The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,152
They finally rolled through the fourth entrance, its towering arch soaring over them, the horses' hooves making loud echoes as they trotted across brick and stone and finally stopped close to an alcove.
“You get out here, Lord Pangion,” one of the guards next to him said.
He shook off the offers to help. “I'm a prisoner,” he said, “not an invalid,” and jumped to the ground with a rattle of iron. He was glad they hadn't dragged him out of the cart, but there was a difference between deference and coddling. He'd been a prisoner twice in the past month, and the two experiences stood out in marked contrast in his mind. Chamtivos's minions had beaten him badly enough that it had taken the skill and magic of the Nazim monks to heal him, while the guards and the warden who served the Beladine king treated him with a wary respect. They would stand by and watch him die if it came to that, but at least they wouldn't spit on his tomb when it was done.
They led him toward the alcove which, from this new angle, revealed a short flight of stairs that led upward and out of sight. A private stairwell for the select few to reach the more expensive seats on the second floor without having to mingle with the common crowds jostling each other in the cloisters open to the public. Serovek recognized it. He'd been here twice before as a guest of the king for a play and a mock battle. The hall he shuffled down now was lined with torches, the wooden floors covered in rugs at intermittent spaces to soften the footfall. Not as crowded as the corridors on the lower floors, it was hardly empty. Servants raced to and fro doing the bidding of their noble masters, arms full of furs, blankets, and pillows, or carrying trays of food and drink.
Serovek's mouth thinned. King Rodan was hosting a public spectacle of some type, and Serovek doubted he'd been brought here as a guest of the event. Part of the spectacle most likely, one which no doubt involved blood, violence, and his imminent death. He wondered what wild creature the king planned to feed him to.
He emerged from the cloisters into a large box decadently outfitted for maximum comfort. In its center a small throne draped in furs had been elevated on a dais. This was the monarch's private space in the forum—high enough for the best view and far enough away from any dangers or the blood that sometimes splattered those occupying the lowers. Smaller, less opulent boxes on either side of Rodan's were filled with the nobility who stared at Serovek as he entered the royal enclosure and turned to face his king.
Rodan wore the intense look of a hawk that had spotted prey and waited for just the right moment to swoop down and smash the creature into the ground with its talons. His faded eyes burned with a dark glee that ignited even more at the sight of Serovek in shackles. “Welcome, Lord Pangion.” His smile was merely a baring of yellow teeth.
Serovek was tempted to return the expression in a like manner but thought better of it. For now. Instead he genuflected, mastering his balance under the shackles' weighty restrictions. “Your Majesty,” he said. Behind him the noise of the crowd grew in volume. “Is there to be no trial? Only an execution epic enough to make it a spectacle?” His question carried the edge of contemptuous insolence.
The nobility watching the exchange gave a collective gasp. Serovek didn't apologize or drop his eyes. He had never liked Rodan, considering him too mercurial at times and plagued by a suspicious nature that only grew worse as he grew older. The monarch had left the governance of his eastern borders to Serovek with little interference, and Serovek had served in that capacity to the best of his abilities. It had been a beneficial exchange until the margrave of High Salure had joined Brishen of Bast-Haradis to become a Wraith king and save a world. People loved heroes and hero kings even more. Rodan wasn't a hero king and everyone in Belawat knew it. His margrave had become a threat to the throne.
While the nobles shifted uneasily at Serovek's question, Rodan's features didn't change. He even chuckled at the question as if he and Serovek shared some favorite joke. “Oh, there will be a trial, margrave. I've simply chosen a more public