The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,118
her next question would be. “I still train,” he said. “And teach. Before you leave us, I hope to spar with you. I've heard many things from my brothers about your martial skills.”
She'd thanked him, offering him a low bow. Much to Serovek's amusement, she'd practically skipped out of the chamber.
“I'm still awake,” she told him now, “because the abbot has invited me to train with him in an hour, and I won't miss such an opportunity for the sake of something as silly as sleep.”
He made an odd strangled sound, and she glanced at him to discover a fleeting look of dread cross his features. “Promise me you won't accidentally kill the man. He seems a voice of reason, like your ally in Chamtivos's camp. Between them they may reach a truce and end the fighting in this valley altogether, but they both have to be alive to negotiate.”
She snorted. “Either you think me more bloodthirsty than I am or more skilled than I am. Remember, margrave, he was once an Ilinfan swordmaster, and we're only sparring. Maybe you should ask him to show me mercy.”
“A swordmaster old enough to be your father.” He held up a hand to forestall her argument. “I know age isn't the limitation many foolishly assume. I've seen enough grandfathers wipe the floor with an upstart pup with more brawn than sense. It happened to me when I was younger and had my arse handed to me by a man more than twice my age at the time. But you're a Kai. He'll have a challenge on his hands.”
“So will I.” Like him, she'd seen an older, more experienced warrior take down a younger, stronger, more foolish one. She looked forward to this sparring session. “You worry for nothing,” she said, slipping her hand into his where they were hidden by the folds of their cloaks.
“The monks obviously know we're intimate,” he said. “And there's no one else here but us, them, and Erostis who, by the way, recently informed me he'd won a bet with another liegeman regarding our relationship.” Her eyebrows snapped together in a scowl. “You're a soldier, Anhuset,” he said with a half smile. “You know soldiers wager on anything and everything.” Her disapproving “hmpf” only widened his smile. “As I was saying, all here know we're lovers. No one will care or use it against us if I kiss your hand.”
That was true, and she surprised him when she lifted their clasped hands and kissed each of his knuckles. His gaze rested on her, a soft, living thing, and caressed her as lovingly as his hands. Those deep-water blue eyes blazed from within, brightened by the fire she'd kindled there. “Or if I kiss yours,” she said and winked at him.
She would miss this banter when they left. She couldn't help but wonder what might happen when they parted company and returned to their respective homes. Until now, her lovers had been brief connections without commitment or even interest beyond a night or a week. Anhuset refused to lie to herself. She wanted much more than a week with the margrave of High Salure.
He'd punched through every barrier she put in front of him, broken down every wall. It was hard to remember she once thought him ugly. He still annoyed her at times, usually right before he made her laugh. Her respect for him equaled that which she had for Brishen, a near impossible feat by her standards. He was good company in or out of bed, and the hours she'd spent with him during this journey, and especially in the monastery, had flown by. Never in her life had she imagined she'd fall in love with a brash human with his strange, laughing blue eyes and stout heart. She closed her eyes against the terror of that realization.
A distant thunder rumbled, not above them but below. Serovek's voice held a wary note. “That can't be good.”
Anhuset opened her eyes to the sight of a large company of armored cavalry riding toward them, easily numbering a hundred or more. They galloped across the valley's flat expanse, carrying with them a flag sporting a gryphon devouring a snake. The banner of the kingdom of Belawat. She glanced at Serovek. “Why isn't this good?
“Because a visit from the Beladine army never is. Those are King Rodan's troops, and a company that size isn't here for a social or diplomatic visit.”
His response was punctuated by the sound of bells, either rung