Page 34 of House of Dusk
“Oh, I love figs,” exclaimed Timeus. Ignoring—or more likely oblivious to—Sephre’s warning glance, he abandoned his safe corner to bring forth their own provisions. “It’s like a picnic,” he said, cheerily adding the bread and cheese to the spread.
He was about to reach for one of the figs when Sephre caught his wrist. “You’re too hasty, brother,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “I should ask the Phoenix for her blessing first.”
Timeus curled back on himself, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry, sister. I—I forgot. I’m sorry.”
He hadn’t forgotten. There was no such thing. If any of the gods were going to bless a meal, it would be the Beetle. But hopefully Nilos wouldn’t know any better. Sephre trusted the Furies to take vengeance against the man if he violated the bonds of hospitality, but better not to get poisoned in the first place. And he looked like the sort of man who might well risk the anger of the Furies to get what he wanted.
“God of Flame and Spirit, bless this meal.” Sephre swept her hands over the food, letting the flame lick between her fingers. If there was baleful poison in any of it, the flames would find it, as they found all that was corrupt and impure.
Nothing. She stifled a sigh. It would be easier to have some clear sign that Nilos was the enemy they sought.
“Here,” said Nilos. “You might as wellblessthe wine, too.” He held out a clay jar, one corner of his thin lips quirked. He was laughing at her. Because he found her supposed piety amusing? Or because he knew it was a pretense?
Fine, then. She took the jar. Her fingers brushed his as she did, and for a brief moment she thought she saw something shift in his expression. Pain? Concern? Surprise?
It was gone before she could name it. All she could do was uncork the jar, and foolishly wave her flickering fingers over the mouth of it.
The wine, like the figs, was untainted. And by the scent of it—sweet and earthy, with a faint hint of some warm spice—very good. Grudgingly, Sephre took a small sip. Then another. It was, in fact,verygood wine.
She would have returned the jar, but Nilos was busy slicing a bit of the cheese for himself. She passed it to Timeus instead. “Not too much. We need to stay clear-headed.”
They ate in silence for a time. She needed to learn more, but what to ask? How much to give away?
“Where are you traveling?” she asked, watching Nilos twist one of the figs between his slender fingers. He hadn’t eaten much. Neither had she. Timeus, with the appetite of youth, had been the one to heroically polish off the majority of the meal.
“South, to Amoura,” said Nilos. “To meet a friend. I came by way of Potedia,” he added. “And yourselves?”
“We were in Potedia as well,” she answered, deciding to stick as close to the truth as she could. She’d never been a good liar.Avoid fighting with a weapon you don’t know how to use, her first captain had said. “On temple business. A man from the village died of snakebite, but we were too late to cleanse his spirit.”
Nilos frowned at his fig. “A shame. And where do you travel now?”
“Kessely.”
“Did someone die there, too?” he asked, so smoothly she almost missed his brief squint of irritation.Amoura, my ass. He was definitely hiding something.
“Not that we know of. We trust the Fates to guide us where we are needed.”
“Needed for what?” He used a small knife to slice off a bite of the fig, eating with a clean precision, no dribbles to turn his chin sticky, like hers. “Forgive me, I’ve never been particularly devout. What is it that ashdancers do, exactly?”
Sephre swabbed a damp sleeve over her mouth. She still tasted the fig, even sweeter than the wine.
“We seek out evil and destroy it,” answered Timeus, proudly. “So that the spirits of the dead can be reborn.”
“Ah.” Nilos tilted his head. He drew something from beneath his cloak, making her tense. But it was only a lump of wood. He began to scrape at it with his short dagger, paring away curls of wood. “And how do you know these evils?” he asked. “It would be a handy trick, to be able to spot it so clearly, like a bit of dung on the road.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Timeus. “Skotoi are terrible monsters of shadow and blight. They smell of death and have horrible uncanny eyes, and if they touch you, they can consume your spirit!” He spoke with the relish of someone who had never actually seen a skotos. Perhaps realizing this, he turned to Sephre. “Sister Sephre would know better than I, though. I’m only a novice.”
Sephre gritted her teeth. She did not care about impressing this man.
“Was that always your calling in this life, Sister Sephre?” Nilos asked, his green eyes fixed on her. “To destroy evil?”
Sephre had kept her handful of flames kindled, to provide light within the barn. It was dark outside, well past sundown, and the rain still drizzled down, veiling moon and stars. Now the sparks flared with her irritation. Why had he asked? What did he care?
“No,” she answered, truthfully. “Or maybe yes. I don’t know. And you?” She was here to find out this man’s secrets, not to share her own. “You carry a sword.”
“Yes.”
“Are you a soldier?”
