Page 121 of House of Dusk
“I can’t,” Yeneris croaked. “I’m filthy.”
“You do understand the concept of a bath, don’t you? Hot water? Soap? Scrubbing?” Sinoe plucked a cloth from a nearby basket, snapping out the fabric, refolding it unnecessarily. “I don’t need to stay. I know I’m probably the last person you want around you right now, after...” She coughed, then set the towel back in the basket.
Her tone pierced Yeneris’s dullness. She lifted her head, forcing herself to meet Sinoe’s eyes. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m—I’m the enemy.”
A noise caught in Yeneris’s throat. A wild sound that wasn’t a laugh or a sob. She shook her head. “No. You’re not. I don’t blame you for any of that. I blamehim. Lacheron.”
Sinoe’s expression softened, though the unhappy line of her lips held firm. “And my father.”
“Yes,” Yeneris admitted. “But we’re better than them. We have to be. I won’t let any of this drive us apart, Sinoe. I swear it.” She started to reach for Sinoe, to prove the words with deeds. But the sight of the blood on her fingers froze her. No. She would not touch the princess with a killer’s hands.
So it was Sinoe who fulfilled the vow. Gently, firmly, she set her smooth palms to Yeneris’s cheeks. Then she drew Yeneris down. Their foreheads met, their breath mingling, their lips barely brushing.
“Good.” Sinoe’s voice was husky. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 33
SEPHRE
Sephre jogged along the tiled streets of the city.It’s still the labyrinth of the dead. It just looks like Bassara.But telling herself that didn’t quiet the thrum of her heart, the icy stab every time she heard another desperate wail. This place might not be real, but the spirits here were. And that cry sounded so anguished. So lonely.
Hold on, little one.
Sephre halted, holding her breath, listening. There it was again, more of a whimper now, but closer. She spun, scanning the street. Was it pulled from her memory, somehow? Mirrored back at her by the magic of the labyrinth? It looked, felt—Fates, evensmelled—so real. It was only when she looked up that she knew otherwise. The sky above was the same dull, grim gray she’d seen in the underworld. So featureless it made your heart heavy to look at.
She was in a courtyard. Most of the Bassaran homes had these open spaces just inside the main entrance. This one even had a lemon tree growing in one corner, though the tree was brown and withered. There were several bodies. A woman curled near the tree, looking as if she were asleep. Two older men collapsed in a tangle at the base of the stairs that led to an upper level. A young man flung out more violently across the stones. There was a cracked amphora beside him. The other three were easier to ignore, but the man she could not help but see. The way his empty eyes stared so beseechingly up at the sky, the tongue swollen by poison.
These were the faces from her nightmares.
Another whimper. She spun, searching. It had come from the direction of the lemon tree. Sephre padded closer, eyeing the woman lying there, knees tucked, arms wrapped around herself. Like a child curled against a nightmare.
A flutter of movement, the faintest stirring. Sephre knelt, tugging at the dead woman’s arms. Not shielding herself. Shielding a bundle of cloth. A bundle that whimpered in Sephre’s arms. Fingers trembling, she plucked back the cloth, to reveal . . .
Nothing. A wisp of mist that spun away, leaving only the echo of a wail. The cloth fell from Sephre’s hands.
You did this.
It was the dead woman. A gray shimmer had risen from her curled corpse, to hang before Sephre. The details were hazy, but the eyes were sharp. Pale silver, unblinking, they transfixed her.
More whispers, behind her. Sephre stood, spinning, found that she was surrounded. The young man, the two older men, and more. Dozens of spirits had gathered. She could see nothing but the mist of their formless bodies, the piercing brightness of their accusing eyes.You did this. You.
“I...” Her voice faltered. “Yes,” she said. “I was part of this. I’m...”
She was going to saysorry, but her throat closed on the word. It wasn’t what they needed from her.
“Are you real?” she asked. “Or are you just a memory?”
Your memories don’t have faces,said the first spirit, the young woman.Only him. Only the soldier you loved. The soldier you killed. But here, here we have faces. Here you cannot hide from what you did.
Real, then. She caught another apology, swallowed it.
You torment yourself for giving him peace. And yet we are the ones in torment. Trapped forever in this place.
“Trapped?” Nilos had said there were too many spirits here. Was this why?
The wall of shadow binds the flame at the center of thelabyrinth. We cannot be reborn. And the demons grow stronger, feeding on us. We grow weak. But you are strong. You could make us strong.
