Page 50 of House of Dusk
“He claims the deaths aren’t his work.” Sephre spoke steadily. Her words were soldiers, a shield wall braced for assault, betraying nothing. “He says that the Ember King didn’t truly destroy the Serpent, only shattered its power into fragments. And now all those pieces are here in this world, bound to mortals. Those are the people with the marks. The baby had one too, but it vanished when Nilos touched it.”
“Then how does he explain the deaths?”
“He says someone else took over in the Serpent’s absence, and is trying to stay in power. They’re sending skotoi to kill anyone who carries the mark, to send the fragments to oblivion before Nilos can claim them. In the corpses of snakes, to cast the blame on the Serpent.”
Beroe frowned. “Did you see anything to support such a notion?”
“Yes,” Sephre admitted. “Skotoi. One of them tried to attack the baby. Brother Timeus slew it. He was a credit to the temple,” she added, with a rush of pride for the lad.
“And the other?”
“The other?”
“You saidskotoi. Plural.”
A stupid slip. She’d no wish to tell Beroe what had happened in the barn. Any of it. But no doubt the woman would wheedle it from Timeus. Better to make the story her own, while she could.
“Oh. Yes. One of the serpent-skotoi attacked us while we sheltered during the rain. Nilos killed it.”
“Why would it attackyou, if it was seeking those with the mark?”
A chill rippled up Sephre’s spine as Beroe’s yellow-lit eyes skimmed over her. Lingering on her arm? No, she was being paranoid. Letting her own baseless fears rule her.
“I assume it was trying to kill Nilos,” she said, briskly. “But they’ll have to get in line.”
“Indeed,” said Beroe, smiling. “The king’s soldiers will see to that.”
“Soldiers?” Sephre repeated. “What soldiers?”
“The ones on their way to Stara Bron as we speak, accompanying King Hierax’s royal emissary.”
“You told the king about the attacks?” Sephre sputtered. “Halimede said—”
“I know what the agia said.” Beroe’s lips flattened. “I didn’t countermand her decision. I didn’t need to. Much has happened in your absence, sister. Brother Itonus sent a firespeaking from Helissa City four days ago, reporting an attack by risen skotoi near the necropolis. There were dozens of witnesses. It confirms what we all have long feared: the Serpent seeks to return, and the Ember King must make ready to stop him. The Sibyl of Tears has prophesied that Stara Bron holds the key to his victory, and now King Hierax sends his son here to claim it.”
Heavy tramping steps, shaking the quiet earth. The roughclatterof bronze. Soldiers, marching through the broken gates to claim their prize from a silent city.Sephre shook away the memory. That won’t happen here. This is a temple. We aren’t Hierax’senemies.
But they could be. Sephre would have bet her entire stock of medicinal wine that this “key to victory” was the same mysterious something that Halimede’s oath bound her to keep hidden. And then what? Soldiers tramping through Sister Obelia’s scrupulously organized kitchen? Panicking the novices, smashing the ancient tiled walls of the cloister in search of their prize? No. Not on her watch. These were her people. She had prayed with them, laughed with them, tended their wounds and coughs and cramps. And she would not see them brutalized.
Sephre licked her dry lips. “What key?”
“I’m sure the prince will make that clear when he arrives,” said Beroe. “It should be any day now.”
• • •
Halimede was dignified even in slumber, her long gray hair combed back neatly, her arms folded across her belly, her lips slightly parted in the slow breath of deep sleep. Natural sleep, for Abas had agreed with Sephre that three days of the poppy tincture was enough. Now, they must see if she would wake, or drift forever deeper.
Come back.Sephre held the old woman’s hand in her own, watching the rise and fall of her thin chest.We need you still.Ineed you.
But Halimede slept on. And might never wake. It was her heart, Abas said.There is no herb that can cure time.
She felt a pinch of guilt over her suspicion of Beroe. Only a small pinch. The woman hadn’t scrupled to take advantage of the situation. But Sephre had to admit that Beroe was keeping the temple running smoothly, even with all the additional preparations for a royal visit. And she’d come every day to visit Halimede, a golden flame cupped in her hands as she whispered silent prayers at the agia’s bedside.
Sephre would have given much to know exactly what Beroe prayed for.
Something tickled her palm. Halimede’s fingers, moth-soft, fluttered briefly against her own. Sephre squeezed the old woman’s hand in answer, hope lodged so tight in her throat that the word came out a whisper. “Agia?”
Time hung, a wheel spinning in the mud. Halimede slept on. A piercing pain gripped Sephre, chased by anger. It wasn’t fair. Halimede sent her after Nilos, gave her the task of chasing down answers. And all she had found were more questions.
