Page 140 of House of Dusk
Pain cracked sharp and sudden across the bridge of her nose. Stars shattered her vision. She tried to shake her head to clear it, which only set off a cascade of further agony. Furies’ tits, she’d forgotten how much a head-butthurt.
She scrabbled to right herself, to grapple Beroe again, only to find herself surrounded by a hedge of spears. Beyond the soldiers, Beroe clambered to her feet. Lips open, eyes blazing, hands entreating the sky.
“I bear the holy flame!” she cried. “I stand anointed and ready to receive you. Come, Holy One, and honor your ancient vow!”
If the world had a heartbeat, those words halted it. Sent out a ripple that surely must have been felt by every living creature, ants to elephants. Sephre felt it hum over her skin, itch at her gums, drag tears from her eyes.Don’t listen,she screamed silently.Don’t come!
If Sephre had still belonged to the Phoenix, maybe the god might have listened. Could she refuse the summons? Or did it bind her, that old ancient promise, even if it meant her own doom?
A brightness fell through the open oculus above, harsh and clear, trailing sparks of gold and crimson. An ache caught Sephre, a memory of flame. Not burning, but warming her, keeping her safe, driving back the nightmares. Then her vision paled, and she had to throw a hand over her eyes. The last thing she saw was Beroe, arms lifted, face turned up to welcome the brilliance, her expression rapturous.
Then a gasp of—shock? Surprise? Indignation? Sephre lowered her arm, wondering what it meant. Beroe still stood, arms spread in supplication, but her eyes were no longer on the sky. She was staring down at a fragile figure swathed in gold who stood below the dais. Princess Sinoe, the Sibyl of Tears, wreathed in a bright corona of flame that spread from her shoulders in a rippling cloak.
No. Not a cloak.Wings. Sephre watched, her mouth dry with wonder, as the flaming wings beat inward, into the princess, infusing her with their brightness. The girl gave the smallest sigh, like a child slipping into sleep after a restless night. Her eyes blazed with a pure white light, utterly consumed by what she carried. She lifted them to Beroe.
I have come, daughter. I honor the old promise.
Her lips moved, but the words came from elsewhere, from the sky, from the earth, from the pulse of Sephre’s heart. Before her, the entire world trembled. Beroe had gone ashen, her fingers twisting into her sleeves. Sephre almost felt sorry for her. She could not have expected this. For the Phoenix to claim the princess as her vessel, rather than Beroe herself.
But for all her flaws, Beroe had never been one to quail under pressure. She gathered herself. Straightened her robes, then dipped in obeisance. “Holy One, we beg your aid. The old enemy seeks to return.”
Sephre staggered to her feet, every movement leaden. The Phoenix tugged at the fabric of the world, at the flow of time. Not unlike the awe she had felt in the presence of the Serpent. Though not, she realized with an uncomfortable lurch, when he took human form. When he was Nilos. Maybe that was what he meant, when he warned that a god reforged would not be the same. The Phoenix was still wholly a god, even if she had claimed Sinoe’s voice.
Yes,said the Phoenix incarnate, her eyes shimmering.My eldest brother stirs, deep within the abyss. And he has found one of you to serve him.
Beroe jabbed an accusing finger at Sephre. “Her! She’s his creature. She’s given herself to the Serpent! His poison is in her skin. She can’t deny it.”
Sephre stood taller. “I don’t want to deny it! The Serpent is the god of death. The spirits in the labyrinth need him. Theworldneeds him. Unless you’d rather let the First One rise up from the abyss and destroy us all.”
Beroe blanched. Shook her head. “That’s not—”
Yes. The Phoenix spoke, her flaming eyes shifting away. To Hierax.You carry his weapon.
“No. That’s the Ember King,” protested Beroe. “Your champion. Please, grant him your blessing, so he can cast down the Serpent and prevent a second cataclysm.”
It is there. In his grasp.
Hierax set his hand on the hilt of the dagger.
An evil thing. Crafted by a power that would unmake this world.
“Letheko is my holy weapon,” said Hierax. “I’m going to use it to save the world. I am the Ember King reborn!”
He spoke strongly, defiantly, but he was a lion roaring thistledown. The words had no power beyond his lips. They floated, wisps of false glory, then blew away to seed themselves elsewhere.
Slowly, terribly, the Phoenix began to advance upon him.It does not belong in this world. It must be cast back into the abyss. And all marked by its taint shall be burned away.Her arms began to rise, crackling with white-blue flames.
The king took a step back, skin flushed bright as his mantle. His heavy eyes were wide, on the edge of panic. “Lacheron! Tell her who I am!”
Sephre had lost track of the Heron, her brain full to brimming with the Phoenix’s presence. It was a mistake. He was the true enemy. Beroe was only his tool. The agia had played her part, despite all Sephre’s efforts to stop her. Her only hope now was to prevent Lacheron from carrying out the rest of his plan.
But he was already moving, pulling something from his belt. She could not make out what it was. A bit of clay? Lacheron touched the thing, and the Phoenix suddenly howled, her voice mortal and immortal all at once, both of them agonized. Ribbons of darkness clawed up beneath her feet, clutching at her, prisoning her.
Furies take the man. What had he done?
Wails and protests spiraled up from the crowd. They must feel it too. A queasy lurch, as if the world had tipped just slightly askew. The terrible certainty that those ribbons of gleaming darkness were something else: the sharp talons of a vast and perilous beast, reaching up from the abyss.
Only Lacheron seemed unmoved, unaffected. “Of course, my king.” He regarded the Phoenix, trapped within the cage of dark claws. She made no effort to escape. Only stood, blazing and defiant.
