The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,45
the margrave might look like naked and sheened in sweat from a bout of hard lovemaking. She scowled into her empty cup before answering. “I see neither you nor your men stare into the fire. Smart.”
One dark eyebrow rose, and Serovek's mouth turned up at the corner. “I'm glad you approve. Men blinded by firelight can't fight well if attacked in the dark. It's one of the first things I and my commanders teach the novices. I'm guessing this isn't a problem for the Kai.”
“No, though we still give our novices similar warnings since we're even more sensitive to light than humans.” She rolled the cup between her palms, considering her next words. “In many ways, you aren't so different from us.”
This time both of his eyebrows climbed, and Anhuset braced for his usual teasing. He surprised her when he poured some of his ale into her cup, then clinked his cup against hers in a silent toast. “I couldn't have said it better myself.”
He steered their conversation toward other things—the trip itself, what they expected from early spring's unpredictable weather. Surface topics that didn't require internal questioning or inspire thoughts in her mind that made her twitch with either doubt or an uncomfortable desire. He was good at casual conversation, shouldering most of it while she preferred to listen, and quietly attentive when she did speak.
While they conversed, she grew aware of an intense scrutiny from the other side of the fire. She darted a glance in that direction, glad for the fact the solid color of her eyes and their glow hid their movement from the others. Ogran stared at her and Serovek, obvious dislike pinching his features much as they had earlier when he'd questioned why her ears weren't pointed. A flicker of sly malice sharpened his expression before disappearing. All of Anhuset's instincts came alive in warning.
She left her place to retrieve one of the ale skins and refill her cup. Serovek offered up his cup for a refill as well as Ogran's stare became a bodkin point between her shoulder blades. Serovek's regard, in contrast, held a sensual interest that threatened to scatter her thoughts. A maddening trait.
“Tell me,” she said softly. “How long has Ogran served under your command?”
He tilted his head to one side, obviously puzzled by the question. “As long as my steward. He came to High Salure with Bryzant as his servant then chose to join my guard. He's a decent soldier, and as I mentioned earlier, an excellent tracker. Why do you ask?” He glanced at Ogran who instantly looked away, expression now studiously bland.
“Just curious.” She continued watching Ogran, who peered into his ale cup as if it revealed his fate and fortune.
“I find that hard to believe.” Serovek returned the scowl she gave him with narrow-eyed regard. “You don't say or do anything without purpose. Curious you might be but not for idle gossip. Something about Ogran has raised your hackles.”
She bristled now, affronted by the idea she might be so predictable, especially to this man who possessed a terrifying ability to effortlessly see to the very heart of her. She abandoned the idea of hedging her answer.
“There's something about him beyond a sour demeanor. I have a sour demeanor. This is different. I'd never turn my back on him.”
Once more Serovek's gaze fell on Ogran and lingered. “Not the friendliest sort, I'll agree, but in the years he's served High Salure, he's never given me reason to doubt his loyalty. I won't condemn a man for a wrongdoing he hasn't committed.” Anhuset was about to protest that her observation wasn't a request to somehow punish Ogran, but Serovek stopped her. “However, I trust your instincts implicitly. Familiarity can blind a person to another's ill will. I'll keep a closer eye on him.”
His words stunned her for a moment. Not the ones about Ogran, but those about her. She expected him to justify his choices regarding Ogran. She hadn't expected his blunt and total acceptance of her advice. “Why do you trust me?”
His slight shrugged matched his slight smile. “Because you're sha-Anhuset,” he said, as if that alone explained everything. He rose, dumped out the dregs of his cup and bowed to her before leaving to speak with Klanek who walked the perimeter around the wagon checking the transport for any problems that might slow their trek the following day.
She would never understand him. Never.
Just look closer. Look longer.
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered into her cup, wishing the