Page 60 of House of Dusk
SEPHRE
Beroe could have welcomed the royal party in the courtyard, with basins of water to refresh them and strike the dust from their hands and feet. Or at the summit, where the holy flame blazed from the blessed stone, cracked open by the Phoenix herself, when she first burst free of the underworld and was reborn to bring life to the mortal world. Or better yet, the Great Hall, the largest room in the temple, where the ashdancers gathered for daily prayers and tedious summations meetings.
Instead, she chose the Chamber of Doors.
Sephre stood in the tight press of her siblings, wondering if Beroe had picked this room specifically to make their slim numbers appear greater. Or maybe she thought the royal emissaries would be impressed by the tilework that covered every single surface. It was a beautiful room, one of the oldest in Stara Bron. Windowless, and without any niches for lamps or braziers. In fact, the only light came from the ashdancers themselves, each kindling a spark of crimson or gold, ranged on either side of Beroe like the wings of a flaming Phoenix.
Sephre had to admit the effect was stunning. Even the novices had been given small lamps to hold. She saw Timeus among them, eyes wide, no doubt straining for a first glimpse of the guests.
The Chamber of Doors did not, ironically, have more than a single entrance. Sephre had asked Abas about it, during her novitiate.The other doors have been closed since the cataclysm, they’d said.Those ways are lost.
The walls held no sign of any closed archway or sealed passage, only glittering mosaics showing the first four gods rising from primordial Chaos, each to shape some part of the world. To her right, the Beetle, iridescent black against the dark loam of the earth, beneath a midnight sky. To her left, the Sphinx, sunburnt bronze, proud beneath the noonday sun. Before her, above the lone arched doorway, the Phoenix blazed crimson and gold as she rose with the dawn.
Behind her, the Serpent’s coils gleamed blue and green beneath a dusky sky, like the ripples of an endless pool. And within, the faintest outline of towering dark walls, an endless maze haunted by the spirits of the dead. Turning. she stared at the two bright fragments of green set into the Serpent’s diamond-shaped head, and heard Nilos’s voice.The world needs the Serpent, the same way it needs the moon, and the sun, and the sea.Her body rebelled at the thought, shivering. The Serpent was the bringer of death. The corruptor. Cruel and hungry, feasting on human suffering. Surely the world was better off without him.
Bitterness clogged her throat. Was it, though? A better world where an entire city could be slaughtered without mercy, to grant a king his prize? Even now she heard the beat of marching feet. The rattle and clang of bronze.
Her eyes flew open. Not a memory. The soldiers were there before her eyes, a dozen of them, marching through the arched doorway, bronze chest plates and gilded faceplates gleaming bright as the tiled walls. Crimson crests spurted from their helms.
She hadn’t wanted to believe Nilos about the Maiden, either. But the slim codex tucked into her sleeve was proof that there was more to her story. She felt like a branch blocking an eager stream, the water surging and tugging, the pressure building and building. Soon, it would shove her aside. Or carry her, spin her onward, to new and unknown waters. Fates, she wasn’t ready for this.
The soldiers parted, revealing a man in richer garb, his tunic embroidered with gold thread, his armor embossed with lions, his head uncovered, clasped by a circlet of beaten gold leaves.
“Prince Ichos, son of Hierax Heraklion, the Ember King reborn,” announced one of the soldiers, her voice ringing like a drawn sword.
Sephre studied the prince. She knew little of Ichos. He was eclipsed by his father, even in a mere introduction. No doubt he had been there at the victory parade ten years ago, standing with his father to welcome home the bones of the Faithful Maiden. She couldn’t recall. Her earlier memories were sharper. Sephre had been part of the honor guard escorting Kizare north to the Vigil Gap, after Hierax divorced her. It wouldn’t do to have a living wife when he sought his eternal bride’s bones, even if that wife was the mother of his children.
The twins had watched from one of the towers as the former queen departed. Kizare was Scarthian, so she had ridden openly, on horseback, her flaming hair a shock of brightness against her gray mourning garb. She had turned back once, lifting a hand to her children. She must have known there was little chance she would see them again, but Sephre saw no tears on her pale cheeks.
The little princess, Sinoe, had held herself stiffly erect, and the only tears on her face were paint, the weeping mask of the sibyl she always wore in public. But the boy beside her had scrubbed his eyes. Sephre had seen it, and felt a twist of sympathy.
Now, here he was, a grown man. Lavishly handsome, but with a petulant jut to his chin, as if he expected disappointment. His bow to Beroe was all courtesy.
“Agia, thank you for opening your gates to us.”
Beroe smiled, no doubt tempted to let the prince continue in the misunderstanding. But apparently that was a step too far, even for her ambition. “You honor me, Bright One, but I am Sister Beroe. Our beloved Agia Halimede wished very much to welcome you personally, but her poor health prevents it. I stand before you in her place, acclaimed as the most senior of the yellow order. As acting agia, I offer you all the resources of our temple.” Beroe swept her arms out, golden flames snapping dramatically as she gestured to the gathered ashdancers. “We are yours to command, my prince.”
Sephre bit her tongue. Halimede would never say such a thing. She would never be so fawningly deferential.
Even Ichos seemed taken aback, though he recovered quickly. “I’m glad to hear it. I didn’t realize Stara Bron was such a loyal friend to my father.”
Was she only imagining the twist of mockery in the prince’s tone?
For one breath, Beroe hesitated. Then she lifted her chin, resolved. “Stara Bron recognizes King Hierax as the Ember King reborn. In these perilous times, it is our duty to support him however we can. When skotoi dare to spread their foul corruption even in the royal city, how can we do less?”
Insufferable woman. It was a blatant overstep, but then, Beroe had never questioned her own righteousness.
Ichos huffed. “Indeed. Well, that should make this easy, then.” He lifted a languid hand. “Lacheron?”
A stir of movement, behind Ichos. Another man stepped forward, looking dull and colorless beside the gleaming scarlet and gold prince. A man with an unremarkable face, lank and faded hair. The sort of person who could slip from memory without a ripple, but Sephre knew him instantly. She had seen his face too often in her nightmares to ever forget.
The general’s tent is hot, the air heavy with sweat andimpatientglory. A map lies spread across the table, taking up most of the room. She stands stiffly, hands behind her back, waiting fororders. She is so weary, it feels as if her bones could break. The losses weigh heavy, each one a stone settled in her gut. If she falls into the sea, she will sink, be lost in the abyss. But she is a soldier. She has pledged to serve.
The man speaking is not the general. They call him the Heron, though she thinks it an injustice. Herons are elegant birds, and hunt only to feed themselves. Lacheron hungers for something more. It glitters, deep in his dull gray eyes. He slides a singlecrimsontoken across the map, past the city walls, toward the round basin that holds the Bassarans’ water, the reservoir that hasallowed them to endure the siege for two full years. It will end the war in a day, he says. Here is what you must do.
The scrape of unfurling parchment broke Sephre from the memory. She focused back on Ichos as he brandished a scroll to the ashdancers. “These are the words of the Sibyl of Tears. This is the prophecy that brings us here. Listen, now, to the voice of the Fates.”
Sephre shivered. One prophecy had sent her to Bassara, had poisoned everything she thought she believed. What new disaster might this one bring? She held herself still as the prince read the scroll.
