The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three

by Draven, Grace

  Keeping a wary eye on the archers and wishing she held her shield in front of her, Anhuset leaned forward to rest her forearms on the saddle's swell as if she and this guard had all the time in the world for a casual chat. “I'm not lost,” she said. “I'm here to visit my lover, Serovek Pangion, margrave of High Salure.”

  She fancied she heard every jaw go slack and every eyelid snap upward. The shock value of honesty was always greater than that of the most convincing lie, and if the reaction from the welcoming committee was anything to go by, there was no lie more spectacular than this truth. Gasps and sputtered laughter met her statement. Even some of the bowmen wavered in their aim, and the guard acting as spokesman gaped at her like a landed fish drowning in air.

  Anhuset waited, features composed, while he finally overcame his shock to glare at her. “The Kai have a strange sense of humor, and I don't have time for stupid jokes. State your business, Kai woman.”

  Before she left Saggara to ride to Timsiora, Brishen had given her a piece of valuable advice.

  “Be patient,” he'd said. “It'll be your greatest weapon and greatest strength while you're there.”

  “My greatest challenge as well,” she'd replied. “Especially where humans are concerned.”

  Brishen's eye had darkened to gold with amusement and no small amount of worry. “Just keep in mind what you're there for in the first place.”

  She drew upon that advice now. Instead of baring her teeth and trying to intimidate the guard, she merely shrugged and repeated her statement. “I don't joke. I'm here to see the margrave of High Salure. I know he's a prisoner of the crown.”

  If she and Brishen were right in their assumptions, Serovek would be the last person any of the Beladine would take her to see. They'd take her straight to the king. It didn't matter that she hadn't announced herself as an ambassador for the Kai regent or the queen regnant, her appearance alone at Timsiora's gate was so unusual, the guards would assume what she'd never stated.

  They did exactly as Brishen predicted. Anhuset waited outside the gate as a growing crowd of curious onlookers lined the battlements above her to point, stare, and gossip. Soon, a soldier of higher rank than those barring her entry into the city joined them. He stared at her without the curiosity and distaste the others had shown. He surprised everyone, including her, when he gave a short bow. “I'm Captain Droginin, sha-Anhuset,” he said, addressing her by her title as well as her name, though she'd offered neither to this point. “I was assigned for duty at High Salure for a short time. You may not remember me, but I was one of the margrave's men who helped rescue the Khaskem when he was abducted and tortured by raiders.”

  Anhuset's eyebrows lifted, and she almost forgot not to show her teeth. She noted that Droginin avoided saying “Beladine raiders.” Brigands paid by some wealthy patron to end the marriage of Brishen and Ildiko before it truly began, they had displayed a breathtaking cruelty against their captive, leaving Brishen disfigured and partially blind. She might have hated all the Beladine for the crime were it not for the fact several of their countrymen had allied themselves with the Kai and endangered their own lives to rescue the herceges.

  She didn't remember this man, but he knew enough about her on sight and had no reason to lie. She returned his bow with one of her own. “Then you have my and his Highness's eternal gratitude, Captain.”

  “Raise the portcullis!” he shouted, still watching her. “Lord Pangion is currently being held in the Zela,” he said. “I can't take you to him, but I'll escort you to the palace. I've no doubt the king will want to see you.”

  Just as she'd hoped.

  Captain Droginin walked beside her horse until they passed through the barbican where he then swung onto the back of a waiting mare. Anhuset followed him through the city toward the palace, traveling down a central boulevard lined with hundreds of hideously ugly humans. It reminded her of her foray into Pricid as part of Brishen's escort where they'd faced the same ghastly curiosity from humans as horrified by the Kai's appearance as the Kai were of theirs. That visit to a human city had been for a wedding, as was this one.

  The irony wasn't lost on Anhuset.

  The royal palace was a large structure, though smaller than Saggara and designed in a more blunted style that spoke strictly of function over aesthetics—built of stone to withstand siege and fire, except for its vulnerable wooden roof from which flew numerous flags with house crests, and above them all the largest, most colorful flag belonging to the Belawat royal family in residence there.

  More guards at more gates, along with a crush of courtiers who made no attempt to disguise their gawking or their commentary on the Kai woman's frightful appearance. Anhuset swallowed down laughter when the more squeamish among them flung themselves against the walls as she passed them in the open-air cloisters or fell into the thorny embrace of dormant rose bushes lining the snowy gardens. The urge to smile wide and long almost overcame her, and she gained an appreciation for Ildiko's enjoyment of crossing her eyes in front of Kai nobility.

  She followed Droginin down several hallways, their boots striking a tandem rhythm on the floors. Behind them, the Beladine nobility followed in a wave of chatter. They kept their distance but shadowed the two and their small contingent of soldiers all the way to a set of narrow double doors three times as tall as they were wide and flanked on either side by a pair of guards in royal livery.

  “Sha-Anhuset of Bast-Haradis to see His Majesty,” the captain said.

  Word of her arrival in the city had obviously reached the palace before she did for there was no hesitation or questioning before two of the guards opened the doors for her to cross the threshold. Droginin offered another bow. “This is where I leave you, sha-Anhuset.” He pivoted sharply before cleaving a path through the crowd of court butterflies waiting to follow her through the doors.

  Their protests sounded loud behind her when the guards crossed glaives to prevent them from filing into the chamber, and she caught a glimpse of disappointed faces when the doors shut. This chamber was not so grandiose as the one she saw through the space made by another set of partially open doors. This was obviously the antechamber before the great hall with its elevated throne at the far end. A man heavily garbed in expensive woolens and silks greeted her with a sly and disapproving expression. His critical stare took in her riding leathers and tough woolens made to withstand the rigors of the road and weather.

  “His Majesty will see you now,” he said without preamble. “Follow me.” He led her through the second set of doors and into the great hall.

  It was a grand space simply for its size and the height of its roof. Tapestries whose details were lost in the gloom hung on the walls at regular intervals, providing warmth in a room colder than a sepulcher. Her breath fogged in front of her as she crossed the cavernous chamber, noting the countless number of swords, polearms and shields used to decorate those places the tapestries didn't cover. Trestle tables and benches were pushed to either side of the chamber, kept out of the way until meals were served. Small clusters of people stood in various spots watching as she approached the dais upon which the throne sat and the old man who hunched there like a vulture.

  Grateful for the lack of numerous windows that would have flooded the throne room with light this time of day, she stopped squinting and focused her gaze on Rodan, monarch of the kingdom of Belawat. The man she was certain had Brishen abducted and mutilated, the man who sought Serovek's death thanks to fear and paranoia of having his throne usurped. Her upper lip began to curl with the loathing and contempt swelling inside her. She forced both down. Now wasn't the time to allow for temper or obvious dislike. This would be her greatest test in patience and diplomacy, two things no one had ever praised as her strengths.

  She genuflected before him, bowed her head and gave the Kai salute of a soldier to their commander. She raised her head to meet his eyes, revolted by the sight of his bloodshot sclera and the milky scale covering one of his faded green eyes. She hadn't though
t human eyes could be uglier. She was wrong.

  “Sha-Anhuset,” he said in a voice nearly as harsh as his lined and weathered features. “Lord Pangion has written favorably of you in his account of the journey you shared to the Lobak valley. It seems Chamtivos and his men weren't quite prepared to fight a Kai.”

  Serovek had been allowed to write an account? Anhuset hoped her expression remained bland while inside she wondered how he'd managed such a feat while imprisoned. She also wondered how much of that account would remain in its original state and how much the king's scribes would alter it. “I don't think the warlord or his men were prepared for Lord Pangion, Your Highness. It was he who killed Chamtivos and hopefully put an end to the fighting in your territories there.” He'd provided her with the opportunity to impress upon him Serovek's loyalty. She had no intention of squandering it. The quick narrowing his eyes told her he recognized her reply for what it was.

  He continued his questioning. “Why has the Khaskem sent you all the way to Timsiora? Alone?” Within that simple question lay a wealth of growing suspicion

  “He hasn't sent me, Your Majesty. I come as one woman in support of a friend.”

  One of his hoary eyebrows slid upward. “According to those at the gate, he's also your lover.” His mouth turned down a little and his nostrils flared as if he tasted something unpleasant.

  “Just so, Your Majesty.” He might find it distasteful that Serovek had shared a bed with her, but Anhuset pitied every poor woman who'd shared a bed with this bilious sack of bones.

  He snorted. “I wonder if Serovek would confirm such a declaration.”

  “Only he can answer that, Your Majesty.” Surely she would choke on this forced graciousness before she completed her task.

  “And the Khaskem has nothing to say about his sha riding to Timsiora for a visit with a man accused of treason and sedition?”

  Brishen had been right to insist that if she went to the Beladine capital, she couldn't do it as an ambassador. Rodan poked and prodded, looking for something he could latch onto that might be interpreted as Kai interference. “No, Your Majesty. The Khaskem hasn't sanctioned this visit. While he considers Lord Pangion a personal friend, he feels this is a Beladine matter, not a Kai one.” How many times would she have to rephrase the same answer before Rodan stopped asking?

  The king slouched in his seat, eyeing her with a combination of distaste and fascination. “You realize that as Lord Pangion's self-proclaimed lover, you're hardly an objective witness for his innocence, even if your account of the trip agrees with his.”

  The prickly feel of sweat broke out on her back, despite the icy temperatures in the cavernous chamber. This was where she had to make every single word count, make it logical, sincere, and most of all of benefit to the king and to Serovek. Her weakest skill set highlighted in these most important moments. What she wouldn't give right now for a sword and good, bloody fight. “I'm not here as a witness, Your Majesty.” The address grew more bitter on her tongue every time she uttered it. “I come for other purposes.”

  Rodan must have heard a certain tone in her voice for he abruptly straightened, the mild curiosity transforming to intense interest. “Continue. I'm listening.”

  Anhuset exhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully on that long, drawn out breath. “I know for a fact the accusations made by Bryzant the steward are false and motivated by envy, greed, and the desire to rise by any means necessary. Chamtivos's interest in Lord Pangion was only the money his death would bring him, money promised to him by Bryzant. The warlord told me so himself. For Bryzant, the margrave was simply an obstacle to be removed and Chamtivos the tool to do it. Such a man who'll betray his liege puts no value on loyalty and will betray anyone.” She let that last word linger in the air for a moment. “But as you say, I'm not objective in this matter. Bryzant wanted all of us dead. No witnesses.”

  She had set the framework of her argument, and in that moment she desperately wished Brishen were here to make it instead of her. He'd do so with ease and a naturalness that didn't come to her without immense struggle. The perspiration beaded on her back now trickled down the valley of her spine. “I believe wholeheartedly in Lord Pangion's innocence. I will stake my life on it.” Rodan's eyes narrowed, and she saw within his face a hint of burgeoning understanding for what she was about to say. “Beladine law states the accused may prove his innocence by choosing a champion to fight for him in judicial combat. If the champion wins, the accused will be acquitted and allowed to go free.”

  An image of Brishen's ashy face, with his mouth thinned in worry, and his eye a yellow paler than an early autumn moon as he stood by her horse to see her off, rose in her mind. “Win that combat, cousin. Paint the city red with your opponent's blood if you have to, but win that fight and come back to us alive.”

  Rodan steepled his fingers together and peered at her over their tips. “I'm familiar with our laws, Kai woman.” A small frown stitched a line across his brow. “You realize this would be a fight to the death? You lose, you die, and so does the margrave. And there may not be anyone to accept your challenge; therefore, no fight.”

  That very thing had been Brishen's greatest fear while they hatched this plan. Anhuset had a reason, a motivation, to lay down her challenge, but there had to be one of equal importance for an opponent to accept it and step inside the arena with her knowing they might well die there.

  “Someone always accepts, Your Majesty, if the prize is great enough.”

  A grim smile darkened the king's face, and his expression turned flinty. “I sense the Khaskem cleverness in all of this. What prize do you think is worthy enough to lure someone into the arena and risk their life to fight a Kai warrior?”

  Brishen's voice echoed in her ears. “Will this steward face you in the arena if he was offered something of immense value? High Salure itself? Serovek controls it because it's his family's demesne, not because he's a margrave. This steward could be offered the holdings and let the king appoint a margrave to handle the actual governing.”

  Anhuset had laughed at the suggestion. “From what I saw of Bryzant, he's a milksop who pays others to spill blood for him. The last time I saw him he practically wet himself while standing on a kitchen table to avoid a loose scarpatine. He wouldn't come near me.”

  But Brishen's idea had merit with some alterations, and she presented it to Rodan now. “High Salure is a jewel in your crown, Your Majesty. It belongs to the Pangion family, which has no heirs except his lordship to claim it. While it may lie at your far borders, it's wealthy and strategically important. There are other brave, fighting men among your nobles who'd surely be tempted to make High Salure theirs.” Thank the gods Serovek wasn't in the same room to hear her say those words. He'd try to strangle her.

  “This gets more interesting by the moment,” Rodan said. “Approval of judicial combat is at my discretion according to those same laws. You winning doesn't mean Serovek is absolved; he only earns his freedom to cause trouble for me at a later date.” Jealousy, envy, and poisonous suspicion which had turned the king against one of his most loyal subjects, practically radiated from his body. Anhuset inwardly flinched. Brishen's predictions had been dead accurate so far regarding Rodan's every move and the motivation behind them.

  “It's why I submit my second proposal, Your Majesty.” How in the gods' name she managed to keep her voice this calm so far, she'd never know. “Should you agree to a trial by combat and I emerge the victor, then I will extend an offer of marriage to Lord Pangion. A union of Kai and Beladine human made in good faith.”

  When Brishen first made such a suggestion to her, she had no doubt she'd looked at him the same way Rodan was looking at her now—speechless from shock.

  “Don't look at me as if I've lost my senses,” her cousin had said with a humorless chuckle. “I assure you I haven't. The greatest dangers to Serovek are his reputation and his standing. He's a prime catch for every Beladine noble family with a marriageable daughter, powerful noble
men with large estates who can field personal armies and make alliances. You can win a dozen judicial combats and Rodan will find a way to have Serovek arrested again, and I fear the next time he'll resort to torture to wring an untrue confession out of our friend.”

  Anhuset's stomach had plummeted not only at Brishen's words but at the shadow of memory behind his eye. If anyone knew the horrors of torture, it was him. His reasoning lay heavy on her shoulders, layers upon layers of hard choices that would directly affect the rest of her life in great and small ways if she followed the line of his thinking and agreed to it. “He's no longer a prime catch if he marries someone like me.” A bastard Kai woman who couldn't bear him children, was neither Beladine nor recognized as noble, who lost her magic and couldn't tie a hair ribbon properly, who knew much of war and little of feminine graces, who would never be a sought-after widow or gain an inheritance. A woman of no value at all to a Beladine nobleman seeking to rise in power.

  Brishen had nodded. “Not someone like you. You specifically. Such a marriage would only be tolerated if Serovek remained a margrave. The Beladine people will never accept a Kai queen consort, even if she were the wife of a popular usurper.”

  She had instantly accepted the risks and dangers of acting as Serovek's champion in a fight to the death. Done so without a second thought. But a marriage...

  Brishen had encouraged her to take an entire day to consider it before she gave him her answer, and she'd used the entire day to ponder over her choices. She had never stooped to coyness and loathed it in others. She'd faced death without looking away many times. Facing life and doing the same was much harder, but she didn't turn from truth, and the truth was she'd fallen in love with a handsome-ugly human man of immense courage and unwavering integrity. If Serovek was worth dying for, he was certainly worth marrying, and once past the upheaval of her own heart and thoughts at the realization her life would irrevocably change if she became his wife, she embraced the idea. Only the question remained if he'd embrace it as well.