self-confidence who'd been able to read her with stunning, frightening ease?

  The warden motioned for her to join him, and the guards drew closer to physically drag her away from the cell if she didn't come of her own accord. She was out of time. She reached through the bars to slide an errant lock of his hair through her fingers before pulling away. “Is it not obvious, margrave?”

  The two guards closest to her jumped back when she spun on her heels, their hands dropping to their sword pommels. Warning bolts of lighting passed over the sorcerer's hands. Anhuset raised her hands in surrender and walked away to join the warden waiting for her in the corridor. Serovek's gaze, piercing and intense, rested heavy on her back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We die for those we love.

  Serovek paced the breadth and length of his cell, wondering how many other prisoners before him had done the same, their enforced confinement weighing heavier and heavier on their minds and spirits with each passing day. He'd done well enough until now, using the task of chronicling the journey to the Jeden Order's monastery for the Archives as a way to occupy his mind and stave off boredom while he waited for the king to summon him to trial.

  Some might consider it simply an exercise in futility. No doubt Rodan had ordered Dame Stalt to turn over everything he wrote and had his scribes alter key facts that turned a
well-intentioned journey of mercy into a sinister plan of sedition fueled by treasonous ambition. Serovek, however, suspected Dame Stalt was a stickler for accuracy in historical records. She may have given the king what he asked for, but he wouldn't at all be surprised to learn there was at least two copies of Serovek's original recounting hidden away for posterity's sake somewhere in the mysterious depths of the Archives.

  The writing had helped him hold onto his patience, and except for the confrontation with Bryzant, the anger over his imprisonment. One more day in this cell might be humiliating, but it was also one more day he didn't face the gallows or the chopping block. One more day that he could refine the argument he had prepared in his own defense when he would finally stand before Rodan and whatever tribunal the king called.

  And then Anhuset showed up on the other side of the cell bars and destroyed his equanimity in an instant. His patience evaporated, his anger burned hot, and his worry threatened to consume him. For what purpose had she come? And what plan had she hatched? Her enigmatic warning that he not protest or argue whatever it was she said or did had set off every alarm, alarms that rose to deafening volumes inside him when she mentioned the king and marriage. He'd wanted to interrogate her, but their time was short, their audience composed of guards and sorcerer avid in their attention as they listened to them converse. Anhuset had given her warning in bast-Kai in a voice so at odds with her very character, he'd been taken aback at first. All to fool those listening who would assume the conversation between them was merely blandishments exchanged between lovers. They might not have believed the part about the lovers had she not announced it very publicly when she first arrived at Timsiora.

  Serovek paused in his pacing and allowed himself a faint smile. How he would have loved to hear her make that declaration and see the faces of those who heard it. His smile faded and he resumed wearing a trench into the floor.