The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,43

and lacked any noticeable humor.

Anhuset considered none of these things a character flaw. She was laconic herself; her wit, when it made an appearance, sharper than most people liked. But there was about Ogran a mien of dangerous resentment, bubbling so close to the surface she could almost smell it. He never put voice to it on this trip, and whatever caused his malcontent remained a mystery. Still, she remained wary. His gaze, when it landed on her—and it did more often than she liked—held something much darker than mere curiosity or disdain. Human gazes were hard for her to read, their strange eyes too much a distraction to discern the nuances of subtle expression, but his scrutiny had a weight to it that didn't need discernment. He didn't approve of her presence among them and made little effort to conceal it.

“Your ears aren't pointed,” he stated when he finally coaxed his mount to ride adjacent to hers. The debate between Ardwin and Erostis went silent.

The hood she wore kept the worst of the sun's brightness off her, shrouding her ears and hair, providing deep shadow and obscurity. He must have pondered over the shape of her ears from the previous day, when she'd been bareheaded. Anhuset accommodated his unwelcome observation and scraped back the hood so he might have a better look. When she turned to face him, he swallowed hard and reined his horse a little farther away from her.

His initial statement stoked her own curiosity. Humans were odd, and she had little use for them, but good strategy meant understanding even those one found puzzling or even unlikable, and for the next few weeks, she'd be the sole Kai among a contingent of humans. Ogran just happened to be one of the more unpleasant ones. According to Serovek, he was High Salure's best tracker and could sniff out spoor better than a hunting hound. Any traveling party benefited from the presence of someone with those skills, though tracking seemed the only positive thing about him. “No they aren't,” she said. “Why would you think they'd be so?”

He shrugged. “Well, your teeth are pointed.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, Ogran,” Erostis muttered. “How much of a lackwit can you be?”

Ogran offered a rude gesture in reply but otherwise ignored the other two soldiers.

Anhuset blinked, surprised by the reasoning. Skilled tracker or not, if this was an example of Ogran's intellect, then she heartily agreed with Erostis. The man was a lackwit. Such rationale might have suggested he question his own physical characteristics. His teeth were square but his ears were like hers, curved with dips and shallows of cartilage and fleshy lobes from which both Kai and humans sometimes sported jewelry.

Images flashed across her memory, of Ildiko Khaskem crossing her strange eyes and the Kai's predictably horrified reaction when she did it. Anhuset stared at Ogran for a moment without answering and curved her lips into a grin so wide it squinched her eyes and made her cheeks ache. The movement exposed her teeth to the back molars, and she nearly burst into a fit of laughter when Ogran's visage washed pale with terror. He shuddered so hard, his horse shied in reaction. Nearby, Ardwin's thin, breathy “Holy gods, save us,” only emphasized Ogran's terror.

Erostis's initial flinch gave way to a grin of his own, though unlike her own ivory spikes, he possessed the typical squared teeth of his kind. He saluted her with a quick touch of his fingertips to his forehead.

Her attention flickered back to Ogran, and she lost the grin. “I don't bite with my ears,” she said before turning away to tug the hood back in place. Ogran's horse quickly fell behind hers. Their conversation was over, and Anhuset silently thanked the absent hercegesé for the inspiration of her response. Maybe now they'd all shut up, and she could doze in peace.

She hoped in vain.

Ardwin soon resumed his debate with Erostis, the second baiting the first with gentle mockery. Anhuset gave up trying to sleep but pretended otherwise in order to dissuade the others from including her in their conversation. She focused on Serovek's broad shoulders as he rode ahead. His black hair fluttered in the chilly breeze, falling down his back to rest between his shoulder blades. Sunlight caught the silver threads woven through his locks. She wondered how old he was. Powerful, and muscular in build, with the marks of a life defined by both joy and tragedy etched into his features, he seemed