Page 61 of House of Dusk
“Long has the old enemy watched and waited. Now he seeks to strike his second blow, and the world will not survive it. The first light must reveal the weapon of unmaking. When it is found, when the Maiden steps forth from flame to take her rightful place, only then shall the old enemy fall.”
Ichos let the parchment close with a snap before handing it to Lacheron. “You must understand why we have come, given such a prophecy. The signs are clear. The Serpent seeks to return. My father must be prepared to meet him and banish him once again. Only Letheko has that power. The first light is dawn, and you are the House of Dawn. So. Where is the blade?”
Sephre felt as if she’d run twenty leagues in the space of time it took Ichos to read the sibyl’s words. She’d make herself dizzy if she didn’t control herself. She drew in a deep, slow breath. Then another. She held her arms loose against her side, keenly aware of the codex hidden there. The codex that spoke of a blade concealed somewhere that only the agia could claim it.
There was so much she still didn’t understand. How could the same woman be called faithful by some, and faithless by herself? How did her bones end up in Bassara, if she had chosen the Embrace and life as an ashdancer? Who was she, truly, with all the stories and legends stripped away? The one clear truth was that the long-dead woman had not wanted the blade to ever be used by the Ember King again. And had sworn the agias of Stara Bron to help her. This was why Halimede had held the temple apart, had distanced herself from Hierax.
Something that Beroe had just undone, very grandly and publicly. Did the “acting agia” know where the blade was? Had she already found it, snooping through Halimede’s chambers?
But Beroe looked as confused as the rest of them by the prince’s demand. “Of course we will do whatever we can to assist in your quest. But I’ve never heard anything that would indicate that Letheko is at Stara Bron.”
Relief threaded through Sephre. If Beroedidknow where the blade was, she wouldn’t keep it a secret. More likely she’d present it to the prince on a golden pillow, with a chorus of ashdancers singing the hymn of dawn and maybe a hired harpist for good measure.
Ichos narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps we need to speak with Agia Halimede.”
Beroe remained calm, though her shoulders stiffened slightly. “I’m certain the agia would be most honored to offer her wisdom on the matter. But as I said, she is unwell. She sleeps without waking, and we fear her spirit may soon depart to seek the cleansing flame of rebirth.”
The prince was less practiced at controlling his expression. Or maybe he just didn’t care if they saw his impatience. “You speak pretty words of support for the Ember King, but words are nothing without action.”
He shifted his stance. Firelight caught the gilded hilt of the sword at his hip. The bright crests of the soldiers blazed behind him. Tension clotted the air. It reminded Sephre far too much of a battlefield, just before the first charge.
She scanned the firelit faces of her fellow ashdancers. Timeus, earnest and wide-eyed. Sister Obelia, her round face gone very pale, her usual smile fled. Stern Sibling Vasil, setting a steadying hand on the shoulder of the trembling novice beside them.
Sephre had never meant to care for them all so much. It was part of the reason she’d thrown herself into her work in the herbarium, where the company was green and silent and did not judge her. But they had all dug roots into her when she wasn’t watching, rather like the mint when she ignored it for too long. Too late to dig them out, even if she wanted to. And she would fight anyone, anywhere, to keep them safe.
A sentiment that Beroe apparently shared. To Sephre’s chagrin, the woman didn’t simper and grovel as she’d expected, but stood taller, meeting the prince’s gaze fully. “Stara Bron stands ready and willing to fulfill our sacred vows, as we have for centuries.” She was doing something with her voice, making it deep and thrilling, so much that even Sephre found herself leaning forward to listen, her skin prickling with gooseflesh.
“The Phoenix trusted the ashdancers above all,” Beroe continued, “so much so that she gifted us with her holy flame. The Serpent and his skotoi will not find this world unguarded. Tell us where we are needed, Prince Ichos, and we will go. We will march forth as the ashdancers of old, to do battle with the creatures of the netherworld.”
All around her, Sephre felt the other ashdancers stirring. The room brightened as every flame leapt higher. It was well done. A neat reminder to both ashdancers and royal party that they stood on holy ground. That Stara Bron held the blessing of the Phoenix.
And it worked. Ichos removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, though he still looked annoyed. “And Letheko?”
“You are welcome to search our archives, of course,” said Beroe. “Search all Stara Bron, if you believe the dagger to be hidden here. We have no secrets from the Ember King.”
Sephre fought the urge to hunch. Dolon had no reason to connect her research on the Embrace with this, and she hadn’t told either Timeus or Beroe about Nilos’s final taunts. So long as she remained beneath royal notice, there was no cause for anyone to suspect she knew more.
“You might also wish to consult with Sister Sephre,” said Beroe. “Agia Halimede sent her on a mission to investigate a series of deaths we believe to be the work of serpent cultists. She spoke with one of them.”
So much for remaining anonymous. “Sister Sephre?” repeated Ichos. The name clearly meant nothing to him. He was too young to remember her from the war. She doubted even Lacheron would remember, any more than he’d recall which stylus he’d used to jot down a note ten years ago. She had been a tool, not a person.
But even before Beroe lifted a hand to identify Sephre, Lacheron’s eyes found her. His gaze seized her like a grasping fist, unfathomable. Was it shock? Surprise? Did he remember her from the war, after all? Whatever it was, it set her pulse pattering, her coiled muscles humming with the impulse to flee or fight. And it wasn’t just her imagination. To her left, she felt Sister Obelia stiffen. On her right, ancient Brother Petrus shifted closer, as if he meant to cast his old bones in front of her if the Heron attacked.
A painful jab caught Sephre in the chest. Fates, she did not deserve these people. She gathered her courage, gently moving past Obelia and Petrus, stepping to the front of the line of ashdancers. She bowed to the prince. She was an old woman to him, nothing but a humble ashdancer, no one important. “I am here, Bright One.”
Ichos waved aside the niceties. “Tell me about this serpent cultist.”
“He called himself Nilos,” she said. “He claimed to be trying to restore the Serpent by gathering pieces of the god’s power that are scattered in the mortal world. Hidden in mortal souls. I saw him take one from a baby.”
“Where?” snapped Ichos.
“In the village of Kessely. But that was two days ago. No doubt he’s fled far by now.”
Lacheron spoke for the first time, his voice low and smooth, as bland as every other part of him. “Prince Ichos, I believe your father would like to speak with this man. Will you see to it, while I remain to continue the search for the dagger here? Perhaps, as Agia Beroe says, there might be answers in the archives.”
Ichos clenched his jaw. He didn’t care for taking orders, even if they were made to sound like questions. But he nodded. “Better that than poking around a bunch of dusty scrolls.” The prince addressed Beroe again. “I ask your hospitality for Lord Lacheron in my absence.”
“Of course,” Beroe nodded. “For as long as he needs.”
