“What weighty ponderings have painted such a black scowl on your face, Anhuset?” Serovek held the unlit pipe in one hand, his head tilted to one side as he regarded her. The fire limned his face and body in flickering light.
Anhuset would die a thousand deaths before revealing her speculations to him. She asked a question guaranteed to redirect his attention. “Why have you not remarried?”
His eyes widened before narrowing in silent amusement. He unfolded his big frame to stand—all grace and size and hard muscle. “You always manage to surprise me, firefly woman. Give me a moment, and I'll satisfy your curiosity.”
He left a second time, returning from the campfire with his pipe lit. He resumed his seat beside her, drawing on the pipe and exhaling smoke rings before he finally spoke. “Are you making an offer of marriage?” he asked, no hint of teasing in the question.
She sputtered and sat up. “No!” She glared at his widening grin, which stretched even wider when she harrumphed and resumed her lounging position. “You're the worst sort of tease,” she grumbled.
“Oh, my beauty, you have no idea. I hope one day to enlighten you.” 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 and closing her eyes, too afraid to look any longer upon his face, or worse, have him look upon hers and see past her outward serenity to the turmoil within.
A companionable hush descended between them. Anhuset breathed the sweet smell of pipe smoke as Serovek burned through the bowl of herbs and leaf. She kept her eyes closed, denying the temptation to look at him. Despite her certainty that she'd stay awake through the night, drowsiness claimed her.
“You are truly the most beautiful woman I've ever beheld.”
Perched on the edge of sleep, she wondered if she imagined Serovek's compliment. She didn't bother to open her eyes. “I don't understand why you think so,” she mumbled.
His voice caressed her, body and soul. “And I don't understand why you do not.”
Anhuset drifted off, waking not long after for guard duty, and discovered a blanket tossed over her. Serovek had returned to his pallet while she slept and now lay on his side facing her. Dawn light gilded his hair, bronzing the red highlights there, silvering the gray ones. His black eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. In slumber, he looked younger, the refined angles of his face softened. If he dreamed, it was of something far more pleasant than the tortures of Megiddo.
Not so ugly this morning, the inner voice mocked.
“Shut up,” she said aloud and tossed off the blanket to stand and stretch. Klanek waved to her from his place by the fire pit. He'd taken the previous watch and now stoked the fire in preparation for an early breakfast.
Serovek neither looked nor acted any differently than he had days or months before, yet that day Anhuset found it difficult not to stare at him. Maybe it was seeing him surrounded by ghosts and holding silent conversations with spectral queens or hearing him recall his wife and daughter with a far-away voice of affectionate memory.
He hadn't changed, but something profound in her had. She'd once thought him a brave but shallow man, arrogant at times, with a peculiar gift of annoying her like no one else could. Except for his courage and her annoyance, she'd been so very wrong about him.