Page 27 of House of Dusk
Yeneris thought of Sinoe’s hand in hers, the delicate scrape of her blade against the girl’s nails. “Yes. Or...she’s starting to.”
“Then continue. Learn everything you can of these plans. If she trusts you, she will not suspect you when it’s time to act.”
She ought to have taken her orders and gone, but Yeneris lingered. “Act how?”
“True or false, her prophecies endanger the kore.”
A chill curdled in her chest.
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” she said, though her lips felt slightly numb. “I know my duty.”
• • •
Yeneris paced along the hall as briskly as propriety allowed. It was not nearly fast enough to outrun her own misgivings.
She ought to trust Mikat. Mikat had saved her. Mikat had reached into the dusty ashes of her broken world, and kindled an ember of purpose. Yeneris owed her everything, not least of all her own life.
That was the punishment for thieving. She’d seen the bodies, hung from the old stone pillars at the edge of the camp, blood clotting their severed wrists in warning. One of them had been a boy her own age. Twelve, at most.
It hadn’t stopped Yeneris. The sick ache in her belly was stronger than fear. And the Helissoni soldiers had tents full of supplies, just sitting there. She started small, learning to move slowly, silently. Snatching a single carrot here. A handful of barley there.
She grew more daring. A sack of lentils. An entire cabbage, stowed beneath her ragged tunic. Enough to not only dim her own hunger, but to share with a handful of others. The boy with the broken foot that hadn’t mended. The little girl who never spoke, only made small whimpering sounds, like stifled screams. All orphans of the war, like her.
Then came the day she dared too much. One of the soldiers was roasting a chicken, and Yeneris hadn’t tasted meat in months. She’d thought she had time when he stepped away to the latrine trench.
She was wrong.
His shout had frozen her, the bird clutched to her chest, the crisp, oily scent of it watering her mouth even as doom strode toward her.
Then, the miracle. An old woman, seemingly bent and harmless. A walking stick, thrust out at just the right moment. Yeneris was already running before the soldier hit the ground.
Mikat had found her later, smeared with grease, gnawing on the bones.You’re a clever girl. Quick and quiet. How would you like to steal something even better than chicken from our enemy?
The approach of heavy footsteps broke Yeneris from her memories. Belatedly, she turned her attention outward again. She was just crossing the small courtyard that separated the eastern hall from the northern wing, where Sinoe’s chambers lay. A plashy fountain spangled the air with mist. Four stone lions prowled at the corners. Azure tiles trailed a pattern of blue poppies across the floor.
Instinct drove her into the shadows behind the nearest of the lions. Her mind knew she looked a servant—dressed in the simple tunic of the household, her basket full of flowers for Sinoe’s bath—but her body knew the truth: that she was something else, something sly and unwelcome.
A voice growled, deep and familiar, turning her body taut. The king! She ran one hand lightly over her thigh, taking comfort from the hard press of the dagger hidden there. She imagined drawing it. Lunging out. Stabbing it straight through one of those heavy-lidded eyes.
Not your mission. Be silent. Pay attention.
She pressed herself against the stone, breathing slowly.
“Better to send the entire third wing,” he was saying. “Let them drag that fire-witch down from her sanctimonious mount and bring her here to account for herself.”
A second voice, softer, calmer. “Your anger is understandable, my king. But we must be cautious. We need the agia of Stara Bron as a willing ally.”
The Heron. Yeneris wished she could see the men. Voices could only convey so much. And Lacheron’s was as colorless as the man himself. But she didn’t dare move even the smallest bit.
“How, then?” demanded Hierax. His heavy footfalls stuttered to a stop. A faint flap of fabric suggested some imperious gesture.
“I will consult my records of Princess Sinoe’s previous scryings,” answered Lacheron. “Though it would be far better if—”
“No.” The king spoke flatly. “My daughter stays here.”
The faintest of sighs. “Sire, her visions are our best tool to reveal your enemies.”
