Page 45 of House of Dusk
“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”
Sephre swore, blinking to clear the dazzle from her eyes. At first she thought nothing had changed. Then she saw it. Or rather, she realized what she was no longer seeing. The mark had vanished, as if it had never been.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“Saved a life. Possibly more.” Nilos gave her a feral grin. “What haveyoudone?”
Bodies heaped like trash. The clatter of blades, beating against shields in triumph. Blue eyes, begging her. Help me, Seph.
Sephre wrenched her thoughts back to the present. To Nilos, looking at her as if he could somehow see her thoughts, a trace of something like pity in his eyes.
“You don’t remember, do you?” he asked, still with that infuriating note of sympathy.
No. Shedidremember. That was the problem. She remembered all of it. Even after nine years hiding away from the world, losing herself in prayer, in silence, in her garden. Oh, how she remembered.
“Catch,” said Nilos, then tossed the baby at her.
She lunged, arms outstretched, barely managing to quench her flaming palms before a bundle of wriggling, squishy baby smacked into them. Fates! Was he mad?
She shoved the baby at Timeus. “Go. Get away! Keep the baby safe!”
The novice fled, gray tunic flapping, his long legs eating up the earth. In a moment he was gone down the trail.
Sephre spun back to Nilos, who had taken her distraction as an opportunity to retreat toward the far side of the clearing, where the trail continued. “Oh no you don’t!” she snarled, flinging a handful of flame.
The yellow sparks burst against the stones just in front of the man. “That’s far enough, baby-tosser.”
He faced her again, folding his arms over his chest. “You have the child back. What more do you want?”
“I want some answers.” And Fates help her, she was tempted to burn them out of him. “What did you just do? Why did you put that mark on that baby?”
“I didn’t. I removed it.”
“Where did it come from, then? The Serpent is dead.”
Nilos’s dark brows arched. She could see him better now, in the warm sunlight. He held himself still, but it was the sort of stillness that promised violence. She thought he must be closer to forty than thirty. Or even older. He knew his own power. Confident, but not arrogant.
“And what does a sister of Stara Bron know of the Serpent?” Nilos made a tsking noise. “I thought he was your enemy. Aren’t you afraid of corruption?”
“Knowledge isn’t corruption,” she said.
He arched a dubious brow. “No? Well, then I’ll answer what I can. The Serpent is dead, yes. But not gone completely. His power was shattered into fragments, scattered throughout the labyrinth of the dead. Like seeds in a fallow field, waiting to sprout.”
She didn’t like where this was going. “Sprout how, exactly?”
“By binding to one of the spirits that passes through the labyrinth. And being reborn, with them, into the mortal world.”
“So you’re saying that baby was carrying a piece of the Serpent’s power?”
“They were. I merely awakened it. Made it visible, so that I could claim it.”
“Why?” she demanded. “What are you?”
“I told you what I am.”
She scoffed, “A story collector? And I’m the Winged Architect.” She licked her lips, felt the comforting flare of the flames in her palms. Flames that could burn away all that was corrupt. “You’re trying to bring back the Serpent.”
“Yes.” He said it simply, without pride or shame. He might’ve been telling her he was going to buy fish at the market.
