Page 122 of House of Dusk
The spirits pressed closer. Sephre shivered at the touch of chill fingers. Then gasped in pain as they dug deeper, jabbing into her flesh. She wrenched away, teeth chattering as if she’d been caught in a winter rain.
Was this the answer? To give herself to these spirits? A sacrifice to balance what she did?
No. She thought of what Nilos said.You can’t balance some great cosmic scale. You can’t win.But she could keep trying. Keep struggling. Keep trying to do whatever good she could.
The hands had followed her, tearing, scraping painfully over her living flesh. Her body was ice. She could not move, but she could still speak. “I’ll help you. Where is this wall of shadow? Can you take me there?”
A stillness. Then a sigh. The surging spirits subsided, like an angry sea turning calm. But they remained close, their chill seeping into her until she felt she had lost all sense of what it was to be warm.
Yes.
Steps cracked against stone. Sephre blinked, dizzy. The world had shifted again, the walls above her were black and glossy again. The sky above a dull gray. Somewhere, a faint trickle of water chimed, setting her teeth on edge. But the spirits remained, clotted close around her.
“Sephre?”
Someone was running toward her. Nilos. His clothing had seemed bland and forgettable back in the mortal world, but now the brown tunic was like a piece of rich earth. He was real and alive and the sight of him broke the rime of ice that held her.
The spirits retreated, opening a path between them. Nilos crossed it in three quick steps, and then he was there beside her, green eyes blazing into her with a mixture of alarm and relief. He reached for her, hands sliding along her upper arms, almost an embrace.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She gave a hollow huff. “I’m still alive.” And so was he. “You took Castor’s mark?”
“Yes.” A shadow passed over his face.
“Areyouall right?”
“I’m still alive.” His lips quirked, but she heard the echo of her own grimness in the words. Right now, being alive was the closest either of them could get toall right. He knew that as well as she did. She could see it in his eyes.
His grip on her arms tightened a fraction. She leaned into his warmth for a heartbeat. Two. Three. Then she pulled back.
“I know why there are too many spirits here,” she said.
The gray mist still gathered around them murmured and muttered, pale eyes glinting in expectation. Sephre turned to them. “Take us to the center. Take us to this wall of shadow.”
• • •
“A wall of shadow?” Nilos asked, as they followed the host of shifting spirits along another featureless corridor. He paused, offering Sephre a hand as they came to one of the myriad pools. There seemed to be more of them now. She hoped it was a sign that they were drawing closer to the center of the labyrinth. The dread building in her was as bad as the tension before any battle. Not knowing what she might lose. Not knowing if she would be brave enough to survive it.
“That’s what they said. It’s blocking the way to the holy flame. Which means none of the spirits can reach the Phoenix to be reborn.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Most of these spirits died ten years ago, in the war. Bassarans who died when...when the city fell.” She kept walking, aware of his eyes on her. “But there are Helissoni soldiers too.” She’d spent some time searching, while they walked.
She had not found Zander. And she could not bear to think what that might mean. Couldn’t imagine him being torn by sharp teeth, his soul unraveling forever. They hadn’t even been able to shroud him. Boros had said a prayer, and Sephre had dabbed a bit of oil on his brow—lamp oil, not holy oil.
And likely she would never know if it had been enough. She’d simply have to live with it. Without any absolution, except what she gave herself.
But neither would she forget it. Because there was a difference. The pain of losing him was a torment, but only because of how much she’d loved him. She could not have one without the other.
“I’m sorry,” said Nilos. He might not know all of her past, but she could feel the weight of his understanding. Thoughweightwas the wrong word. It didn’t hold her down. Nor did it lighten her burdens. She still carried them. But now he walked beside her on this path, and she was glad of it.
“I think you’re right,” she said. “About the labyrinth. About the struggle. About the holy flame and the Embrace. It’s not always the wrong choice. But I—I don’t want to forget. I want to do better. And I want to keep caring.”
“We’ll find the boy. His flame will keep him strong.”
“Fates, I hope so. He’s a good lad. A wise lad.” She hesitated, but if she was going to bare her soul, she might as well go all the way. “But he’s not the only one I care about.”
