Page 120 of House of Dusk
“The amulet,” she whispered. “What if they discover the fake?”
Fates. Yeneris hadn’t even thought ofthatcomplication. But Sinoe was right. Scarab’s might, what a mess. There could be no scrying. A cold pit opened in Yeneris’s chest. “They won’t. I’ll see to it.”
Sinoe frowned. Started to open her mouth, to ask how. But it was too late. The soldiers rejoined them, and Yeneris was glad of it. Glad for the chill that was now spreading through her. Driving back fear and doubt and horror, and leaving only the certainty of what she knew she had to do.
By the time the doors to the great hall swung open, she was ready. Her fingers drifted, tapping each of her hidden daggers lightly. It had taken her five years to earn all six. Grueling hours of training, pushing her body past pain and exhaustion. She remembered the day Mikat had given her the last, a tiny blade no longer than her thumb.Small. But as deadly as the rest. You need to be ready for anything, Yeneris.
I am, she’d insisted.Thanks to you.
It had been one of the rare times Mikat actually smiled at her. A ghost of warmth pressed Yeneris’s arm, the memory of strong, weathered fingers gripping her.I chose well. Fates, you were a scrawny little thing. But I knew it, the first time I saw you. Brave, and bold, and stubborn. You were the one who could save our kore. No matter the sacrifice. No matter the cost.
Yeneris braced herself and looked across the hall. It was not unlike the last time she’d been here. Hierax sat in his lion-guarded seat. Lacheron lurked beside him. And there was the scribe, ready to record Sinoe’s prophecy. The brazier, already smoking. Two soldiers stood nearby, a prisoner hung limp between them.
It was a man. A boy, really. Younger than Yeneris, with clear olive skin and short, tightly curled black hair. He had been handsome. Now one cheek was split. His lips were puffy. It looked as if he’d lost a tooth. Sweat streaked his brow, mixing with the blood.
For a moment, she felt relief. It wasn’t Mikat. She didn’t even know this boy. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t one of her people. Yeneris knew only a handful of those Mikat had recruited. It was safer that way.
Either way, it didn’t make this any less perilous. Even if the false amulet wasn’t discovered, Sinoe’s prophecy could doom them all. Shatter any hope of recovering the kore and thwarting Lacheron’s plans.
She had to stop this. Every step brought them closer to the brazier. Sinoe’s face was pale and pinched. One hand gripped her wrist, the bangle that imprisoned her visions.
“Good,” said Hierax. “Now we’ll have some answers. Hold your tongue all you like, boy. The Sibyl of Tears sees all. Your paltry schemes are nothing, when I command the voice of the Fates themselves.”
Yeneris gritted her teeth. The breathless arrogance of the man. Lacheron might be plotting to destroy the world, and yet it was Hierax, pompous, vain, fool of a king, who made her blood boil. She’d bury every one of her daggers into that broad chest, that thick neck, those heavy-lidded eyes. But that would solve nothing. She’d be dead herself, a heartbeat later. Leaving Sinoe in Lacheron’s clutches, unguarded. Ichos was a decent fellow, a good swordsman, but he’d lived too long in his father’s shadow.
And as for Lacheron, she had no confidence even all six of her blades could end the man. Mikat had warned her that others had tried, and failed. Too great a risk, if there was another option.
Which there was. She saw it. Hated it.A time will come,Mikat had told her,when you may need to make difficult choices. Sacrificemore than sleep and sweat and tears. Do not hesitate. I trust you to make the right decision, Yeneris. You know what’s at stake for our people.
There was no more time. It had to be now. Casting iron around her heart, Yeneris cried out her warning. “Knife!”
She was already moving, flinging herself toward the prisoner. His eyes met hers. Wide and brown and shocked. His lips parted, but the words were wet, red spatters. Did he know who she was? Hot blood gushed over her fingers, turning them sticky. No time for guilt. Yeneris shoved herself closer, so that his jerking movements hid her own.
Then her arms were suddenly heavy, supporting dead weight. She let it slump to the floor, bile surging up her throat. One of the soldiers was grappling the dead body. She heard one of them curse as he stooped to pluck a small dagger from the boy’s limp hand.
“How did this happen?” Hierax demanded, glowering first at the soldiers, then at Lacheron.
One of the soldiers began babbling excuses, but they rang dull in Yeneris’s ears. Or maybe it was guilt that silenced them. No doubt the men would be punished. Maybe even executed for the apparent lapse. She held herself still, even as she felt Sinoe’s warmth at her shoulder. She couldn’t risk looking at the princess. All her careful walls might crumble. And she needed them more than ever.
Lacheron was watching her. Not suspiciously, but with an intensity that froze her blood. She thought of the voice in the flames. The First One. The horrible sensation of unraveling.
“We are fortunate, it seems, that your daughter’s handmaid is so attentive and quick to act,” he said. “Even if she’s deprived us of our answers.”
Iron, Yeneris told herself.Iron in your spine, iron in your bones. You did your duty, nothing more.
“Better that than to deprive my father of his daughter,” said Sinoe, with queenly disdain. “If there’s nothing more, Father, I shouldn’t keep Mistress Cleia waiting.”
“No,” agreed Hierax, grudgingly. Then he, too, fixed his gaze on Yeneris. “That was good work, girl. You honor Helisson with your service. Now, see that your mistress reaches her chamber safely.”
• • •
They didn’t speak. Partly because Hierax sent an additional complement of guards to escort them back to the north wing. Partly because Yeneris had no words. She was hollow as a broken shell, tumbled and cracked by the sea, cast up onto a dry and unforgiving shore. She kept seeing the boy’s eyes. Wide and brown and terrified.
Good work, girl.
Sinoe set a brisk pace, but when they finally reached the princess’s chambers, she sent her maids away, and even went so far as to spurn Mistress Cleia, pleading nervous exhaustion following the morning’s “traumatic event.”
Finally, they were alone. Yeneris followed Sinoe into the bath chamber, her own mind slow, thoughts curdling. Like the blood clotting her hands. “Go on,” Sinoe prompted, gesturing to the steaming pool.
