Page 62 of House of Dusk
“I am a patient man,” said Lacheron, his tone mild as milk. His gaze skimmed back to Sephre. No longer shocked, but grimly satisfied. “Some secrets take longer than others, but they all reveal themselves in time.”
• • •
Perhaps Halimede would awaken. It was a vain hope, but Sephre clung to it, as she made her way along the hallway to the infirmary. Grunts and shouts echoed from below, where Lacheron had already set the soldiers to work digging up the Terrace of First Light. She winced at the cruel crack of hammer against stone. The overlook was one of the most beautiful spots in Stara Bron. Sephre herself had spent many a morning there, watching the dawn burn away the mists that clung to the eastern hills. Admiring the perfect, careful work that had fitted the paving stones just so. Feeling their gentle smoothness beneath her thin sandals.
Another crack. Sephre hastened her steps, pressing one palm to the angry thrum of her chest. If Halimede were awake, she would never allow such an outrageous desecration.
But Halimede was not awake. Sephre saw that the moment she crossed the threshold into the infirmary. The agia lay as still and silent as ever in her narrow cot. And she was not alone. Prince Ichos stood beside her, one hand outstretched toward the agia’s face.
Instinct sent her surging forward, turned her voice to an accusing lash. “What are you doing?”
Ichos jerked back. A flush darkened his cheeks. “Nothing. I thought...I was checking that she was still breathing.”
Sephre strode to the side of the cot and pressed her fingers to one of agia’s thin wrists. Relief flooded her as she felt the flutter of a heartbeat. “She lives.”
If the prince was disappointed, he hid it well. He only pressed his lips tight for a moment, then asked, “Will she wake?”
“Only the Fates know that.”
He drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “You’re Sephre. Aren’t you some sort of physician?”
He was a royal. Not for her to snipe at. No matter how irritating and entitled he might be. “Sister Sephre,” she said. “But I’m only an herbalist.”
“And yet Agia Halimede trusted you to investigate these serpent-cultist murders.”
Sephre said nothing. It hadn’t been a question, and she wasn’t about to give this boy anything more than necessary.
“Tell me about this man Nilos. Did he say anything about where he might be heading next?”
“No.”
Ichos grimaced. “But you last saw him in Kessely? Where exactly?”
“On a ridge to the east of the village. He ran away north.”
“Ran away?” Ichos gave her an amused look. “From you? I should have no trouble taking him, then.”
Fates save her from the arrogance of youth. Though she’d probably been as bad or worse. Full of her own fresh power, invulnerable to time. Even now she struggled briefly with her own pride, and managednotto toss a nice fat fireball at the prince’s feet.
“So you mean to kill him?” she asked instead.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “He claimed he wasn’t responsible for the murders. He might not be our enemy.”
Ichos regarded her for a long moment. “It’s not my job to decide that. My job is to serve the Ember King.”
Was there the faintest twist of bitterness on the words? Maybe even despair?
“Does your father often send you to kill his enemies?” she asked.
There it was again, in his eyes. It was achingly familiar. For a moment his jaw worked, and she thought he might answer. But all he said was “Good day, sister,” as he quit the room.
• • •
Sephre glanced around the garden. She could almost slip right back into her old, comfortable groove. The mint needed thinning, and there was plessuda root to grind. Timeus was with the other novices, enduring one of Sibling Vasil’s notorious meditation exercises. The herbarium was serene and quiet.
Instead, she held her breath and slipped the codex out from the jar of exceedingly well-named offalwort leaves where she’d been keeping it hidden, trusting that the noxious stench would ward off both overly curious novices and nosy royal advisors.
