Serovek's breath locked in his lungs when Anhuset strode through, beautiful, proud, her features set and her eyes the palest yellow, signaling her anger. He doubted anyone else in this space could translate the message in that citrine gaze like him. He wished he could tell them she was likely imagining how they'd all look with their heads on pikes.
The tiniest pause in her step told him she'd spotted him standing there, though she didn't turn to look directly at him. Instead, she stopped where the servant indicated and saluted the king. “Your Majesty.”
Serovek consumed her with one slow, sweeping gaze. She was taller than everyone in the king's box except him, towering over the servant standing nearby who eyed her claws and backed away by incremental degrees. Dressed in armor with her hair scraped back hard and wrapped in a knot so tight it stretched the skin at the corners of her eyes and lent a sharpness to her already prominent cheekbones, her presence loomed large. Even the king looked as if he shrank a little in his chair until he remembered himself and snapped straight-backed once more. He lost that avid gleam in his eyes, only to have it replaced by the shadows of dislike and distaste as he stared at her.
“Anhuset,” he said, and Serovek started a little at the absence of her title of sha. “I've taken all that you said into consideration. I think you'd be a very suitable wife for Serovek Pangion.”
Had the king suddenly sprouted wings, he couldn't have stunned the witnesses to this tableau any more. Serovek was thankful for Anhuset's earlier enigmatic warning. Only he and she didn't gape at the king as if he'd grown a second head from his shoulders. What in the gods' names had she negotiated with the king? Not that he was complaining. If an arranged marriage with the woman who haunted his dreams was the punishment for his supposed crimes, he was more than happy to proclaim himself guilty.
Delighted by the reactions, Rodan flashed his yellow-tooth grin. Anhuset's upper lip curled the tiniest bit. “As I consider myself a fair man, I will grant your request for trial by combat and accept your bid as Lord Pangion's champion.”
This time Serovek couldn't help his shocked inhalation. This he hadn't expected, and his blood froze in veins turned to filaments of ice.
Don't argue or protest what I do or say.
He'd thought at the time her comment had related to the odd remark about marrying him, assumed she'd concocted some bizarre plan with Brishen that might convince Rodan not to kill him if he was offered some beneficial alliance with Bast-Haradis. Every fiber of his being shouted at him to do exactly the opposite of what she demanded.
The king's sinister smile went even wider at Serovek's obvious distress though he kept his attention mostly on Anhuset. “I've already chosen your opponent, one less concerned with the possession of things such as inheritance and far more interested in the basic needs of life.”
“What have you done, Anhuset?” Serovek forced the words past clenched teeth.
This time Rodan did turn to him. “Lord Pangion, Anhuset of the Kai has invoked the law of trial by combat on your behalf and offered herself as your champion.” The smirk he wore turned even more gloating. “I've accepted on your behalf.”
Judicial combat. A fight to the death. If she won, he'd go free. If she lost, she'd die, and he'd die with her. Rodan hadn't gotten Magas. He wouldn't get Anhuset either if Serovek could help it. He knew the law, knew it had been generations since it had last been invoked. The accused was not allowed to fight for himself. There had to be a champion, and the requirement of a fight to the death had a suppressing effect on any would-be volunteer saviors of the accused. Of course, Beladine law hadn't taken sha-Anhuset into account. Neither had he.
“I refuse the champion,” he said. He'd rather face Anhuset's wrath or the ax than watch her die in the arena for the sport of a king and the entertainment of the masses on the pretext of justice meted out for a crime committed. She was a superior fighter with a martial prowess hard to match, but Serovek was familiar with Rodan's machinations, the way he bent the rules and reinterpreted the laws to suit his purposes. He'd make certain to weight the odds in favor of her opponent, whoever that was.
A low growl emanated from his right. Anhuset's eyes were the palest yellow and her lips had drawn back just enough to expose the points of her teeth. The servant, fearing for his skin more than offending someone, took an obvious step back. If the force of her glare could set fire to things, she would have immolated him on the spot.
An unmistakable note of malicious glee entered Rodan's voice. He was enjoying himself at Serovek's expense. That was obvious to all. “You can't refuse,” he said. “I've accepted on your behalf and her opponent awaits her.” He turned to Anhuset. “Are you ready?” She nodded. “The forum is yours, the weapons there for your use.”
Still reeling and horrified over what just unfolded in front of him, Serovek took a second, closer look at Anhuset. She was armored but unarmed. Breast plate and greaves, pauldrons and vambraces, plackart, and beneath it all, a mail hauberk and padded gambeson. With a helmet tucked under her arm, she was fully harnessed but confoundingly enough, lacking a single weapon—if one didn't count her teeth and claws. He'd only glanced at the forum floor with its covering of sand and its high walls but remembered the weapons rack occupying one part, mostly empty except for a few polearms, a sword or two and a solitary shield.
He reached out as she passed close to him, a pair of soldiers behind her to lead her down to the forum floor. The chain connecting his wrist and leg irons rattled as he grasped her arm. “Don't do this,” he begged her in a low, fervent voice. “Stand down.”
She lowered her head to stare at his shackles before lifting it once more to gaze upon him. Her eyes were no longer like the white heat of twin suns but the pale yellow of a harvest moon. Her mouth softened, and for the span of a breath, she leaned into him. “We live for those we love,” she told him in bast-Kai. “We die for those we love. This is a privilege, Serovek, not a sacrifice.”
She pulled away before he could tighten his grip and pivoted out of his reach. He stared at her departing back, shouting her name inside but silent to all others. She would give them their spectacle in the forum. He refused to give a second as a private performance here. He would toss aside that prideful assertion without a second thought later, willing to play the puppet to any of Rodan's demands.
Every seat in the forum was taken, with more people sitting in the aisles leading to them. Serovek stood adjacent to Rodan's chair, not close enough to reach him and do harm without ending up a pin poppet for his archers, but close enough to hear Rodan's commentary to his queen and his closest advisors, his fawning favorites and his most trusted servants. The few occasions he tried to lure Serovek into an argument or commentary, he received only a “Yes, Your Majesty” or “No, Your Majesty,” or the slightly longer “As you say, Your Majesty.” Giving up after several rounds of coolly abbreviated responses, Rodan ignored him.
When their voices reached a dull roar and many began to chant “Begin! Begin!” Rodan finally rose and stepped to the wall that acted as a balcony. One of his sorcerers placed a shimmering stone in his hand and backed away with a bow. An awning stretched over the king, casting him in shade, but the people still saw him and cheered when he raised both arms for their attention. “People of Timsiora,” he said, his voice a sonorous blast that reached every part of the forum, obviously the work of the enchanted stone he held. “Of Belawat and her territories, a man we all know as brave, heroic, fierce in battle, loyal to me for many long years, has unfortunately been accused of treason against the kingdom and sedition against the crown.”