“Just so.” Ildiko walked to the door, her shoes making wet, squeaking sounds on the floor from being splashed. She paused with her hand on the handle and turned back to give Anhuset a long look. Any amusement had fled her expression. “What is Serovek to you now, Anhuset?”
Everything.
The word thundered in Anhuset's mind, and for a moment the world shifted beneath her feet before she steadied herself and returned Ildiko's stare with a guarded one of her own. “He is Lord Pangion, hercegesé,” she said in an indifferent voice. “Beladine margrave of High Salure and friend to the herceges.”
Ildiko's gaze didn't waver for long, excruciating moments. A tiny smile flitted across her lips. “I thought so.” She opened the door, closing it behind her with a quiet click.
Anhuset stared at the door for a long time while water dripped from her skin and hair to puddle at her feet. She finally toweled off, combed out her hair and dug through her chest of clothes until she found what she wanted—sturdy tunic and trousers, a padded hauberk and riding leathers. The first two she'd wear now as she met with Brishen. She'd don the hauberk and leathers before she left for Timsiora. The servants had also delivered her worn travel satchel to which she added on change of garments in case the others weren't fit to wear by the time she reached the Beladine capital.
A servant, waiting in the corridor, instructed her to meet the herceges in the library. Anhuset climbed the rest of the stairwell to the third floor where the knowledge amassed by previous Kai kings was stored in a room nearly as big as the great hall, with tall windows that looked onto the redoubt below and the lands beyond that fell under Saggara's protection.
She expected to find both Brishen and Ildiko there, but only Brishen waited for her, his back to her as he stared out the windows. “Herceges,” she said, announcing her presence and bowed when he turned.
He motioned for her to join him at the windows. A small table and chair were nearby, the table's surface covered with unfurled scrolls. Brishen pointed to them. “Beladine law, or at least as it was when those scrolls were added to this library. I don't think much has changed since then.”
She drew closer to the table to peer at the scrolls, reading what was surely the dullest accounting of anything ever written and pitying Brishen for having to make sense of it. “What did you find?”
His brow furrowed, whether from concentration or concern, she couldn't tell. “A way to save the margrave if you can't convince the king of his innocence. You may still have to employ it even if you do convince him, and from what I know of Rodan, I wouldn't be surprised if he forced you to do just that.” His frown deepened. “It's dangerous, cousin.”
Every time he addressed her by their familial ties, he revealed his worry for her. “What is it?”
“According to Beladine law, the accused has two choices – stand trial before the king, in which witnesses to his guilt or innocence plead their case and the king decrees final judgment or the accused may name a champion to fight for him. If the champion wins, the accused will be declared innocent. If he loses, the accused is declared guilty, no matter the testimony witnesses.” The corners of Brishen's mouth turned down. “It's a fight to the death.”
Anhuset swayed, lightheaded from relief. She could act as Serovek's champion. Diplomacy was not her strength unless it was practiced with a weapon instead of words. She had everything to lose or everything to gain in such a scenario. She didn't even have to think twice. “I'll get my things.”
She'd pivoted for the door when Brishen snapped out, “Wait.” He set his hip against the table's edge, the casual pose belying his troubled gaze. “If only it were so easy to send sha-Anhuset in to wipe the floor with an adversary and emerge the victor.”
Her triumph was momentary, defeated by his enigmatic statement. “What else, Brishen?” A sudden thought occurred to her. “I can't go without your leave. Do I have it?”
He blinked, obviously taken by surprise at her question. “What?” He shook his head. “That's of no importance.”
“It's of every importance, Your Highness.” She wielded the most formal of addresses to impress upon him the importance of his approval, how it went against everything she'd adhered to as a sha. He was her cousin, yes, but he was her liege.
Brishen sighed. “Of course you have it. I leave all but one choice in this matter up to you.” Her stomach somersaulted as relief washed through her, though she held her breath waiting to hear what the one choice was. “When you go, you go as Anhuset, not sha-Anhuset. You will not stand before Rodan as the second of the Khaskem, as an ambassador for the queen regnant or a representative of Bast-Haradis. You go as a Kai woman who just so happens to be a friend of Serovek and a witness to his actions during the journey to the Nazim monastery in the Lobak valley. Anything else will look like the meddling of a foreign power in the affairs of the Beladine nation, and that has all the elements for inciting a war.” His features saddened. “Serovek Pangion is my friend and my battle brother, but Bast-Haradis has sacrificed enough, suffered enough. I won't send it into a war for one man, not even him. It's on you alone, Anhuset.”
Why he thought she might balk at such restrictions or the heavy weight of such a responsibility, she didn't know and groaned inwardly when he said, “One more thing, and this will be your greatest challenge in this endeavor.”
As if facing King Rodan and winning a fight to the death while in a human kingdom wasn't challenge enough.
“A victory in an arena will guarantee a single reprieve for a single instance. I doubt Rodan believes a word Bryzant has told him about Serovek allying himself with an insurrectionist like Chamtivos. He could raise a rebellion of his own at any time if he wanted to without help from a backwater cur like that. Bryzant gave Rodan what he was looking for: an excuse to get rid of a perceived threat that wouldn't outrage his people over the execution of a man who'd helped save them all.”
Dread darkened her hope. “If I win, the king will simply find another way to arrest him again. There will be no trial. No second chances.” It was a grim consideration, one she couldn't dwell on. Her purpose was to just help him survive this imprisonment and pray another wasn't forthcoming later.
Brishen nodded. “Serovek is a threat because he's a viable usurper who could win support among Rodan's restless nobles. He's from a respected Beladine family; he's wealthy, and he's proven himself an exceptional fighter. His rise would raise benefit other powerful families through popularity, money, and heirs. He's the stuff bards weave tales from when they speak of heroes. Men of great place.”
“He doesn't want any of that.”
“We know it, but we're not the ones who need convincing. Serovek has to be diminished, become lesser in the eyes of the Beladine people and therefore no longer a threat to their king.” Brishen paused, frowning as if searching for the right words. His hesitation tightened the knot of trepidation in Anhuset's belly. “The Anhuset who left Saggara to journey with Serovek Pangion isn't the same Anhuset who returned. Ildiko saw it. So did I. You love the margrave enough to willingly—eagerly—act his champion in a fight to the death. Do you love him enough to marry him?”