Radiance (Wraith Kings Book 1)(50)
He meant every bit of his thanks when she fled his chamber and bolted her door. Solitude did nothing to cool his rage or his desire. He paced. He drank wine. He called down every curse he knew on the queen and finally, he grabbed his cloak and quit the chamber where he was certain he could smell Ildiko’s flowery scent on his sheets.
Saggara was quiet. Most of its inhabitants slept except for a few hooded guards who saluted Brishen as he strode through the corridors and into the brutal morning daylight. The short walk to the redoubt and its deserted arena did little to soothe his restlessness. He stripped down to his breeches and eagerly took up one of the practice swords set in racks that lined the arena walls.
Swords were not his preferred weapons, and straw men made laughable opponents, but he hacked away at them in a sun-blinded frenzy until straw hazed the air, and body parts lay strewn across the dirt floor. Muscles quivering with fatigue, Brishen glanced up briefly, startled to see the sun had climbed almost directly overhead. He’d been training in full battle mode for two hours, and the sweat streamed off his arms and legs in rivulets. His lungs burned and his body ached, but his head was clear. Mock combat had done its job. The rage had subsided. The lust was still there but mellowed into a desire that bubbled in his belly. He still wanted Ildiko—fiercely, but to savor instead of conquer.
“You’ll be blind for good if you don’t cover up, cousin.”
Brishen turned and squinted at Anhuset. She stood to one side, his discarded cloak draped over her arm. She unlaced the hood from the cloak and tossed it to him. “I’m amazed you can still see at all.”
He caught the hood but held off from pulling it over his head until he could rinse off the grime and bits of straw coating his skin. The cold water shock from the nearby well banished any exhaustion. Water from his dripping hair and breeches puddled at his feet. While the hood offered relief from the punishing light, it weighed hot and stifling on his head and shoulders.
“You look like a half-drowned magefinder,” Anhuset said.
He scowled at her. “Be glad I didn’t shake the water off, or you’d be as drenched as me.” He used his cloak to wipe down his arms. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged. “You know I’ve never been a good sleeper. I thought I might come to the arena and train for a little while. Imagine my surprise at finding you here.” Her eyes narrowed to glowing slits within the shadows of her hood. “Where’s the hercegesé?”
Brishen gazed at his cousin. Anhuset. Sharp, intuitive, she knew him better and longer than anyone. Something about his demeanor alarmed her. “Asleep in her bed, unlike either of us.” He withstood her silent scrutiny. She’d have her say, and his best course of action was to wait until she did.
“Unless your sword arm needs improving, there are better ways to spend a sleepless day. I know a dozen women who’d be happy to cool the fire for you.”
He’d briefly entertained the thought. Ildiko had once hinted she didn’t mind if he took a mistress, yet he wondered if that still held true. Three days earlier they had lain together in his bed. He hadn’t imagined the delicate shiver that raced down her body as he nuzzled her temple, and that shiver had not been fear.
“I wouldn’t survive the affections of a dozen Kai women, cousin. Besides, only one can cool the fire.”
Anhuset’s lips twitched. “And that one isn’t Kai. What has Ildiko become to you?”
“The fire.” He nodded once to her and started to leave the arena.
She called to him. “Don’t you want to spar with me?”
Brishen shook his head and kept walking. “No. I miss my wife.”
“Are you sure you’re not trying to avoid me beating you into one big bruise?”
He waved away her taunt. “That too.” If he didn’t dawdle, he’d have a few hours to bring Ildiko back to his bed where she belonged and sleep the last daylight hours away with her by his side.
Anhuset wasn’t finished with him yet. “Your Highness, when Lord Pangion arrives at Saggara this evening do you wish for us to escort him from the main road or from the gates of the redoubt?”
He halted, cursing under his breath. Serovek. The dinner. He’d forgotten. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. The headache he suffered from the sun just grew worse. Brishen was tempted to tell Anhuset to kindly escort their guest back home the moment he arrived. Such an action though guaranteed a neighbor no longer amiable or forthcoming with information.
“Meet him and his party at the main road.” He was glad for the hood which hid his smirk. “Anhuset, you’ll attend the dinner and the dancing afterwards.” The low snarl that met his command widened his smirk to a grin. Brishen walked away, listening closely for the tell-tale snick of a sword unsheathed or the breath of air cleaved by a flying dagger.
He returned to the manor unscathed and found its occupants still deep in slumber. His personal servant slept in a modest chamber nearby. Brishen let him sleep, unwilling to rouse the man in the middle of the day just to bring him water for a bath. A face cloth and the water in his wash basin and pitcher would have to do. The sodden breeches were discarded and tossed in a heap in one corner. He scrubbed away the dirt the well water dousing missed, donned a pair of the linen breeches he was truly starting to despise and made his way to the door between his chamber and Ildiko’s.