The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,137
certain power even the nobles didn't possess and of which all kings were made wary: the ability to frame history in their records according to their own biases. “As you've recorded the events of the galla war, are you interested in any of the aftermath?”
“Of course,” she said with a shrug.
“I can recount the journey I and others took to the Jeden Order to deliver the body of the Wraith king and Nazim monk Megiddo Cermak. It might seem a journey like any other but the warlord Chamtivos died during this excursion, and it's why I'm here now.”
A shrewd look replaced her curious one. “You wish to record your innocence.”
“I wish to record facts.” No doubt Bryzant was trying to spread rumor far and wide of Serovek's supposed misdeeds. Serovek wanted what really occurred recorded where it counted most.
“You understand King Rodan may request to see any and all notes and that I'm bound to turn them over to him?”
“Yes.” She might consider it her duty to turn over all written items to Rodan for review if asked, but he had no doubt there were things written and recorded and hidden away for later generations that current sovereigns would prefer no one knew. If he didn't survive Rodan's paranoia, his own accounts of the truth and his innocence just might.
Dame Stalt regarded him for several moments, her gaze direct, piercing. “I'm an old woman, Lord Pangion,” she finally said. “And the cold here is hard on my bones. My chroniclers are also very busy with assignments already given. However, I can provide you with ink and quill and as much parchment as you need to write down an account of your trip. I'll request that a small brazier be delivered to you as well, so the ink doesn't thicken too much and your hands stay warm enough to keep your writing legible. I will send someone to the Zela twice a day to take what you've completed. Will this suffice?”
He hadn't expected that level of generosity and offered her a low bow. “Very much so. I thank you, Dame.”
She returned the bow with a brief nod. “It's well-known the Beladine hinterlands thrive under the guardianship of High Salure. May it continue, margrave.” Supportive words carefully framed to given appearance of neutrality.
“May the gods favor it so, Madam.”
When she left, he restlessly paced the room. Until someone returned from the Archives, there wasn't much to do but worry, recall, or wonder, and he did all three—not about himself but about Anhuset and Erostis. Had they made it to Saggara without delays or problems? Was Magas being taken care of? Those questions and concerns birthed others—the fate of High Salure and those soldiers who considered themselves loyal to him more than to the crown. If they had any fear for their own skins, they would declare loyalty to Rodan, even if they had to lie through their teeth.
At least he didn't have Megiddo to worry about any longer, his body anyway. Safely ensconced in the monastery under the protection of his fellow monks, he was no longer at risk from the perils of the road. Safe unless Rodan decided the monks were no longer useful Beladine citizens but heretics to be purged from Beladine society. He paced even faster. Madness, he thought, wasn't born out of fear; it was born out of boredom.
The dame was as good as her word. A clerk arrived at the same time a guard brought food to break his fast—more of the same gruel he'd eaten the night before, only cold. Serovek didn't care and passively submitted to a temporary shackling at the opposite wall while the clerk set up parchment, ink bottles and wells and a generous supply of quills for him to use. Someone else brought a tabletop brazier, and it was the warden himself who looked it over, pronouncing it acceptable. Once only a single guard remained in the cell, he released his prisoner from the shackles.
Serovek wasted no time lighting the brazier to warm his hands. His face felt frozen, and he'd spent an uneasy night shivering in the bed under the woefully thin blankets. If the warden expected him to complain of a lack of pampering, he would be sorely disappointed. The small brazier was a luxury in itself.
He dragged the table and chair to the least drafty part of the chamber and moved the mat under the bed so as not to start a fire from a stray spark. It didn't