Page 23 of House of Dusk
But as Yeneris hunched back into the shadows, easing from one foot to the other, Sinoe suddenly turned to stare directly at her.
A thrum of panic. Was she discovered already?
But there was no accusation in the woman’s gaze, only a sort of fine, firm resignation. “The pouch, Yeneris.”
The pouch? Oh. The pouch. She’d almost forgotten the thing, a small silky bag that she’d been given on her first day of service, the one the master of chambers had made her swear to keep on her at all times. She’d looked inside, of course, and found only a tiny glass vial sealed with wax, containing what looked like honey. Medicine, she’d been told. In case the princess felt unwell. She must always have it ready, if Sinoe asked for it.
She drew the pouch from her tunic. “Bring it here,” said Sinoe.
Yeneris approached, her steps clashing too loud against the polished marble. The king paid her no heed. She might have been an ant, crawling along the wall, so small to him. Lacheron did watch, but with half-lidded disinterest, his thoughts churning elsewhere.
Sinoe, though...Her attention was so fierce it nearly made Yeneris stumble. She was shamed to find her fingers trembling as she held out the pouch.
The princess nodded, but did not take it. “Keep it ready. Use it if there’s blood.”
Blood? A shiver rippled up her spine. She wanted to ask what it meant. If they’d been alone, she would have, but here, before the king and his heron, she felt her throat constrict. A wild fear clamped onto her, that if she spoke a single word, they would know what she was. They would hear it in her voice, in spite of all the years she’d spent filing off the edges.
So she nodded, stepping to the side. Sinoe’s gaze held her for one heartbeat longer. She was frightened. That was clear as starlight.And there’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing youshoulddo about it. Remember why you’re here.
“Let us begin.” Sinoe’s gaze released Yeneris, turning to the prisoner.
“Bring him,” said Lacheron.
The man began to struggle again as the soldiers dragged him forward. To gasp and gargle against his gag. One of the soldiers cuffed him hard across the face.
“No, you fools,” snapped Lacheron. “He must be conscious. The sibyl requires his pain if she is to see clearly.”
Pain? Yeneris felt a queasy twist. That was how Sinoe’s scrying worked? It was fed by pain?
The prisoner staggered, still awake, but clearly reeling. The soldiers wrestled him up to the brazier. One of them jerked the man’s bound arms out, so that they were above the smoldering coals.
The other drew a small dagger from her belt, then looked to Lacheron.
“The hand,” he said. “Only enough to bleed.”
A slash, and the prisoner’s palm was suddenly spurting blood, a red stream that spattered the coals.
As the prisoner’s blood struck the flames, clouds of dark gray smoke boiled up. Hierax and Lacheron both stepped back, away from the heavy stuff. The soldiers retreated as well, dragging the prisoner with them. When she caught a whiff of the smoke, Yeneris understood why. It was foul, bitter as betrayal, making her eyes smart.
The princess stood alone, then, wreathed in gray veils. No cough shook her. How could she breathe in that smothering cloud? She stood straight, the thin linen of her layered tunic flaring and shifting, making her look as if she had become a part of the smoke itself.
Her round face no longer seemed childlike. She had become something ancient and terrible as the sea. Just watching her made Yeneris’s belly swoop up and down, billowed by unseen waves. Sinoe’s open eyes stared into the smoke. Gems glittered below her eyes. Tears, running down each smooth cheek.
Beside Yeneris, Ichos stood tense as a warhorse on the edge of battle. Lips crumpled, like a bit of cast-off rubbish. She thought he might be muttering something, very low.
Then Sinoe began to speak, and her voice devoured Yeneris’s whole world.
Though it wasn’t, truly, her voice. Not the low, musical tones she’d used to tease Yeneris. Not the firm, clean command that summoned breakfast. Not the light, silly sunshine that read aloud in the library, rapturous over some romantic trifle.
“Long has the old enemy watched and waited. Now he seeks to strike his second blow, and the world will not survive it.”
This was the voice of a prophet. A voice that belonged to the sea, or a mountain, or a storm. Too large for a mortal. If Yeneris hadn’t been watching Sinoe’s lips, she never would have believed the words came from her.
“The first light must reveal the weapon of unmaking.”Sinoe writhed, her body a guttering flame.“When it is found, when the Maiden steps forth from flame to take her rightful place, only then shall the old enemy fall.”
Yeneris sucked in a sharp breath. Was she talking about the kore? Sinoe trembled and shook, no longer speaking. Only shaking out rough breaths as if she’d been running up the path of a thousand steps. Yeneris gripped the small vial. There was no blood, but how much more of this could the woman take?
Then suddenly the prince was striding forward, pulling his sister back from the brazier, tearing her free from the oily clouds of smoke. “Enough. You have your answers.”
