Page 25 of House of Dusk
That had been a quarter hour ago. Warily, Yeneris pressed her ear to the heavy mahogany, but heard only splashing within, punctuated by deep ragged breaths.
She’ll be safe with me. I swear it by the Fates.
Stupid. Utterly stupid. Far worse than the legend of Khorven the Lovely, who had foolishly sworn to give his heart to a jeweled incarnal, who had unfortunately taken the promise quite literally. Vows were not something to toss away. Vowsmeantsomething.
Yeneris had sworn only one other vow in her life, on the night Mikat had taken her, blindfolded, along a series of twisting alleyways so labyrinthine she thought they might have wandered into the netherworld. When Mikat had pulled the cloth from her eyes, there had been two other people waiting, faces lost in shadows, voices sharp and clear.Do you commit yourself to our cause? Will you do whatever it takes to preserve a future for our people?
There had been no hesitation then, either. Maybe that was the way of true vows. They sprang from your heart, from your lips, as easy as breath.Let the Scarab herself bear witness: I swear I will set the kore free.
Two vows. And for now, no conflict between them. Both served her mission. But what if that mission changed? Should she tell Mikat that she was compromised?
No. Because she wasn’t compromised. If it came down to it, she would choose Bassara. She would choose her mission, and let the Fates curse her. She would pay that price if it meant ensuring a future for Bassara.
Resolutely, she turned away from the door.
A shriek came from the shadows near the window, followed by the rattle of claws on metal. Yeneris halted, scowling at the caged ailouron. The creature glowered back, her hawk eyes bright, her feline tail lashing. Golden wings mantled a challenge.
“What, do you think you can do better?” Yeneris growled.
Though honestly, if she weren’t half convinced the ailouron would scratch her to shreds, she would have let it loose. The princess might welcome the bird-beast. In spite of its wild ways, the ailouron always gentled for her. Probably because Sinoe insisted on slipping it tidbits of every meal, doting on the creature, even naming it Tami—honey, in the Scarthian tongue—with not a whiff of irony.
Sinoe’s heart was too soft for her own good.
Tami keened again. Her baleful stare seemed to flay Yeneris’s skin.
She gave in, turning back, rapping again. “Princess Sinoe? Are you sure you’re all right?”
A splash. A sigh. Then, “Go to sleep, Yen. I’m fine.”
“I swore to your brother I’d see you safely to bed.” Not entirely true, but close enough. Who knew what trouble a woman like Sinoe might get into, alone in a bathing chamber? She might overheat the water and burn herself. Or slip on a tablet of soap. Really, there were endless possible dangers.
“I’m coming in, princess,” she warned, before pushing the door inward.
Yeneris found Sinoe beside the bathing pool, clad only in her under-shift, a wan and tragic figure. She had a mass of pale, sopping wet fabric in her hands. Yeneris recognized the gown she’d been wearing earlier. It looked as if she’d been scrubbing at a blotch of bright crimson along the front. Blood.
“Princess!” Yeneris crossed the room in three quick paces, cursing herself. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine. It’s not my blood. It’s his. The prisoner’s.” Sinoe batted her hands away, grimacing. But her eyes were rimmed in red as well. And there was a tremor in her voice, the rasp of unshed tears. “Don’t look at me like that, Yen. I’m trying to hold it together. I can’t afford any more tears just now. That’s more than enough prophesying for one night, thank you very much.”
Looking at her like what? Yeneris blinked, then jerked her gaze down to the tiled floor, just to be safe.
But she didn’t leave. She collected the sodden gown, tossing it into the basket in the corner. “The laundry will handle that.”
Sinoe huffed. “Yes. Of course. I should know better. Fates forbid I make myself useful in any other way than as my father’s ferret.” She crouched beside the pool, chafing her hands together. There were dark red clots under her fingernails.
Yeneris swallowed the tightness in her throat, then slid down to sit beside her. “I’ll see to it, princess.” She drew her smallest and most delicate blade, then took Sinoe’s fingers in her own. She began to gently scrape the tip beneath her nails, one by one. It felt as if she were holding a songbird in her hands. She could feel Sinoe’s pulse, thrumming beneath her wrist. It was not slowing. Yet she did seem to grow calmer, after a time.
When the blood was gone, Yeneris fetched a pot of scented oil, and rubbed it into Sinoe’s fingers as well. And then, at last, the job was done. She released Sinoe’s hands. “There,” she said, busying herself tucking the dagger away again.
For a moment, she thought the princess was sniffling. But it was a soft giggle. “You really keep a dagger hiddenthere?”
Yeneris flushed. “It’s not a spot most folk think to check,” she said, stiffly.
“Where else do you hide your weapons?” Sinoe’s lips quirked. “Any other interesting places?”
Well. Good. Obviously she was feeling better. Yeneris stood, retreating from the pool. “You should get some rest, princess. It’s been a long night.”
Sinoe’s smile fractured, and Yeneris cursed herself for it. “Yes.”
