Her voice became a loving touch that stroked his soul. “Do you love me even half as much as I love you?”
He pretended to consider. “Well...you did fight a giant scarpatine for me.” He yelped when her claws dug into his flank. He abandoned the teasing. “I love you with all that I am and for all the days of our existence, firefly woman.”
Her pointed teeth gleamed white in the growing darkness and her embrace tightened as if she would meld him to her. “Then for gods' sake, man, shut up and prove it.”
Serovek laughed and set about doing just that.
Epilogue
So may it remain.
Anhuset stood atop the berm that encircled Saggara's training yard for its soldiers and watched the sun break the horizon toward dawn. Behind her the manor house and its bailey buzzed with activity and sound as those who'd attended the celebration of sha-Anhuset's marriage to the human margrave of High Salure continued with their revelry into the coming daylight hours, even after the guests of honor had taken their leave. The training yard itself was empty, offering her a quiet place to recall the hours she'd spent there in practice melées, training both newly minted Kai soldiers and veterans alike. Her favorite memories were of the mock combats with Brishen, even the grimmer ones where she'd helped him relearn how to wield ax and sword as a partially blind fighter.
She had no true regrets at leaving Saggara to live at High Salure. She'd miss its rhythm, its silent voice, but that had already begun to change with the influx of displaced Kai from Haradis and Saggara's renewed role as the kingdom's capital. The training yard, though, was still the same. She'd miss it even though she was growing comfortable in the yard at High Salure.
Her marriage to Serovek was a month old, a happy one though she still woke some mornings startled to see the Beladine Stallion sleeping next to her, his features sometimes peaceful in slumber, sometimes scowling as he battled through a dark dream of Megiddo while the ethereal blue light of ancient Kai magic seeped from under his closed eyelids. During those times she'd eased him awake, not with a touch, but with a low-hummed tune she'd learned as a child. He'd still gasp when he woke, but he didn't flail or strike out. She'd envelop him in a tight embrace while he breathed hard and gripped her with desperate hands and shook off the remnants of whatever horrific visions plagued him. He didn't speak about them, and she didn't ask, offering comfort instead with silent affection and the unspoken promise that she'd fight his demons alongside him.
A light footfall she recognized made her glance over her shoulder to see Brishen crest the berm, looking every bit the regal regent of Bast-Haradis. Unlike her, he wore his finery with ease and had smiled earlier that evening when she clawed at the high collar of her formal tunic and complained of having to wear such nonsense.
“This is your wedding celebration,” he said. “You can't show up in hunting leathers or armor, cousin.”
“I don't see why not,” she snapped. “Serovek doesn't care.”
“You have him so bewitched he wouldn't care if you showed up wearing nothing.”
Knowing her new husband, he'd wholeheartedly prefer it. Anhuset had kept the thought to herself.
Brishen came to stand beside her. “I thought I'd find you here.”
She eyed him askance. “And why is that?”
“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, my sha. 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?”