The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,27
galla.”
The land on this side of the Absu had been protected from the galla invasion by the river itself. Water acted as a barrier against the demons, and the only way they could cross was by bridge, either natural or man-made Cermak’s farmstead had lain on the wrong side of the river, vulnerable to the galla. Their household had been lucky to escape with their lives. Anhuset was surprised that Pluro had returned to re-establish his farmstead, even knowing the Wraith kings had rid the world of the demons’ threat.
They rode past the bridge’s remains. Farther down the river, a small towboat and barge serviced the small farmsteads in the area. It was large enough to transport the wagon and its cargo down the river along with its escort in two trips. It was at that crossing they’d stay the night in the Beladine village of Edarine.
Taciturn by nature, Anhuset was content to simply listen, without commenting, to the idle chit-chat the three men riding beside and in front of her swapped between them. She spent the time dozing in quick catnaps as the sunlight carved paths in the clouds overhead and warmed her shoulders. These were the hours she normally slept when she wasn’t on patrol or guard duty, and her horse’s easy gait made her even drowsier. She blinked, focusing her attention on Serovek’s broad back as he rode ahead of them.
The memory of his revelation from the previous evening worried at her. He’d been married once. To a beautiful woman who wore ribbons in her hair. Affection had laced his voice when he spoke of her, along with old grief. Curiosity for this nameless wife plagued her even now, though she’d cut out her own tongue before she asked for details. She allowed herself a tiny smile, remembering his quip when she told him she wouldn’t know what to do with a hair ribbon. He’d always been forthright in his admiration for her acerbic wit. Maybe because he possessed the same at times.
The trip to Edarine remained uneventful, though the towboat captain asked more than a few questions as to what was under the blanket in the wagon. While Anhuset considered threatening the man into silence by offering to cut out his tongue, Serovek patiently fielded each question, keeping up a steady stream of conversation without ever answering a single one of his inquiries.
Once they disembarked, they traveled a drover’s path and reached the outskirts of the town just as twilight chased the sun westward. Serovek sent one of his men ahead to secure lodgings for the night, then turned and called Anhuset to join him up front. “Edarine hosts a good market, even in the cold months,” he said. “We’ll purchase more provisions tomorrow for the trip. There’s an inn with clean rooms and a tavern that serves decent ale and food.” He chuckled at her involuntary recoil at the mention of food. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they don’t serve you the potatoes.”
She dreaded what supper might have in store, vowing only to taste enough as a gesture of goodwill in case it was foul, which she fully expected. She gestured to wagon behind them. “What will you do with the monk?”
Frown lines marred his brow for a moment. “I’ll be guilty of hypocrisy for a night,” he said. “Carrying him into the inn so he can stay in a room will bring more attention on us than I care to have. We’ll leave the bier in the wagon and rent a stall in the inn’s stables.”
“I’ll stand guard,” she volunteered. “I can eat in the stables as well. Me at your table in a common room will draw all the attention you’re hoping to avoid.” It only made sense that she keep watch through the night. Nor did she much relish the idea of pacing the confines of a room in an inn crowded with so many humans.
“I’m happy to put you on guard duty,” he said, “I can’t think of a more vigilant protector, though you’re always welcome at my table, wherever that may be. Curious eyes be damned.”
His praise sent another of those awful, embarrassing blushes crawling up her neck to her cheeks. She gave him a quick salute and trotted back to her place behind the wagon, adopting such a forbidding expression that none of the men riding with her dared ask what she spoke about with the margrave.
Except for a cat that paused in its hunting rounds to watch their