Page 31 of House of Dusk
“Of course, sister,” he said, meekly. But she could still feel his big brown eyes staring into her shoulder blades.
A longer explanation hung from the tip of her tongue. Up until now, she’d kept the full details of their mission to herself, not wanting to alarm the boy if it all amounted to nothing. But it was clearly amounting tosomething. Something that made her skin crawl, sent her heart thumping at every dry whisper of grass, turned every innocent ripple of cloud shadow into a phantom serpent.
Fool woman, she told herself.The skotos in your herb garden wasn’t sign enough? He’s not a child. Stop treating him like one.
“You don’t have to explain,” said Timeus. “I’m only a novice. I don’t need to understand.”
She halted abruptly. “Yes. Yes, you do. Just because someone with a title tells you to do something doesn’t mean it’s right or noble or just.”
“I’m sorry.” He was shriveling like a spent bloom. Not looking at her.
Her irritation melted into regret. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He nodded, throat bobbing, eyes wide.
There. She’d apologized. But was it enough? Didn’t he deserve more from her? “Listen, though,” she said, before she could think better of it. “Youwillmake mistakes. We all do. It’s part of life. It doesn’t mean you’re cursed by the Fates. It just means you have something to learn. I’m not going to throw you out of my herb garden for an honest mistake. Believe me, I’ve made plenty. And not all of them honest, either.”
She grimaced. “Maybe it was a mistake to call the consuming flame. Maybe I burned that man’s corpse to ash and left his spirit unmoored in the labyrinth for nothing. Agia Halimede ordered it, but I did it. It was my choice. And now I’ll live with it.”
Timeus nodded. No longer cringing, but still cautious. “Whydidthe agia order it?”
Her throat closed, remembering the scent of rot. The thing inhabiting Iola’s body, hissing at her. But Timeus had been asleep. He still believed the girl had been reborn. “Because dead bodies are how skotoi get into the mortal world.”
“So you might just have saved this entire village from a rampaging skotos.”
He was being far kinder to her than she deserved. She shrugged. “Only the Fates can know that,” she said, as she continued down the trail.
It took a dozen more steps before he finally asked the question. “Do you really think the Serpent is coming back? Is there going to be a war?”
Zander’s blue eyes blazed in her memory, his eager smile still so clear it could hollow out her heart.What do you think, Seph? I hear it’s only a matter of days. Hierax already banished theambassador. Won’t be long before the official declaration. I just hope there’s still someone left to fight by the time we get there. Can’t have the Second and Fifth getting all the glory!
Sephre shook off the memory, but not the sting. And she gave Timeus her honest, heartfelt answer. “Fates, I hope not.”
• • •
Castor’s sister’s name was Penthea. She welcomed them with brisk hospitality, shadowed by loss. Her clear brown eyes were red, and ash marked her cheeks, but clearly life hadn’t ceased its demands for mourning. A handloom sat nearby, strung with grass-green yarn, and a little girl of about six was collecting tuffets of loose wool in a small basket.
“My brother would be honored by your visit.” Penthea spoke the words by rote. Sephre remembered that numbness and disorientation, as if a great hand had plucked her up and set her back down at an angle from the rest of the world. She felt it still, when the memories surged up unexpectedly. “He was more religious than me,” she added, a flicker of something sharper crossing her face. “He said when he was an old man he’d go on a pilgrimage. There’s an old sky-temple path up on Mount Kronus. He meant to walk it, to purify his spirit.” She drew in a shuddering breath, her gaze moving to Sephre, hopeful. “Folk say that ashdancers can speak with the spirits of the dead.”
“We were too late to reach his spirit,” Sephre admitted. “But we...” Fates, could she really tell this grieving woman she’d just burned her brother’s corpse to ash? “We did what we could.”
“Then...can I offer you a cup of wine?” Penthea offered, uncertainly.
“No, thank you. We just wanted to ask a few questions about your brother.”
Penthea frowned. The little girl watched them wide-eyed from behind her mother, clearly finding the two visiting ashdancers far more interesting than her work.
“Castor? What do you want to know?”
“Anything you can tell us,” said Sephre.
Penthea opened her hands, as if trying to shape something in the air. “He was kind. Gentle. I don’t think I ever heard him speak harshly to anyone. When he was a boy, he insisted on looking after the orphaned lambs. He used to sing to them, and he’d stay up all night nursing them.”
“He made me this,” offered the little girl, tugging something from her basket, holding it up proudly. A small dog, felted of soft gray wool, cleverly embroidered with dark eyes and a playful expression. Clearly the girl treasured it.
Penthea reached out, drawing her daughter close. “He never married. I think there was someone, a boy from another village, but he went for a soldier and died across the sea. He was a good brother. A good son. A good uncle.”
Sephre swallowed.
