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“Because I always thought this was your favorite place in Saggara. The gods know you spent many an hour in this training yard bruising and blooding new and experienced soldiers alike. Me included.”
He wasn't wrong. “I wasn't sure if you'd ever be the same fighter you were before you lost your eye, but you surpassed my expectations. I think you're even better now.” She gave him an approving once-over glance. He'd worn an eye patch this evening in deference to those guests not used to seeing the mutilated socket where his eye had once been.
Brishen offered her a bow in recognition of her praise. “I had motivation and an excellent mentor.” His features sharpened, and his mouth turned down. “You should know I've spoken with Serovek about his visions of Megiddo and the glow of his eyes. I told him I deal with the same. I think the monk is trying to cross worlds to reach us. To seek help. I just don't know how we can give it.”
The grim turn of their conversation didn't surprise her. She'd seen the two men sequester themselves in Brishen's private study for an hour or so the previous day. Both had emerged wearing identical expressions of melancholy, regret, and guilt.
“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” she'd told Serovek after one especially bad dream. “Needs must, and he himself severed Andras's hand to break his grip and allow Brishen to close the gate.”
Serovek had stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “I said much the same thing to Andras, who hates us and himself for abandoning Megiddo. My reason knows what you say is true. My soul still won't accept it.” Judging by Brishen's expression now and after his meeting with Saggara, Serovek wasn't alone in his burden.
“What can you possibly do?” she asked. “You did what you had to do. There are always casualties in war.”
Brishen shrugged. “You're telling me nothing I don't already know. Still, I think one day soon the four kings will have to meet again and find a way to free Megiddo from his prison.”
“Serovek's visions are horrific. He doesn't have them as often now that Megiddo is far away in the monastery, thank the gods.”
“It curdles my spirit to even speak of it.” Brishen gave a small shudder as if to shake off a darkness crawling over him. His features relaxed and he gave her a smile. “This isn't how I wanted to end our visit or how I wanted to say goodbye. I actually came here to tell you your new husband had an especially voracious appetite for the scarpatine pie we served for dinner.” His eye widened with a touch of wonder. “He ate the two he was served and most of Ildiko's with particular relish, even savagery. I knew he liked it but...”
Anhuset snorted. She'd witnessed Serovek's concentration on the Kai delicacy. It was no secret that he liked a dish even many Kai abhorred. She suspected his gusto for it now had more to do with symbolic revenge than culinary preference. “Expect such enthusiasm in the future every time you serve one to him.”
She changed the subject, pivoting to point at the activity in the bailey. Horses being saddled, oxen and mules hooked to their traces in preparation for pulling wagons loaded tall with goods. “You were too generous with this dowry you've given,” she told Brishen, frowning.
He sniffed. “Hardly. You're my cousin, my friend, and at one time, mysha. I won't have it gossiped about the entire kingdom that the Khaskem was a skinflint with his relatives.”
Anhuset wasn't sure she deserved such munificence from him. She didn't at all regret marrying the man she loved, but she battled her own guilt at deserting the man she'd grown up with and served all her adult years.
Brishen had always been very good at reading her, and that particular talent didn't fail him now. “What's wrong? I sensed you were troubled the moment you rode through the gates.”
Never one to mince words, she came to the point. “Do you think me disloyal?”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “What?”
This was harder than she anticipated. “I surrendered my role as yoursha, packed my possessions, and will leave Saggara to live permanently at High Salure, even though Serovek has willingly offered for us to live apart and take turns visiting. That isn't the marriage I want, but I must abandon you to embrace the one I do want. Am I selfish? Disloyal?” She'd asked these questions of herself numerous times since she left Timsiora as Serovek's wife. She'd considered asking Serovek but knew he'd instantly come to her defense, not in the least objective in his opinion on the matter.
Brishen sighed. “Considering it was I who suggested the marriage in the first place, no, I never thought your loyalty to me was in question. I'm pleased beyond words for you. Serovek is an exceptional human. He'd have to be to deserve you.”
She blushed at his praise, relieved by his words but still unconvinced. “I can't help but feel as if I'm abandoning my post, abandoning you, abandoning the royal house of Khaskem entirely.”
He stared at her without replying, finally coming to some inner decision about what to say. His quick glance around them to make sure they were still alone on the berm told her whatever it was, it remained between the two of them. “Because it would take an act of the gods to make you reveal a secret, I'm going to tell you something. Something only Ildiko knows until now.” He exhaled a slow breath as if bracing himself.
“Good gods, Brishen,” she said. “What is it?” She kept one of the darkest secrets of all for him—the knowledge he'd stripped the Kai of their magic in order to save them. Surely, this couldn't be worse than that.
Brishen held up a hand, silently asking for her patience. “When everyone thought my line had died in the fall of Haradis and before I was crowned king, Ildiko came to me. She, more than I, has always understood court machinations, whether they're human or Kai. She understood immediately what it meant for the two of us when I took the crown. She was an able regent while I was away fighting thegalla, especially with you standing behind her.” Anhuset didn't think her support had that much impact but agreed that Ildiko had done a more than capable job of holding the Kai kingdom together while her husband was away fighting thegalla.
He continued. “But her role was temporary, or so the Kai people assumed. A regent until I returned to Saggara. They accepted her as such for that time frame. But they would never accept her as queen consort.” Resentment over that fact flitted across his features. “She is and will always be human, no matter how fluent she becomes in our language, how quickly she absorbs our culture, or how much Tarawin thinks of her as her mother. Ildiko will never bear me children, and even if it were possible, no Kai would consider a half human, half Kai child a fit heir to the throne.”
The inability of the very rare Kai and human couple to bear children wasn't unknown. Like Ildiko, Anhuset couldn't give Serovek a child. He'd been quick to assure her such a thing didn't matter to him. She believed him. Had it mattered to Brishen? Considering his change of status after the rest of his family died in Haradis, carrying the line would become of utmost importance. “Did you suggest the marriage be annulled?”
He scowled. “No, she did.” A kind of melancholy humor replaced his scowl. “She even had her replacement picked out for me. I told her I would abdicate in order to keep her.”
Anhuset gasped. She'd known none of this during those dark, desperate days. She hadn't even sensed it. Brishen and Ildiko had been somber, worried, fearful—just like everyone else. A marriage in jeopardy was a small thing compared to a kingdom in jeopardy, though the failure of this marriage would have had far-reaching consequences. And abdication to save it even more so.
Brishen offered her a brief smile lacking any amusement. “Ildiko was beside herself, afraid of civil war breaking out as the remaining noble families would fight each other for the throne. As fate would have it, Tarawin survived.” He closed his eye for a moment. When he opened it again, its yellow depths swirled with emotion. “I owe those who brought her safely to Saggara a debt of gratitude I won't be able to repay in ten lifetimes.”
“My gods,herceges,” she said. “Abdication? Tell me you searched for another way.”
He didn't even flinch, and a resolute hardness settled over his features. “I knew the risk of civil war, knew the monumental struggle Bast-Haradis would have to endure to recover from the destruction thegallavisited on it. I had contingent plans and fail-safes and capable ministers in place to hopefully ease the transition of power, but even if I hadn't, even if Tarawin had died with her parents and siblings at Haradis, I would have still abdicated.” His face looked carved from rock. “There are those who, if they knew what I just told you, would say I'm not to fit to rule as either king or regent because I didn't put the kingdom first. You may well think so yourself. Unlike me, the woman whom no Kai would accept as queen put the kingdom of Bast-Haradis first. I suffer no guilt, no regrets. I will give up my life for Bast-Haradis. I will never give up Ildiko for anyone or anything. Now ask me again if I think you disloyal.”
