The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,141
know.”
“I pray the gods will be merciful and show the king that you're a loyal subject.”
“You and me both, my friend,” Serovek replied.
They spoke another few moments before Gaeres bid him goodbye. Serovek saluted him. “I wish you good health and to your kinsmen,” he said. “Come to High Salure when this is done. I'll take you hunting.” He wasn't dead yet and wouldn't plan his future as if he was.
The other man nodded, then paused and returned to his spot in front of the cell, much to the guard's disapproval. “Serovek, do you dream of Megiddo?”
Serovek glanced at the guard. So far there was nothing said here that would alarm or offend the king. No secret to be kept if spoken of in the right way. “Yes. Often. You?”
A troubled look, rife with a guilt that Serovek instantly recognized and that made his stomach knot, chased across Gaeres's face. “I think they're visions more than dreams, and I think his soul suffers.”
Did Gaeres's eyes glow the ethereal blue Serovek's did when he awakened from those nightmares? Did he hear Megiddo as if the monk stood beside him, alive and whole? He kept the questions to himself. These were the things that would alarm Rodan. “I think it does too,” he replied, wishing he could say otherwise, tell Gaeres he was wrong.
A terrible sorrow aged Gaeres's face for a moment. “What can be done?
Serovek had worn that same look in a mirror's reflection. “I wish I knew.” And if the gods willed it, he'd live long enough to find out.
Chapter Seventeen
Much of war and little of feminine graces.
Anhuset braced herself to make the last leg of her journey across snow-covered terrain toward the walled city of Timsiora. Behind those walls, a sea of humans with their strange eyes and mollusk skin lived, worked, and traded under the rule of Rodan, King of Belawat. And somewhere in there, Serovek awaited trial. For a moment the breath thinned in her lungs at the enormity of the task before her, the stakes involved, and the likely disaster if she failed.
She tapped her heels against her mount's sides, urging it forward, and they picked their way down a gentle slope toward the city where it nestled in a box canyon under a blanket of early spring snow. Heavily bundled against the cold and hooded against the glare of a midday sun, she pulled down the cloth mask protecting the lower half of her face from the cutting wind. Cold air stung her cheeks. She ignored it, used to the bite of old Winter as it clawed for purchase in the high places where Spring had not yet gained a true foothold.
Her primary purpose here was to gain an audience with the king. Giving every resident of Timsiora a clear view of her features guaranteed word of a lone Kai's arrival would travel through the city faster than a brush fire, attracting the king's notice and, hopefully, his curiosity. She shoved back her hood as well, slitting her eyes against the blinding brightness.
Unlike the denizens of High Salure, who were used to seeing the Kai and even teaming up with them on the occasional patrol, the Beladine in Timsiora were no more accustomed to a Kai's appearance than those humans who lived in the Gauri capital of Pricid on the southern coast. Just as she expected, the scant number of guards at the entry gates tripled in an instant once they got a good look at the approaching lone rider.
Anhuset halted in front of the portcullis, keeping a casual pose atop her horse even as a half dozen soldiers spilled out of the wicket adjacent to the gate. They gathered before her to extend a welcome of frowns and drawn bows.
One man stepped forward. “A single Kai?” He leaned to the side, peering around her as if looking for a Kai army to suddenly appear at her back. When none did, he gave her a confused scowl. “Are you lost?”
Keeping a wary eye on the archers and wishing she held her shield in front of her, Anhuset leaned forward to rest her forearms on the saddle's swell as if she and this guard had all the time in the world for a casual chat. “I'm not lost,” she said. “I'm here to visit my lover, Serovek Pangion, margrave of High Salure.”
She fancied she heard every jaw go slack and every eyelid snap upward. The shock value of honesty was always greater than that of the