The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,13
a lavish place much spoken about by the local gentry. Serovek, Lord Pangion, had spared no expense in turning High Salure into a stately home as well as a formidable fortress.
He met Anhuset at the entrance to the barbican where a contingent of his men had gathered to observe the Kai woman’s arrival. Some called out greetings, a handful meeting her halfway to walk beside her horse as they escorted her to the barbican. These soldiers had patrolled borders with her and the Kai who served with her, and several had aided in rescuing her liege from raiders paid to torture and kill him.
Sha-Anhuset had ever been forthright in her opinions regarding humans. They were hideous to look upon, possessed strange customs, and suffered from questionable culinary preferences. More than once, Serovek had choked down laughter at her obvious revulsion for human expression and behavior.
Despite that, she was also a warrior with an understanding and admiration for those who served in the role of soldier as she did, be they Kai or human. She returned his men’s greetings, calling those she recognized by name, and wishing them good fortune in Common tongue so all could understand.
He saluted her when she finally stood before him, holding her horse’s reins in one hand, and a decorative box in the other. “Sha-Anhuset,” he said, not bothering to disguise his pleasure at seeing her here in his home. “Welcome to High Salure.”
Faint consternation flitted across her sharp features. For all that she was graceful in her movements, she gave a stiff bow before offering him the box. He took it, cursing when it jumped in his hand. He almost dropped the thing before tightening his grip. Something inside the container thrashed against the sides and the top, scrabbling for a way out.
Anhuset’s yellow eyes, without noticeable pupil or iris, lightened a shade, and her mouth turned up at one corner. “Margrave. A gift from the herceges and the hercegesé. A delicacy at a Kai table, as you’ve witnessed yourself.”
Serovek edged open the lid for a peek, before slamming it closed when an armored tail tipped with a stinger that dripped black fluid jabbed at him. A collective gasp rose around him, and every soldier surrounding them took at least three steps back. He raised an eyebrow at Anhuset who continued to watch him with that twist of amusement playing across her lips. “I’m very fond of scarpatine. And a female at that. Even better.”
He didn’t lie. A notorious dish favored by the Kai and served at celebrations, dinners of state, and to important guests not too terrified to attempt eating it, was indeed one of his favorites. This was Brishen’s nod to him in recognition not only of friendship, but also brotherhood. The only thing that confused him was the scarpatine itself. The Kai rarely used the females in the pie, only the males as the females were difficult to subdue and kill without getting stung, and their venom could be deadly. Were he not fast friends with Brishen and trusted him completely, Serovek might have wondered if the herceges wasn’t trying to do away with him.
As if she heard his thoughts, Anhuset gestured to the box. “I’m to relay the message from the herceges that he couldn’t think of anyone more suited to battling an enraged female while enjoying the fight.”
His laughter echoed through the bailey, while his men snickered around him. The box with the angry scarpatine inside jumped in his hand. “I’ve always liked your cousin. Now to convince my cook I pay him enough to make the pie.” He held out the box to the soldier closest to him. “Take it to the kitchen.”
The man hesitated, glancing from one side to the other, as if silently asking for volunteers to take on the task. None of his cohorts stepped forward. He gingerly reached for the box before grabbing it with both hands. It jerked in his grip, the scarpatine’s tail striking the sides of the box with hard taps. The soldier took off for the kitchen at a jog, eager to be rid of his burden.
Another soldier offered to take Anhuset’s horse for stabling. She untied the satchel from its place behind the saddle and slung it over her shoulder before leaving her mount to the man’s care. Had it been any other woman, Serovek would have offered to carry her burden for her, but this was Anhuset. He didn’t relish having his hand bitten off for the effort.