Page 138 of House of Dusk
YENERIS
Yeneris crept along the rear of the crowd inside the temple, making her way slowly toward her target. The central atrium was packed with richly garbed celebrants expecting to witness the restoration of the Faithful Maiden and her marriage to the Ember King. And they were growing restless. The royal palanquin was late.
Yeneris herself had only arrived at the temple a few moments ago, and she had run. It had been a wrench to leave Sinoe, but she needed to get into position. As close to the king and Lacheron as she could. It might be vital, if things went wrong.
Or rather, if things went evenmorewrong. Bad enough that Mikat’s attack had delayed them. That Sinoe had freed the kore, rather than herself.
At least the kore’s bones were surely well beyond the city walls by now. For all their differences, Yeneris trusted Mikat to guard the reliquary. To deliver the kore safely to one of their southern outposts, where she would no doubt seek to rally more of their people to her cause. Supplies, timber, weapons. Eventually, they would sail away across the sea.
So there would be no wedding. And Hierax would fall. He ruled on the power of his claim to be the Ember King reborn, not because he was a wise or beloved man. And it was Sinoe’s prophecy—twisted by Lacheron’s self-interested interpretation—that had given Hierax that power. Once it was stripped away, he would be merely a man.
That still left Lacheron, though. The true Ember King. A sorcerer with uncanny powers gifted by the first spawn of Chaos. Yeneris tapped her blades, all six now back to their proper places, and the golden hairpin tucked into her braids. Would any of them pierce the flesh of such a man? She would find out soon enough. She breathed in, feeling the tug in her chest, the memory of Sinoe’s crooked smile as she wished her luck. It hurt, to not be with her. To be unable to count on her own body and blades to keep the princess safe.
Yeneris swallowed the ache, then continued on, ducking beneath the bright banners that hung from the pillars of the large hall. Some bore images of the Phoenix, others the circlet and dagger of the supposed Ember King. The air was thick with the perfume of roses, rising from the carpet of petals scattered across the marble floor, now crushed under the sandals of a hundred of the most notable folk in the city. Judging by the rustling whispers, the guests were growing restless. She caught their muttered questions as she edged through the crowd. Where is she? Why hasn’t shecome?
Yeneris skulked around the back of one of the pillars. She had nearly reached the raised dais at the eastern end of the hall where Hierax awaited his bride. Across from him stood Agia Beroe and her ashdancers.
The crowds were thinner here, fenced back from the dais by ivory-inlaid screens and a row of armed soldiers offering a less symbolic deterrent. Yeneris continued to weave through the crowd, keeping her movements slow, casual, unremarkable. Meanwhile, the king summoned one of the soldiers, snapping a question she couldn’t make out. Whatever the answer, Hierax clearly didn’t find it satisfying. He spun toward Lacheron, a dull shadow amid the brightness, and gestured impatiently. The Heron frowned, one hand moving to a gleam of red tucked into his waist sash.
He pulled it free, staring at it. A tight wedge filled Yeneris’s throat. Which was it? The true amulet, that still bound Sinoe’s bracelet? Or the decoy that had allowed her to steal away the key to release the kore?
A ripple of some dark emotion passed over Lacheron’s face. His fingers clenched tight, snapping the clay. He let the shards fall. The decoy, then. She thought of soldiers, riding swiftly from the city, chasing after Mikat and the kore.
Yet he made no move to raise any alarm. Why? Surely he needed the kore for this spectacle. Without a Faithful Maiden to raise from the dead, why summon the Phoenix?
She watched him, the faint flicker of his eyes. The press of his lips. Her heart fell as he tugged free the second amulet. Studied it. Then gave the faintest and most terrible of smiles.
Only one will go free if the divided heart remains.
No. She had heeded that warning. It was time to stop worrying about the damn prophecy and focus on stopping the apocalypse. Even the Fates could only do so much. And what had Sinoe said?The Fates reveal patterns. They don’t tell us what to do. They shine a light, and we decide which path to take.
Yeneris had chosen her path, and it led to the dais. If Lacheron suspected them, she would be close. She would be ready. She edged along the line of pillars that flanked the north side of the hall, slipping silently past attendants.
Lacheron slid the amulet away, speaking to Hierax, his unruffled calm chewing at Yeneris. The king took no apparent comfort from his advisor’s words. He spun on Ichos, who had been doing his best to fade into one of the ivory screens. Hierax jabbed a finger into the prince’s chest, face gone ruddy with displeasure.
Then a stir rippled through the crowd. All eyes turned to the far end of the temple as the ornate royal palanquin processed into the atrium. The onlookers drew back, some cheering, others calling out prayers and invocations. The silken panels fluttered, revealing only a dim shadow of someone seated inside.
Yeneris’s heart stumbled, but she took strength from the sight of Hura, bowed under one of the supports. The bearers carried the palanquin across the atrium, up to the base of the dais, then they finally set it down, in a bright circle of sunlight that streamed down from the open oculus above.
A flutter. A small hand pushed open the curtained door. Then Sinoe stepped out into brightness. Not a girl, not a woman, not a princess, but the Sibyl of Tears in all her terrible glory.
Her face white as bone, her eyes wide and dark enough to drink in the night, her small figure sword straight, so that the circlet of golden feathers in her hair blazed like a crown of flames. It was enough to wrench Yeneris’s heart out of her chest, to leave her breathless with awe.
And she was not the only one. All around the temple, people were whispering, gasping, murmuring, making invocations to the Fates.
Enough goggling.Take advantage of the distraction.
Yeneris continued her advance toward the dais, even as Sinoe began to speak.
“People of Helisson,” she proclaimed, her voice resonant, not quite the unearthly tones of prophecy, but close enough to send shivers down Yeneris’s spine. “I am the Sibyl of Tears, and I speak for the Fates. There will be no wedding today. There will be no rebirth of the Faithful Maiden.”
More mutters, and shouts as well. Hierax was frowning furiously.
But Sinoe was implacable, the words rolling on, echoing from the marble walls. “The Faithful Maiden was a lie. The war was a lie. All of it meant to bring power to my father. Power he has misused.”
A swell of pride filled Yeneris as she edged past a slack-jawed soldier and slid behind one of the ivory screens. She was right beside the dais now. She could see Hierax—furious—and Lacheron—inscrutable—as well as Ichos, who was trying vainly to hide a triumphant smile. And beyond, the gray blur of the ashdancers, with the agia a bright note in her white habit, frowning in apparent confusion. And...who was that?
It was the way the woman moved that caught Yeneris’s attention. A familiar furtive creeping, twin to her own. She was clad in a simple blue robe, and at first Yeneris thought she was one of the ashdancers, perhaps a novice, though if so, she had come to it late. She must be close to Mikat’s age.
