Page 43 of House of Dusk
“It’s so different from the Ember King’s story,” said Sinoe. “But also the same. There’s a cataclysm, and a blade, and a king, and a serpent, and a maid. But there’s nothing in your version that talks about the Serpent’s return?”
“No.”
“Mmm.” Sinoe frowned into the pool. “Do you think the skotoi are coming because we stole the kore’s bones?”
Stole. A surprisingly honest word.
“I don’t know. The ghouls in our stories aren’t connected to the cataclysm. They’re just demons from the underworld that like to eat mortal souls. Didyourprophecy say anything about it?”
Sinoe’s lips quirked bitterly. “The prophecy that caused the war, you mean?”
“Your father caused the war.” Had she really said that? It was this place, this courtyard with silver fish and Sinoe looking like a slender moonbeam with huge, dark eyes.
“I don’t remember,” Sinoe admitted. “I can control the visions better, now, but back then I would get...completely lost. I was a ewer trying to pour out an ocean. And I was...angry.” She gave Yeneris a sheepish look. “I cursed the Fates every night for months.” Her shoulders hunched. “I even left a rotten fish on their shrine. I thought if I offended them they’d take it back. Everyone said it was a gift. But it’s not.”
Her sigh filled the silence. Yeneris thought of the conversation she’d overheard. Lacheron, telling the king that it was all for his glory.
“Then what?” she asked, finally. “What purpose do the visions serve? What do the Fates want?”
“I wish I knew. I’ve read a hundred different legends. In one, the Fates help Breseus defeat the golden boar, but in another they doom him to be drowned in the abyss. The best answer I found is from this one scholar—her name was Kalanthe, she was amazing, she even created a pair of wings that she used to fly across the Bleeding Sands to the City of Abandoned Tears, remind me to tell you that one, it’s not nearly as depressing as it sounds—” Sinoe gave Yeneris a single heart-stabbing grin—“Anyways, Kalanthe hypothesized that the Fates were a balancing force to Chaos. That ultimately their purpose is to find and reveal patterns. Cause and effect. They want the world to make sense.”
“They should speak more clearly, then,” Yeneris huffed. “Er. No offense.”
Sinoe laughed. “Believe me, I would be much happier if my prophecies were more clear. Last year I had a vision that I was going to be stung by a bee, and I spent the entire summer avoiding the garden only to end up stabbing myself in the backside sitting on one of my earrings.”
Yeneris snickered. She couldn’t help it. Sinoe’s smile curved, bright as the crescent moon above. The darkness seemed to be pressing Yeneris toward the princess, like a moth to a flame.
She took a deliberate step back, dusting the crumbs from her hands. The fish continued to burble at the surface of the pool, insatiable. Wanting more.
“There are records, though,” said Sinoe. “Lacheron keeps them. A transcription of every one of my prophecies. All my doom-sayings.”
“Notallof them,” said Yeneris, thinking of the necropolis. “How many do you keep to yourself?”
“Only a handful. Most are small things. A stray kitten and a lonely clerk who can give it a home. A rumpled rug that needs smoothing, to save a servant from smashing a platter and getting punished.”
“How do you conjure them?” Yeneris asked. “With smoke? Like you did for your father?”
Sinoe grimaced. “I don’t need the smoke. All I need is an emotional focus. And tears.”
Yeneris hesitated. There was a wound here, and she didn’t want to poke it unnecessarily. But she needed to understand. Sinoe’s visions were at the heart of everything that was happening. They had brought her father to power, led him to steal the kore’s bones. Now they might lead to an even greater desecration. To disaster. Sinoe had opened this door. Best to get a look inside before it slammed shut again.
“Do you actually...see things? Or is it only the words, speaking through you?”
“Sometimes I see images. I saw the skotoi at the necropolis, and the fire. And you.” A brief smile touched her lips. “But it’s more like what I said before. Like I’m pouring something out of me. I’m just the vessel. I don’t choose the words.”
“So you can’t be sure exactly what they mean.”
Sinoe frowned into the pool. “No. But Lord Lacheron seems very certain, doesn’t he?”
Was there an edge to her voice? A crack. “You don’t agree with his interpretations?”
Sinoe wrinkled her nose. “Who am I to know? He’s a scholar. An alchemist. He’s one of the wisest men in the world and I’m just a girl.”
Yeneris would have bet her favorite dagger those were someone else’s words. Hierax’s, probably. “Wise men who are truly wise don’t need to lord it over others. You’re the Sibyl of Tears. They’reyourprophecies.”
Sinoe shook her head. “No. They aren’t mine either. They belong to the Fates. Or to the world. At least, they should.”
Every conversation builds a bridge.It was something Mikat had told her, during her training.Some you can collapse when you’ve no more need of them. Others will bind you forever. Be certain you know which sort you’re building.
