The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,82
father and transferred that loyalty to Chamtivos out of respect for his dead sire. She wondered how many of them knew or suspected their current leader had committed both patricide and fratricide to seize the position he now held. The two guards set to watch her questioned whether the effort in attacking their party and taking Megiddo hostage had been worth the sacrifice of the seven men who'd died in the attack.
Anhuset could account for three of those deaths. She wondered how many of the remaining four Serovek had been responsible for. If he were lucky, none. Otherwise, whatever punishment Chamtivos chose to mete out to the margrave, it would be brutal.
She pretended to nap so her guards would assume her asleep and loosen their tongues even more. The remainder of their conversation was as dull as listening to grass grow, though she learned that the man who'd given her water was Chamtivos's second-in-command and named Karulin. From what little she'd gleaned from her interactions with both men, Karulin seemed more suited to the role of leader than Chamtivos, and she wondered why so measured a man had chosen to serve one so malevolent and erratic.
Made groggy by boredom and cold, she snapped alert at the approach of a new visitor. Anhuset lifted her eyelids enough to observe the man who greeted her guards and paused to loom over her, wearing a nasty smirk.
Conversation ceased, replaced by an expectant hush. She forced her muscles not to tense, and kept her eyelids lowered as she waited to see what her observer might do. He didn't carry a weapon unless one considered the stench wafting off him deadly enough to kill a person with a single whiff.
He unlaced the front of his trousers, and Anhuset nearly gave herself away by the disbelieving snort she swallowed behind her gag. Did he think to rape her? With the way she was bound, he'd have to exercise considerable effort to get her clothes out of the way without cutting them off her. He'd fail and die for trying. She was bound, not helpless.
Her disgusted snarl held an equal amount of shock when instead of a rape attempt, he pissed on her. She rolled away, barely avoiding a face full of the reeking yellow stream.
Howls of laughter rang out from her guards, and saliva filled her mouth as her stomach heaved. The stench of urine flooded her nostrils as she fought to hold down the bile creeping up her throat. Whistles and catcalls joined the laughter. Her tormentor grinned and swiveled his hips in a lewd motion, waving his dripping prick at her. He finally tucked his bits into his trousers and replaced the placket, then strutted back and forth in front of the growing audience, raising his arms to coax more cheers from their ranks, as triumphant as any conquering hero claiming victory over the vanquished.
He'd signed his own death warrant with that act of humiliation. Anhuset swore to herself no matter what it took or how long, she'd kill this man, carve him up into small pieces, and toss his remains into a midden for the rats to feast on.
Unsatisfied with his shallow victory and the attendant cheers from the crowd, the idiot chose not to walk away from the scene. Instead, he moved closer to her, leaning down to say something or maybe spit on her. She didn't wait to find out and used all her strength to lunge forward and slam her forehead into his face.
Bone crunched and screams replaced the gloating snickers as the raider fell backwards, hands clutched to his face. Blood seeped through his fingers, cascading in rivulets over his knuckles as he rolled on the ground, bellowing in agony.
Still seeing stars from the hit, Anhuset wasted not a moment in protecting herself as best she could, tucking her head between her arms and curling even tighter into the fetal position as punches and kicks rained down on her head, shoulders and back from those who sought to punish her.
An angry voice rose above the snarls and curses accompanying the blows. “Back off before I geld every last one of you.”
They obeyed instantly, and Anhuset, never a religious sort, thanked any gods listening for the respite from the battering and for the return of the one the guards called Karulin.
“Explain,” he demanded. “Lie, and you'll regret it.”
Both men spoke at once with a few from the crowd interjecting their accounts before going silent under Karulin's glare. A chorus of