The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,75

He raised a hand in surrender when she opened her mouth to scold him. “No more teasing,” he said. “I promise.”

“You still haven't answered my question. You're a wealthy Beladine nobleman with land and vassals, an army you can field for your king, and a reputation as an outstanding lover that's gone beyond Beladine borders. Even the Kai have heard of your prowess. I've seen for myself how human women vie for your attention.”

The inner voice she wanted so badly to thrash into silence chose that moment to mock her. Not just the human ones. You're beginning to see him with their eyes.

Serovek blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. The cloud swirled upward in fragrant wisps. “Why do I suddenly feel like the fatted hog?”

“Because a rich, unmarried nobleman of any country is a prize to be won as soon as possible.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “You aren't gameza, are you?”

“A bastard?” He shook his head. “No. Even if I were, it wouldn't matter. I'm the lord of a prosperous estate and have the support of King Rodan. I remain unmarried because I choose to.”

Her thoughts whirled, along with her emotions. Confusion over his lack of motivation in expanding power, wealth, and status through an advantageous union, relief that he showed no preference for some Beladine beauty with strange eyes and small square teeth, who could weave ribbons into her hair with the same ease that Anhuset could handle a sword.

“Do you still grieve your wife?” Maybe that was why he chose not to remarry. Loyalty to a dead woman. Anhuset had never known such depth of feeling for a lover. It seemed to her an awful, vulnerable thing.

Serovek regarded her in silence for several moments before answering. “Delving deep tonight, Anhuset.”

“Tell me to stop and I will.” She strove to understand the heart and mind of this man. Melancholy shadowed his former easy humor, a lingering taint left by his time as eidolon, fighting the galla alongside Brishen.

He shrugged. “I've nothing to hide.” Smoke rings floated around them as he drew on the pipe and exhaled. “You never stop mourning those you loved and lost. Glaurin was a good wife. I honor her by remembering her fondly, all those things about her that gladdened my spirit, instead of those which might have annoyed me. She paid me the compliment of being my wife and giving me a daughter.” A half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “If you're asking if she's the reason I haven't remarried, the answer is no.”

The insidious inner voice poking a sharp stick at Anhuset continued its harassment Why then? Instead she said aloud “Who chose Deliza's name? You or your wife?”

“I did.” An abiding sorrow filled his voice and darkened the deep blue of his eyes. “It means 'hope' in old temple language.”

There it was, the vulnerability she feared. How long did the living suffer from the loss of the dead they loved? What wreckage did such loss leave behind and was it worth the pain? Did it make her weak for avoiding such attachments and Serovek strong for embracing them? For he was strong, inside and out. He'd proven that strength over and over to her. What did he see when he stared hard into her soul? A warrior tough and unyielding or simply a woman too frightened to care too much?

She tried to imagine him with children. It wasn't hard. A stillness settled over him when she rested her hand on his forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. “I've no doubt you would have made a loving father.”

He gazed at her hand before covering it with his, his callused palm rough on her knuckles. That deep-water gaze lifted to hers. Were she not so wary of his effect on her, she might have fallen into it, succumbing to his allure. “Thank you, Anhuset.”

His gratitude carried the ring of a prayer offered to a beloved deity, and Anhuset felt her face—nay, her entire body—light up at the words. Her heart tripped a beat in double time. Was this how Brishen came to see Ildiko as beautiful instead of hideous? Through glimpses into her soul? Or was it a gradually expanding knowledge of her character that seduced him and made her desirable? Brishen Khaskem had never been weaker than when he fell in love with his wife.

Nor as strong, argued the internal voice.

“No thanks necessary. I only speak the truth,” she told Serovek before rolling onto her back