Instead of severing the tail to free him, she shoved it aside to hack away enough of the shield with the ax side of the crow's beak, allowing him to slip the connecting chain of his shackles carefully up and over the lethal tip. He grasped her offered hand and gained his feet. She didn't let go when he stood to face her. An obvious expression of relief flitted across her face when his shadow spilled over her to block the sun's brightness.
“You're smoking,” he said, watching as gray tendrils of smoke wafted off her armor where the scarpatine's blood had splashed the metal.
“And you're blistered,” she replied, her claws plucking at the burned spots in his sleeve and the inflamed skin exposed there. She lifted his arm to inspect his shackles and froze when the metal cuff at his wrist slid back just enough to expose the now filthy but still recognizable length of once-white ribbon tied there. The yellow of her eyes deepened to gold. She didn't say anything. Instead she let go of his arm to grab a fistful of his tunic and yank him closer so she could kiss him senseless in front of half the population of the Beladine capital and its king.
Serovek barely registered the shocked gasped intermingled with cheers and catcalls from the crowd in the stands. If she wasn't painted in places with scarpatine blood and he with scarpatine venom, he'd gather her in his arms and hold her tight enough that her ribs creaked. They stepped back, he wearing a full grin, she a close-lipped smile. Nearby, the dead scarpatine baked in the sun as black blood oozed into the sand, creating small pockets of foul-smelling ruin.
“Come,” he said, speaking close to her ear so she might hear him above the crowd. “You must present yourself to the king. No doubt he'll be disappointed that you killed this new toy of his.”
Her silvery eyebrows crashed together in a ferocious scowl. “Fuck him. I won. You're innocent.”
“And I doubt there's a soul in the forum who'd argue that fact,” he said, tipping his chin toward the crowd, who cheered even louder. “But considering your temper at the moment, let me do the talking,”
As he predicted, King Rodan was indeed disappointed at the loss of the abomination his sorcerers had made for him. No doubt he'd hoped for a vicious spectacle of his new pet's prowess. Something to display to all as a new weapon or simply to cow his own people in case any were planning insurrections. Serovek prayed the disappointment came mostly from the fact that Anhuset had killed the only one made and that more weren't forthcoming.
And while Serovek couldn't be sure, he'd confidently wager the king's discontent also sprang from the fact it was Anhuset, not Serovek who killed the scarpatine. He wasn't versed in the laws the way Rodan's administrators were, but he knew the importance of their interpretation. It was a fight to the death. The champion won by killing their opponent. If Serovek had killed the scarpatine, then Rodan would have had grounds to forfeit the match. The king had willingly sent him in there, betting Serovek wouldn't just help Anhuset, he'd interfere.
He might well have been right. Serovek would have killed the scarpatine himself defending Anhuset if she could no longer defend herself. The match would be called forfeit and he'd cheerfully stand trial before a tribunal whose purpose wasn't the pursuit of justice but to please the king. He'd said nothing to Anhuset, afraid if she knew the ramifications of anyone but her killing the scarpatine, she would have taken unnecessary risks to win, even it meant dying to do so.
We live for those we love. We die for those we love.Her statement rang in his mind, a peek into what it was like to be cherished by this fierce, steadfast woman.
She stood beside him now below the king's box and squinted up at the Beladine monarch, her face as sour as his as they stared at each other. Rodan finally stood and approached the balcony's edge once more. His gaze settled on Serovek, grim and resolute. Serovek wondered what excuse or twisted interpretation of the law he might use to revive the charges against Serovek and keep him prisoner until Rodan chose to kill him.
One of the royal sorcerers stepped forward and handed him the same piece of stone, infused with the magic of sound. It amplified Rodan's voice again so all in the forum could hear him. “I've always known you to be an exceptional fighter, Lord Pangion, and your champion certainly equals you in skills. You've both provided us with worthy entertainment.” He paused as the audience's cheers overwhelmed the magic. Once the noise died down, he continued, his features tight with dislike. “And your champion is victorious. The charges against you no longer stand. You are acquitted.” He gestured to someone behind him. “See to it he's unshackled.”
The crowd again erupted into cheers and clapping, many calling out Serovek's name. He winced, wishing they wouldn't. He was in this spot because Rodan already thought he was too popular. The king held up a hand for quiet. “There is, however, the matter of High Salure. How you answer my question will determine whether or not it's returned to you.”
Serovek braced himself for another trap.
“Will you bind yourself to Anhuset of the Kai as her husband?” Rodan said.
The question silenced the crowd more effectively than any spell. The weight of thousands of stares settled on Serovek's shoulders and back, and beside him Anhuset stood rigid, staring straight ahead at the arena's high wall.
This was what she referred to when she told him to say yes to the king's question of marriage. At the time he thought it odd, spoken as it was out of context and as a quick warning before the prison guards interrupted them. He'd probably disappointed her when he refused to stand quietly aside while she faced certain death to prove his innocence. He couldn't find it within himself to regret that, though he planned to apologize later. A marriage proposal though, even one spurred on by a ploy or strategy, was altogether a different matter. A personal one. One that shortened his breath, made his heart beat fast and his soul light with joy.
“Yes,” he said. “A thousand times over. Yes.”
Anhuset's stance didn't change, but Serovek still felt her wilt with relief. Rodan's smile was a thin slash and his brief nod to her a mysterious one. “The margrave has said yes,” he repeated for the crowd's benefit. A few cheers and applause met the announcement. Even more curious speculation arose among the stands. “Is this still your desire as well, Anhuset?”
She nodded emphatically so all could see her answer even if they couldn't hear it. “Yes.”
“So be it.” Rodan spread his arms to encompass all in the forum, raising his voice even though the stone with the spell to amplify it did its work without his help. “By the laws of this land and the approval of this monarchy, the kingdom of Belawat recognizes the marriage of Serovek, Lord Pangion, margrave of High Salure and Anhuset of Bast-Haradis. So may it be. So may it remain.”
The crowd answered back with one thundering voice. “So may it be. So may it remain.”
It was the shortest, strangest wedding ceremony Serovek had ever attended and by far his favorite, highlighted by the irony of exchanging one kind of binding for another when one of the king's servants removed the shackles from his wrists. Were he alone with Anhuset, he'd pull her into his unchained arms and spin her about in celebration, even if it did earn him a hard punch to the shoulder for his antics. He merely bowed to the king instead, and she followed suit.
Rodan tossed the enchanted stone back to the sorcerer so only those closes to him could hear. “Gather your things,” he ordered the newly married couple. “And attend me in my antechamber.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they replied in unison.
The king turned his back, dismissing them without another word. Serovek grabbed Anhuset's hand and the two hurried through the gate from which they both first entered the forum, the audience cheering their exit.
This part of the corridor was quiet for a moment, that brief hush before the first crush of people filled it as they too left the arena. With Serovek declared innocent, he was no longer a prisoner of the crown and no guards followed him and Anhuset into the corridor's gloom.
Fueled by the euphoria of still being alive and now being wedded to the woman he desired most in the world, he was desperate to hold her. She didn't resist or protest when he nudged her toward a corner and wrapped her in a hard embrace. Anhuset returned it with a bone-cracking one of her own, claw tips pressing into his back, almost breaking the skin as Serovek captured her mouth in a consuming kiss.
A kiss of gladness tinged by the terror of a shared fight for survival. Their first kiss as husband and wife. Serovek breathed her in as he savored her taste and the feel of her in his arms. She was hard muscle and power, made of unbreakable courage and unshakable devotion. Armored inside and out except in those rare, magical instances when she'd offered him a glimpse of vulnerability.