The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,136
Saggara and warned Brishen. As Serovek Pangion, his death would be meaningless, just another criminal put to death at the king's pleasure. As margrave of High Salure though, his death would have an impact on the stability of the hinterlands and Bast-Haradis that bordered them. He had no doubt both King Rodan and the Khaskem were very aware of that and likely why Rodan had been quick to arrest but slow to condemn him.
As the warden had noted earlier when he first arrived, a prison guard brought dinner, sliding the tray through a narrow slot at floor level that didn't require opening the cell door to hand him his meal. The cell bars themselves were narrow, allowing a half hand's span of room between them but that was all. While the bars offered no privacy, Serovek was glad they weren't the doors set into the stone walls, with only a spyhole in the wood for a guard to check on a prisoner, if they even remembered to do so. Those were tombs.
His meal was plain, tasteless fare, and an hour later he remembered nothing about it. Other less hardy noblemen incarcerated like him might complain, but he'd had worse and less. At least, based on the fact he was still standing and not writhing on the floor in pain and foaming at the mouth, it wasn't poisoned.
He'd just shoved the empty tray back through the slot to be retrieved by another guard or servant when approaching footsteps—one in heavy boots, the other, soft shoes—alerted him that he had another visitor. When they finally came into view, he was surprised to see an old woman of queenly bearing accompanying a guard. At Serovek's cell, the guard bowed to her and retreated to a spot where he could see—and hear—the visitor.
Serovek didn't know her, but he recognized the insignia on her heavy cloak and the concealing headdress that covered her from the top of her head to her shoulders, leaving only her lined face bare. Her sunken cheeks were ruddy with the cold and her eyes as sharp as any hawk's. A dame of the Archives.
She stood close to the bars, watching him in silence as he came toward her, her gaze measuring as it swept him from head to food. “Lord Pangion,” she said. “I am Dame Stalt. A messenger arrived at the Archives. We don't usually receive requests for an audience from the Zela.”
He offered a brief salute. “Madam, I expected a chronicler, not one of the exalted dames herself.”
One faded eyebrow rose and her lips twitched at the corners. “I admit to the failing of too much curiosity, though it's a necessary one considering what I do. Of the nobles who've passed the hours in this place, I never expected to find one of the men who fought the galla doing so.”
The warden had said something similar. At least people acted surprised instead of expectant to find him here. “A remark I imagine I'll hear many times over the next few days. I'm sure I'll echo the refrain of every person in the Zela when I say I'm innocent of the charges.” He gestured to the bars. “I'd invite you in and order wine or ale, but as you see, there are restrictions.”
Her expression told him she was aware of his attempt at charm and utterly immune to it. In a small way she reminded him of Anhuset. “How may I be of service to you, Lord Pangion?”
“While I recognize the honor of your presence here, I asked for Jahna Uhlfrida.”
Dame Stalt's expression softened at the edges. “Ah, Jahna. Lady Uhlfrida is Lady Velus now, wife of an Ilinfan swordmaster. She no longer abides here in Timsiora though she remains a chronicler.”
Serovek had found Jahna intelligent, engaging, and lit with an inner glow that bespoke a love of knowledge. The news of her marriage gladdened him. Among the many unable to look beyond the birthmark staining her cheek and neck like a splash of red wine, an Ilinfan swordmaster had seen a beauty of both flesh and spirit and claimed her as his wife. “My congratulations to her. I wish her well. I received a copy of her chronicles based on our meeting. Very good work. She was detailed, and most important, accurate without unnecessary embellishment.”
The dame nodded. “She's one of our best chroniclers. However, as she's not here, you'll have to make do with me.”
He was perfectly happy with the substitution, and this was a dame with a