Page 136 of House of Dusk
“Hungry, then?”
“I gave Timeus the last of the food.”
Dark robes fluttered at the edge of her vision as he folded himself onto the stones beside her. He held something. A bowl heaped with figs. Dark purple, with a paler bloom, looking ripe as if he’d just plucked them.
“Those can’t be from the balewalker outpost. Are you growing fig trees down here as well?” She nodded up to the tree. The leaves looked even larger now, and more vivid. She still couldn’t identify them, though. Maybe this was the fabled duskbloom. Whatever it was, clearly it appreciated having its proper master back in charge of the underworld.
“No.” He looked slightly sheepish. “The figs are...grave goods. Left by a woman mourning her son. They were his favorite.”
She arched a brow. “That sounds like sacrilege.”
“He won’t miss them. His spirit is...gone.” He dipped his chin, jaw tight.
“The skotoi?”
“Yes. They caused considerable harm. I have a great deal of work to do.”
He set the bowl of figs beside her knee. She peeled off her new gloves, but waited until he drew back before she took one. She tried to eat it neatly, but failed utterly. The juice spilled down her chin like sticky tears. “Shouldn’t you be off doing it, then?”
He winced. Was that possible? Could a god wince? He had fallen in love with a mortal once, so perhaps.
Sephre took another fig. This time she drew her dagger—Nilos’s dagger—to section it more neatly. She paid close attention to her work. “Do you remember?”
“Remember what?”
Her courage failed her. “The Maiden. Who she really was. The truth behind all the stories.”
She thought of the gray-eyed woman conjuring Lacheron’s face in that strange, watery vision. Staring at it, haunted by it. “You said she was a novice in the House of Dusk. That the Ember King somehow convinced her to destroy you. But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“Well, yes. Gamales of Tarkent spends twenty full stanzas going on about the Ember King’s preparations for battle, but honestly, no one needs to know that he wore a breechclout embroidered with flames.”
Evasion again. But she would not be turned aside. “Who was she, really? The Ember King’s bride?”
“No. The queen died in the first year of the plague. The Maiden was Heraklion’s daughter.” Nilos gave a rueful laugh. “Bards try to make every story a romance.”
“It sounds like there was already a romance in this one.”
He said nothing.
“He sent her to seduce you, but it didn’t work. I mean, yes, she did destroy you. But she also...cared for you.”
She wasn’t certain it was true until the words slipped free from her tongue and burned scarlet into his high amber cheeks. Fates, had she actually made the god of death blush?
“Well? Do you remember?”
A sigh. She couldn’t tell if it was relief, or regret. Or impatience with her mortal curiosity.
“More than before.”
Her hand slipped, the blade nicking her finger. She hissed, then stuck the cut into her mouth, tasting blood and figs.More thanbefore?Meaning, more than when he was Nilos?
“Here,” he said, pulling her hand from her lips. His thumb pressed the base of her wrist, and she could feel every throb of her pulse. He leaned over the wound, and for one terrifying and uncomfortably exciting moment, she thought he meant to kiss it.
Instead, he exhaled, the warm flush of his breath tickling her skin. A hum filled her, as if she’d swallowed a hive of bees. When he released her, the wound was gone.
He regarded her evenly, green eyes inscrutable.
She crossed her arms, tucking her still-buzzing hand away. “Impressive. But party tricks aren’t going to distract me. You remembered my hibiscus. What else do you remember?”
