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Someone on the other side had been waiting for them. The doors opened the moment Serovek’s boot touched the threshold. One of his servants had snuffed out half the candles and lamps while he’d been outside. The great hall was no longer ambient but tenebrous, with most of its illumination emanating from the fire roaring in the hearth.
Beside him, Anhuset gave a small grunt. “You need not go through this trouble for me. I’m used to guard duty during the day. The brightness is an annoyance, that’s all.”
“Are you sure that’s something you can cope with for a prolonged period? We’ll be traveling by day, resting at night.”
“I’m not human.” By her tone, she might well have said “I’m not diseased.”
Serovek chuckled. “Implying you’re not weak. Rumor has it the delicate Ildiko Khaskem took down one of your Kai assassins with a shutter pole. By herself.”
They both paused at the foot of the stairwell. Anhuset dipped her head in acknowledgment of his strike. “Point taken.” She raised an eyebrow when he stared at her. “Don’t look so surprised. Just because you have a talent for annoying me like no other doesn’t mean I won’t recognize you as victor in an argument.”
He let out a long, slow whistle. “Sha-Anhuset, you will never cease to amaze me.”
The look she gave him would have withered a lesser man to a desiccated husk. “It isn’t that momentous, Lord Pangion,” she said in the driest tones.
Despite the bleak purpose of their trip, it promised to be an entertaining one. Serovek grinned. Anhuset’s acerbic wit fascinated him as much as her appearance and demeanor. That fascination only strengthened with each interaction they shared. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.”
They ascended the tightly spiraling stairwell to the second floor, where the space opened up to a corridor lined in closed doors. Serovek led her to one and pushed it open to reveal a sumptuously appointed chamber illuminated only by the light spilling from the fire dancing merrily in the corner hearth. The windows were shuttered against the daylight and the cold, leaving shadows to pool in the niches and under the wall hangings.
“Will this suit?” he asked. “If not, there are other rooms to choose from. My staff can have another ready for you in short order.” He’d inspected this space itself once it was readied, hoping she’d approve. Anhuset though often surprised him.
A flicker of unease darted across her sharp features as she took in the room’s trappings. “You went to too much trouble. I would have been fine with a space in the barracks.”
He had half-expected such a reaction. The Kai woman was far more comfortable among humbler surroundings, but something had urged him to offer her the best at his disposal. Maybe a vanity on his part. He didn’t dwell long on the niggle of disappointment.
“If you’d prefer the barracks, I’ll see to it a space there is set up for you, but I hope you won’t decline an invitation to have supper with me.”
Anhuset shook her head. “This is fine. No need wasting someone’s labor and making them work to prepare a second place for me to sleep.” A slight turn of her head alerted him she watched him from the corner of her eye. “I despise frivolous nitwits who’ll put a household in an uproar just to appease their whims.”
“Then we’re of like minds. But you still haven’t said if you’ll dine with me.”
“What are you serving?”
The unmistakable note of dread in her voice made his eyebrows rise. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Join me and find out. Or are you afraid?”
Her own silvery eyebrows crashed together. “Name the hour.”
They agreed to meet in the great hall at sundown. While he would have liked to spend the rest of the day with her, offering himself as tour guide to the citadel, he had last-minute preparations and plans to make with his steward.
Anhuset dismissed his apology with a flick of her hand. “Not necessary, margrave. I’ve been here before as you know. I’m familiar enough with the grounds.” She set her satchels next to the curtained bed and scraped back her hood to reveal her hair, white as new-fallen snow and gleaming even in the dim firelight. “Yourmarhskalkowes me a chance to win back money I lost to him in the last dice game we played together.”
For a moment, Serovek fiercely envied his master-at-arms, Carov. He’d much prefer to spend the next few hours in Anhuset’s company himself, engaged in a friendly game of chance, even if she managed to clean out his treasury. He’d especially welcome a sparring match with her. She was a formidable fighter—he’d seen that firsthand—and would make a worthy opponent.
He accompanied her downstairs and into the bailey where she joined Carov and a group of soldiers training in the practice yard. A few called out to her, inviting her to participate in a mock battle. Her yellow eyes caught fire. She bowed briefly to Serovek, promising to meet him at their appointed time for supper.
He left her to meet with his steward as she shrugged off her cloak, draping it on a nearby post, to reveal she was well-armed and ready for combat. Serovek jested with his men to keep the injuries to a minimum.
His steward Bryzant waited for him in his study. An efficient man and an ambitious one as well, Bryzant was a high-born younger son from one of the more prominent Beladine families. He’d gladly accepted the position of steward in Serovek Pangion’s remote citadel. High Salure was far away from the Beladine court and its hub of social and political machinations. Few would want to spend years in the kingdom’s hinterlands bordering Bast-Haradis, even in service to the highly respected margrave. Serovek had been surprised by Bryzant’s enthusiastic response to his invitation to become his steward.”
Now, then years into the role, he had proven himself invaluable, making sure the fortress’s day-to-day administration ran smoothly. He’d been the one to oversee the non-military tasks when Serovek left to fight thegallaalongside Brishen and the other Wraith kings. Serovek intended he do so again while he made the journey to deliver Megiddo’s ensorceled body to the Jeden Order.
“My lord,” Bryzant said, trying to bow as he entered the study, arms filled to overflowing with scrolls. “I need signatures from you for supply requisitions, among other things.”
Serovek neatly plucked several of the scrolls out of Bryzant’s arms and set them on the nearby table. By the look of it, he was in for hours of unavoidable drudgery. Too bad he couldn’t put his signature and seal on documents while on horseback.
The two men sat across from each other, Serovek with quill in hand while Bryzant passed him the first of many pieces of parchment. “I’ve sent requisitions in as you requested for additional leather, wool, and food stores. We’re waiting for three bids to come in for all of them.” Bryzant pointed to the list of names on the sheet. “Two are local, one is from the capital. That one will be more expensive, of course.”
“But possibly better quality, unless the vendor assumes we’re ignorant provincials and tries to gouge us with high prices for poor product.” Serovek scowled. “Have you seen examples of the others’ goods?”
