The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,150

how many other prisoners before him had done the same, their enforced confinement weighing heavier and heavier on their minds and spirits with each passing day. He'd done well enough until now, using the task of chronicling the journey to the Jeden Order's monastery for the Archives as a way to occupy his mind and stave off boredom while he waited for the king to summon him to trial.

Some might consider it simply an exercise in futility. No doubt Rodan had ordered Dame Stalt to turn over everything he wrote and had his scribes alter key facts that turned a well-intentioned journey of mercy into a sinister plan of sedition fueled by treasonous ambition. Serovek, however, suspected Dame Stalt was a stickler for accuracy in historical records. She may have given the king what he asked for, but he wouldn't at all be surprised to learn there was at least two copies of Serovek's original recounting hidden away for posterity's sake somewhere in the mysterious depths of the Archives.

The writing had helped him hold onto his patience, and except for the confrontation with Bryzant, the anger over his imprisonment. One more day in this cell might be humiliating, but it was also one more day he didn't face the gallows or the chopping block. One more day that he could refine the argument he had prepared in his own defense when he would finally stand before Rodan and whatever tribunal the king called.

And then Anhuset showed up on the other side of the cell bars and destroyed his equanimity in an instant. His patience evaporated, his anger burned hot, and his worry threatened to consume him. For what purpose had she come? And what plan had she hatched? Her enigmatic warning that he not protest or argue whatever it was she said or did had set off every alarm, alarms that rose to deafening volumes inside him when she mentioned the king and marriage. He'd wanted to interrogate her, but their time was short, their audience composed of guards and sorcerer avid in their attention as they listened to them converse. Anhuset had given her warning in bast-Kai in a voice so at odds with her very character, he'd been taken aback at first. All to fool those listening who would assume the conversation between them was merely blandishments exchanged between lovers. They might not have believed the part about the lovers had she not announced it very publicly when she first arrived at Timsiora.

Serovek paused in his pacing and allowed himself a faint smile. How he would have loved to hear her make that declaration and see the faces of those who heard it. His smile faded and he resumed wearing a trench into the floor.

Two days had passed since she visited and no word from her or the king since then. Dame Stalt came to retrieve the last set of parchment from him and shared what she knew.

“There's work being done at the forum,” she said. “It looks like a disturbed hive of bees when you walk past it. Digging, hammering, and cutting. One of the clerks has a brother working there. They've been told to built a wall between the seats and forum floor to go around the entire forum. You'd have to sit four rows up to see anything going on inside the enclosure.”

Serovek pictured what she described. A ribbon of nausea encircled his stomach. Had the king decided his fate without waiting for judgment from the tribunal? And if so, was his execution something more epic than a quick beheading or the slower but ubiquitous hanging?

He thanked the dame for her help, the supplies and the use of the small brazier.

“I will tithe at Yalda's altar in your name, Lord Pangion,” she said. “And pray that he may look favorably on you.”

“I'll take any prayer you can you spare, Madam.” He bowed to her, watching as her stately, narrow figure disappeared from view. Then he began to pace and hadn't stopped since.

He did pause when he caught a glimpse of one of the guards out of the corner of his eye. The man had been slouched against the wall, half asleep at his post. He abruptly straightened, snapping to attention at the sound of footsteps. Serovek recognized the tread's. The Zela's warden.

Serovek's heart jumped a beat at the jangle of keys. He stepped back to the center of the room, waiting while the warden unlocked the cell door and opened it wide. Behind him, the