The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,153
venue to have it so that all may participate after a fashion and enjoy the day.” He motioned to one of his servants standing next to a drape of cloth that hid another entrance to the side and behind the throne. The servant twitched the curtain aside, said something Serovek couldn't hear and shoved the curtain fully aside.
Serovek's breath locked in his lungs when Anhuset strode through, beautiful, proud, her features set and her eyes the palest yellow, signaling her anger. He doubted anyone else in this space could translate the message in that citrine gaze like him. He wished he could tell them she was likely imagining how they'd all look with their heads on pikes.
The tiniest pause in her step told him she'd spotted him standing there, though she didn't turn to look directly at him. Instead, she stopped where the servant indicated and saluted the king. “Your Majesty.”
Serovek consumed her with one slow, sweeping gaze. She was taller than everyone in the king's box except him, towering over the servant standing nearby who eyed her claws and backed away by incremental degrees. Dressed in armor with her hair scraped back hard and wrapped in a knot so tight it stretched the skin at the corners of her eyes and lent a sharpness to her already prominent cheekbones, her presence loomed large. Even the king looked as if he shrank a little in his chair until he remembered himself and snapped straight-backed once more. He lost that avid gleam in his eyes, only to have it replaced by the shadows of dislike and distaste as he stared at her.
“Anhuset,” he said, and Serovek started a little at the absence of her title of sha. “I've taken all that you said into consideration. I think you'd be a very suitable wife for Serovek Pangion.”
Had the king suddenly sprouted wings, he couldn't have stunned the witnesses to this tableau any more. Serovek was thankful for Anhuset's earlier enigmatic warning. Only he and she didn't gape at the king as if he'd grown a second head from his shoulders. What in the gods' names had she negotiated with the king? Not that he was complaining. If an arranged marriage with the woman who haunted his dreams was the punishment for his supposed crimes, he was more than happy to proclaim himself guilty.
Delighted by the reactions, Rodan flashed his yellow-tooth grin. Anhuset's upper lip curled the tiniest bit. “As I consider myself a fair man, I will grant your request for trial by combat and accept your bid as Lord Pangion's champion.”
This time Serovek couldn't help his shocked inhalation. This he hadn't expected, and his blood froze in veins turned to filaments of ice.
Don't argue or protest what I do or say.
He'd thought at the time her comment had related to the odd remark about marrying him, assumed she'd concocted some bizarre plan with Brishen that might convince Rodan not to kill him if he was offered some beneficial alliance with Bast-Haradis. Every fiber of his being shouted at him to do exactly the opposite of what she demanded.
The king's sinister smile went even wider at Serovek's obvious distress though he kept his attention mostly on Anhuset. “I've already chosen your opponent, one less concerned with the possession of things such as inheritance and far more interested in the basic needs of life.”
“What have you done, Anhuset?” Serovek forced the words past clenched teeth.
This time Rodan did turn to him. “Lord Pangion, Anhuset of the Kai has invoked the law of trial by combat on your behalf and offered herself as your champion.” The smirk he wore turned even more gloating. “I've accepted on your behalf.”
Judicial combat. A fight to the death. If she won, he'd go free. If she lost, she'd die, and he'd die with her. Rodan hadn't gotten Magas. He wouldn't get Anhuset either if Serovek could help it. He knew the law, knew it had been generations since it had last been invoked. The accused was not allowed to fight for himself. There had to be a champion, and the requirement of a fight to the death had a suppressing effect on any would-be volunteer saviors of the accused. Of course, Beladine law hadn't taken sha-Anhuset into account. Neither had he.
“I refuse the champion,” he said. He'd rather face Anhuset's wrath or the ax than watch her die in the arena for the sport of a king and the entertainment of the masses on the pretext of justice