Page 26 of House of Dusk
“Should I send for a tincture of dreamfast?” she asked.
“No. It won’t help.” Sinoe stifled a sigh, drawing herself up. “And I’ve kept you up far too late already.” She glanced to the latticed window along one wall. The sky beyond showed definite signs of lightening.
“It’s no trouble, princess,” said Yeneris.
“Oh, I’m sure I’m a good deal of trouble,” said Sinoe, merrily. And yet there was something bitter beneath it. A swallowed sigh. A wound untended.
Yeneris fumbled for something to say, but the princess was already breezing past her, out into the apartment. “Good night, Yen. I know it’s your job, but you don’t need worry about me. I’m stronger than I look.”
Yeneris stood a moment longer, breathing in the sweet-scented steam of the bath, agonizingly aware that what she was feeling was most certainlynotpart of her job. Either job. And that she was most definitely going to worry. For Sinoe. And for herself.
Fool, she told herself, and went to bed.
• • •
Sinoe slept late the next day. Yeneris would have liked to do the same, but it was too good a chance to miss. She needed to see a familiar face. And even more, she needed to remember her true duty here. Not to stand for a full minute on the threshold of Sinoe’s bedchamber, dithering over whether she might need to be woken from another nightmare.
Determinedly, she headed out from the apartment, taking a basket as her excuse. Two palace guards stood in the hall outside. They would keep Sinoe safe.
Yeneris continued down the hall, the spiral steps, and out past the pillared walkway, into the gardens. Dew still clung to the greenery, a glory of diamonds in the morning sunlight that was only just slanting in above the eastern wing.
She took her time, filling half her basket with rose petals and lavender for Sinoe’s morning bath. She even hunted out a gold-eyed jasmine that was still blooming, knowing it was Sinoe’s favorite. The heavy scent filled her nose, making her slightly dizzy. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep.
But all the while she watched. Such elaborate lushness didn’t grow and maintain itself. She spotted a half-dozen gardeners clipping and digging and weeding. Then, at last, one particular gardener: an older woman, a blue scarf twisted round her gray-threaded hair, her light olive skin tanned by the sun. A woman who looked utterly harmless, moving slowly and deliberately about her simple work.
A woman who was neither simple nor harmless, as Yeneris well knew.
She paused on the opposite side of the rose trellis that Mikat was tending, making a show of searching for more blooms for her own basket.
“Progress?” That was Mikat. No pleasantries. Only business. Which was sensible, given the danger to them both in such meetings. Even so, Yeneris felt a pang, wanting more. Wanting to unfold herself from the small, tight thing she had become.
Foolish. Mikat had never been that sort of mentor. And her harshness had kept Yeneris alive. Had rescued her from the churn and despair of the camp, giving her purpose again.I am hard on you, I know,she’d once said.But a sharp blade requires awhetstone. And you wish to be my sharpest blade, don’t you?
“I haven’t seen the reliquary,” she said, reaching to pluck a perfect pink rose. “Sinoe hasn’t even spoken of it. They keep the kore’s bones sealed in the former queen’s chambers. I could try to break in, but it would be risky.”
Mikat considered a fading bloom, her expression hard, a pair of clippers ready in her hand.
“That might change now the king is back, though,” Yeneris added quickly. “And I’ve other news.”
“Go on.” The clippers snipped, severing the faded bloom.
“I went with the princess into the city last night.” She described what they’d encountered at the necropolis. The ghouls. And the scrying Sinoe had done, later, on the man with the serpent mark.
The clippers went silent. Mikat’s jaw tightened. “What does it mean? They cannot hope to restore the kore to life. They have her bones, but they cannot touch her spirit.”
“The king believes it,” Yeneris said. “He’s convinced that the agia of Stara Bron has that power. Do you...do you think that’s possible?”
Mikat studied one of the faded roses. “I do not question the power of the Stara Bron. The Phoenix has been the enkindler of life since the dawn of this world. But I do question this so-called sibyl.”
“Therewereghouls at the necropolis,” said Yeneris. “Just as she foresaw. I fought them. She has true power, for all that she’s being misused horribly.”
Mikat’s gaze cut to her, sudden and sharp as a blade. “As horribly misused as our people, who died to slake her father’s greed? Do not forget that the woman is our enemy, Yeneris.Yourenemy.”
“That isn’t what I—” She stopped herself. Mikat cared about strategy, about useful information—“I only meant that there’s an opportunity. A rift we could...exploit.” The word was sticky on her tongue, but she spit it out, because it was what Mikat needed to hear. Yeneris couldn’t afford to be doubted.
It worked. The older woman returned her attention to the rosebush. Yeneris plucked three more blooms. Her basket was overflowing. She needed to return.
“Yes,” said Mikat, bending to collect her clippings. “A good thought. The more we divide the girl from her people, the more likely we can use her gifts for our own purposes. Does she trust you?”
