The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,135

restless nobles. He's from a respected Beladine family; he's wealthy, and he's proven himself an exceptional fighter. His rise would raise benefit other powerful families through popularity, money, and heirs. He's the stuff bards weave tales from when they speak of heroes. Men of great place.”

“He doesn't want any of that.”

“We know it, but we're not the ones who need convincing. Serovek has to be diminished, become lesser in the eyes of the Beladine people and therefore no longer a threat to their king.” Brishen paused, frowning as if searching for the right words. His hesitation tightened the knot of trepidation in Anhuset's belly. “The Anhuset who left Saggara to journey with Serovek Pangion isn't the same Anhuset who returned. Ildiko saw it. So did I. You love the margrave enough to willingly—eagerly—act his champion in a fight to the death. Do you love him enough to marry him?”

Chapter Sixteen

Popularity had its pitfalls.

The prison known as the Zela housed every manner of criminal, from the debtor to the murderer, the thief and the traitor alike. It wasn't the crime that determined where in the Zela one was incarcerated but the status of the criminal. A troop of palace guards had turned Serovek over to the warden and his men with instructions that he be put in a cell on the topmost floor.

This one lacked the comforts most Beladine nobility was accustomed to, but it had a chair and table and a bed that looked free of fleas. The sliver of window set high in the wall allowed in a small bit of light and a great deal of cold wind. There were no tapestries or rugs to warm the cell, and the blankets folded on the bed looked threadbare. Serovek was thankful he wore heavy clothing to ward off the worst of the chill.

The warden blew on his fingers before tucking his hands under his arms. He peered at Serovek from the other side of the cell bars. “Never thought to have the margrave of High Salure as my guest here at the Zela,” he said. There was genuine puzzlement in his voice instead of mockery, and even a touch of disappointment.

“Home it is not,” Serovek replied, keeping his answers noncommittal. Everything he to anyone in this place would be immediately reported back to the king. He didn't believe a word of Rodan's statement that he would take time to consider Serovek's guilt or innocence. It didn't matter which he was. What mattered to Rodan was the possibility of his margrave usurping his throne and how best to neutralize that threat. This little interlude of hospitality was just his way of making Serovek stew, to increase his fear and panic. At the moment, all it did was stir the deep-seated fury burning hot enough inside him to make him sweat despite the cold. Too bad his steward wasn't in here with him right now. Serovek would cheerfully tear off Bryzant's arms and beat him to death with both.

“Prisoners are given dinner in an hour,” the warden said. “And being who you are, you can have visitors, though they stay on this side of the bars. Is there anyone you want to see?”

Serovek almost declined, then changed his mind. “A king's chronicler,” he said. “There's one I've spoken with before. Jahna Uhlfrida. If she isn't available, then another will do.”

He'd manage to find a way out of this disaster with his head still attached to his shoulders and High Salure returned to him. Serovek had watched Rodan's expressions while he read Bryzant's letter. Mocking disbelief, contempt—each expression flickering across the king's face as he read aloud. If there was to be a true trial, then it wouldn't be so much a matter of convincing the king of his innocence but of convincing him of his loyalty and disinterest in the throne. By his estimation, he had three days at most to plan what he'd say. In that time, he'd make use of the Archives and their purpose in chronicling major events in the Beladine kingdom to recount his journey to the Lobak valley and the death of Chamtivos.

The idea hadn't occurred to him until he considered how he might get a message to Anhuset. Not a plea for rescue but a note of reassurance that he was still alive, not to worry, and to take care of Magas. Serovek smiled as he imaged her scoffing at reading such pap. He could only assume she and Erostis had successfully made it to