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Anhuset nodded, quick to quash any notion that she blamed him in some way for Chamtivos's actions. “I've been in worse shape coming back from patrol. The Nazim monks are good fighters, even better healers, and impressive sorcerers.” She winced inwardly at the note of envy she couldn't hide when she said the last and winced again at the faint sadness in Brishen's face. “The Beladine king would do well to keep them as allies instead of proclaiming them heretics and turning them into enemies.”

She finished with a retelling of the royal troop's arrival and her and Erostis's flight. She kept her encounter with Ogran even briefer. He didn't deserve her time or Brishen's ear.

She said nothing at all about the halcyon days at the monastery while Serovek recovered—in her arms, in his bed.

Brishen gave a low whistle. “After all of that, it's hard to believe you and the others managed to get Megiddo safely to his brothers.”

Anhuset recalled Serovek's dreams, the ethereal blue light in his gaze just like the one she'd seen in Brishen's. The same light that sometimes flared around Megiddo's bier. There was no better time than now, with Ildiko present, and the three of them alone in this chamber where others couldn't hear.

“Herceges,” she said, and saw him stiffen at the tone in her voice. “You should know that while I traveled with the margrave, I witnessed more than once what looked like remnants of Kai magic on him.” Ildiko's short gasp sounded beside her. “He dreamed of Megiddo, but it was more than a dream. A vision was more like it, of the monk tortured in some cursed place swarming withgalla. I woke him from one such dream, and when he opened his eyes, they glowed with the blue light of Elder magic. Megiddo's bier glowed the same way at the time.” She paused as Brishen's skin turned the lackluster shade of fireplace ash. “The margrave told me he's had such dreams since returning home from fighting thegallaand says they're worse, stronger, sharper, and more numerous when he's in close proximity to the monk's body.”

“Brishen,” Ildiko said softly. He held up a finger to stop her from saying anything else, making Anhuset wonder if thehercegeséhad finally confronted her husband about his own visions and the azure glow in his eye.

“We'll attend to that later,” he said. “For now, Serovek has more to worry about than visions of Megiddo. The messenger who came here said while there's a military adviser controlling High Salure for now, this Bryzant you mentioned has left High Salure to speak with the king at Timsiora, no doubt to argue for a sentence of guilt and the punishment of death for his erstwhile lord.”

Anhuset growled. “That treacherous pus bucket wants High Salure for himself or a reward of equal value from the king. He set all of this in motion the moment Serovek left for the monastery. I'm going to kill that bastard just like I did his minion.” She caught Brishen's half smile. “It isn't funny, Brishen,” she snapped. “I've given my report. I need a horse and supplies so I can ride out again. I don't have time for more talk.” Her reason told her such recklessness would do no one any good, but her emotions ran high and hot at the moment, verging on an uncharacteristic panic that also made her waspish.

“Make time,” he replied, undaunted by her anger. “By the look of you, you haven't slept or eaten for a couple of days, have half the forest stuck in your hair, and you smell worse than a bog. You want to help the margrave? Start with a bath and some food.” It was his turn to offer a placating gesture at her glare. “If you march into King Rodan's court demanding an audience or worse, that Serovek be set free, it's a certainty they'll execute him. He's highborn and high-ranking. He'll be granted a trial and the right to rebut his accusers.”

“A mock court and a mockery of justice.” She paced in front of Brishen.

“Guaranteed, but a trial, even the sham of one, buys more time. Give me the chance to remind myself of the details of Beladine justice and form a plan. He's my friend too. Use the time to map your best and fastest route to Timsiora. If you want an escort, take whomever you think will benefit you best.”

“That would be you,” she said, already knowing his answer and knowing too she'd make the journey to Timsiora alone.

His eyelid slid down, covering his eye while the one over his empty eye socket fluttered. He opened his eye once more to study her, such fondness in his features, it made her heart ache for this prince of no value who had saved a world. “I only wish I could,” he said. “But we both know that isn't possible.”

Ildiko, only an observer and listener during their time in the room, finally spoke. She brushed Anhuset's elbow with her fingers. “Come with me,” she said. “I already sent Mesumenes to find someone to prepare a room for you and bring up food, drink, and water for a bath.” Her nose wrinkled to emphasize the need for the third.

“I can just go to the barracks,” Anhuset said. She was always more comfortable there than here with its echo of ancient royal Kai splendor, a splendor not for her.

“I think not,” Ildiko replied, and her voice had taken on the same resolute tone her husband's had only moments earlier.

Brishen chuckled. “Go on, cousin. You won't win.”

“Hold that thought for when I return, husband,” Ildiko said to him, and the grim promise in her reply chased his half smile away.

The two women were halfway to the room reserved for her when Anhuset said “You're going to confront him about his own visions and the light flare of sorcery you've seen with him, aren't you?”

Ildiko nodded. “Count on it. You did me a favor by describing Serovek's own experiences. If you'd told Brishen in confidence, he might not have told me, afraid I'd worry.”

“But you're already worried.”

“Such is the reasoning of men, Anhuset,” she said and rolled her eyes, making Anhuset take a step back.

She soon followed Ildiko into one of the spacious chambers usually reserved for guests at Saggara. True to her word, food, a pitcher of wine and a hip bath filled with steaming water awaited her. Towels and soap were stacked on a chair next to the bath, along with a rinse pitcher, and clean clothes were laid across the bed. A cheery fire danced in the hearth to chase away some of the room's cold.

Ildiko gestured to the chair. “It appears they forgot a comb, and you're in desperate need of one,” she said, more matter-of-fact than insulting. “I know you well enough by now to know you'll refuse a maid, so I'll send someone up to drop the comb off to you.” She left Anhuset standing next to the table of food, pausing on the threshold, one hand on the door. “We're glad you're returned, Anhuset. I don't think I've ever seen Brishen afraid until you didn't come back when expected.” She closed the door softly behind her.

Anhuset stared at the surface of planking studded with nails and bound with strap hinges. “Then you never saw him when he feared for you,hercegesé” she said softly.

With no choice but to give Brishen the time he requested, she ate the food brought and drank the wine, though if someone were to ask her what she consumed and how it tasted, she couldn't say. It was sustenance, nothing more. Her mind was elsewhere, or specifically, on someone. Every worst-case scenario played out in her mind regarding Serovek's fate. A cursory or bypassed trial, an even faster execution via the gallows rope or the headman's ax. She shoved aside her half-finished plate and downed the rest of the wine.

Steam no longer wafted off the water's surface in her bath, but it was still warm enough. Besides, she wasn't using it to relax but to wash away days of road dirt and sweat, not to mention the spit and blood Ogran had managed to splatter on her. She was thoroughly sick of being splashed with bodily fluid from human males.

What about Serovek?the small evil voice inside her mocked.

That's not even in the same realm, she thought as she peeled off her filthy clothes and kicked them aside before stepping into the bath. She sank to her knees, allowing the water to rise to her chin and lap at her earlobes. The memories of making love to Serovek chased away the less pleasant ones of battles and beatings and blood. They blunted the sharp edges of the panic that threatened to suffocate her.