“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?”
Chapter Sixteen Popularity had its pitfalls.
The prison known as the Zela housed every manner of criminal, from the debtor to the murderer, the thief and the traitor alike. It wasn't the crime that determined where in the Zela one was incarcerated but the status of the criminal. A troop of palace guards had turned Serovek over to the warden and his men with instructions that he be put in a cell on the topmost floor.
This one lacked the comforts most Beladine nobility was accustomed to, but it had a chair and table and a bed that looked free of fleas. The sliver of window set high in the wall allowed in a small bit of light and a great deal of cold wind. There were no tapestries or rugs to warm the cell, and the blankets folded on the bed looked threadbare. Serovek was thankful he wore heavy clothing to ward off the worst of the chill.
The warden blew on his fingers before tucking his hands under his arms. He peered at Serovek from the other side of the cell bars. “Never thought to have the margrave of High Salure as my guest here at the Zela,” he said. There was genuine puzzlement in his voice
