Page 25 of The Ippos King


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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 absenthercegeséfor 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 neither young nor old but a man in his prime. He wore the mantle of leadership with ease, though she'd never witnessed tyrannical behavior from him. Most of his men offered him respect that bordered on reverence.

Once she'd believed he was simply a human possessing lusty appetites, martial prowess, and a singular ability to annoy her until she gnashed her teeth. He'd obliterated those assumptions when he dug an arrowhead out of her shoulder and helped save Brishen from his abductors, when he volunteered to fight by the Khaskem's side against thegalla, and when he fearlessly handed her his blade to spill his blood on an ancient tor. There were depths to Serovek Pangion deeper than oceans she'd only glimpsed from far shores, so much more than teasing innuendo and damn fine horsemanship.

He struggled with the tragedy of Megiddo's fate, reason not always conquering guilt at having survived thegallawhen the monk had not. She'd seen it in his expression when he woke from sleep plagued by what she suspected was more than bad dreams and far more dangerous. The ethereal luminescence which Ildiko had seen in Brishen's eye had surfaced in both of Serovek's, along with a horror that faded as he grew more awake. Still, its shadow had lingered in the midnight blue of his gaze, along with the cobalt light that turned his gaze spectral and haloed Megiddo's soulless, ensorceled body.

Did ancient Kai magic still linger in those Wraith kings who'd returned to their human forms after they defeated thehul-galla, trace ribbons of it revived by proximity to Megiddo's body or his sword? And if so, what terrible thing might it visit upon those who'd fought so bravely and emerged triumphant thanks to the sacrifice of one of their own?

The questions whirled in her mind like dust spinners on a hot summer day, along with a yearning to know more about High Salure's margrave, peel back those endless layers that revealed a man she'd grown to admire more and more every day. Admire and crave.

She growled under her breath, tightening her grip on the reins hard enough that her mount slowed from an ambling walk to a near stop. She loosened her grip and tapped the animal's sides. The horse resumed its leisurely pace. Her three companions hadn't noticed or heard her displeasure at acknowledging the weakness of such unfortunate attraction. Serovek Pangion was ugly, irritating, and far too cock-sure of himself, especially regarding his presumed attraction to the opposite sex, including her.

And his hair cascaded through her fingers like silk.

A second growl rumbled in her throat when he glanced over his shoulder at her, gave a quick smirk, and turned back around, as if to signal he'd heard every one of her thoughts and dared her to deny them.

Twilight hadn't yet crawled across the sky, and there was still plenty of light to set up camp when Serovek signaled a stop. Anhuset roused from her light doze for a better look at her surroundings. She recognized the wooded landscape with its mix of still-dormant oaks and firs so dark a green, they etched black silhouettes against the sky. Close by, the Absu tumbled and rushed in a loud whisper. A melancholic pang settled beneath her ribcage. Dead Haradis lay not far from here, less than a day by boat.

Their group split the work between them, building a fire, unloading a few supplies, hunting for supper, taking care of the horses. Erostis returned from his foray into the wood, not with a brace of hares, as she expected, but a line of fish taken from the river. “I'm a better fisherman than hunter,” he said, holding up his prizes with a triumphant smile.

The fish, roasted on spits, accompanied flat bread cooked on a round sheet of metal Ardwin had unloaded from their wagon, all washed down with cups of tepid ale. Nightfall brought a dip in temperature, and the group sat huddled around the fire, wrapped in cloaks. Anhuset stayed farther back to avoid the worst of the light and noticed no one looked directly at the flames.

“You wear an odd expression, Anhuset.” Serovek had abandoned his spot and sat next to her. “What are you thinking?”

Her nostrils flared. He wore the scents of the forest and camp smoke. Earthy scents that made her blood warm and her skin tingle. She quaffed the rest of her ale, wishing for something more bracing like Peleta's Kiss, where the burn would stave off images of what 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?”

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