Page 63 of House of Dusk
Not that Sephre had seen much of Lacheron in the past two days. He spent much of his time in the temple archives, and she had invented a plethora of urgent tasks that kept her busy in the herbarium and safely out of sight. The short interview in the Hall of Doors had been more than enough.
Ichos was likewise absent, having departed in pursuit of Nilos soon after their awkward conversation in the infirmary. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about that. She certainly couldn’t warn Nilos, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.
What she wanted was answers, but thus far the codex had not given her anything but more questions. She flipped through the mold-mottled pages, but they were as impenetrable as they had been the last dozen times. The only clues were the tantalizing handful of fragments she’d already gleaned.
She smoothed a hand over the battered leather case.Who were you? What did you do? Where did you hide it? And why?
Only silence answered her. She snorted. What was she expecting? She was no sibyl, just another flawed and foolish mortal. It hadn’t been the Fates that led her to the codex. Only her own curiosity and a draft in an old building.
A gust of wind stirred the drying sheaves of thyme and sage, the long loops of shagvine hanging from the rafters above. The lanternflowers rattled their crimson globes. Gooseflesh shivered up her arms. The garden was too quiet. Sibling Vasil was keeping the novices busy with training. If the world was tilting toward oblivion, Stara Bron needed every fully ordained and fire-wielding ashdancer they could muster.
Fates. Did she actuallymissTimeus’s ceaseless chatter? No. It was only that he’d become a habit, in the past weeks.
And because he reminded her of Zander.
And because—she forced herself to admit the truth of it—Sephre had never been a solitary creature. She’d been forever envious of the other village children who had siblings. Maybe that was why she’d enlisted. The promise of comrades close as kin.
And she’d found it. Zander and Vyria and Calchas. The bonds between them forged in the crucible of the training camp, then tested by war.
Then broken. Only Vyria was still alive, last Sephre knew. She wondered if she’d gone back to the sweetheart she’d left behind. Cybele? Cylene? Sephre ought to remember. Vyria had the girl’s name tattooed across her wrist. She used to kiss it, for good luck, before battle.
Did Vyria still have nightmares too? Maybe Calyce—thatwas the name—chased them away.
Sephre had never visited them. Best not to trespass on whatever joy and peace Vyria had managed to reclaim.Coward,she told herself.You’re not that noble. You’re just afraid she’ll ask what really happened.
What really happened. That was the question, wasn’t it? No one wanted to bare their shame to the world. Better to burn away the mistakes. Like the author of the codex. Sephre echoed with that yearning. And yet...she needed to know, if she was going to keep Stara Bron safe. No one else was going to suffer because she made the wrong choice.
She flipped the codex open to the last page.
. . . request granted...faithless . . . no more . . .
. . . blade...hidden . . . only agia...claim it . . .
. . . will ensure...never . . . again . . .
Sephre had considered a number of possibilities as to where the blade might be hidden. Perhaps it was sewn into the heavy golden mantle that was kept sealed away in the temple treasury, brought out for the high holidays. Or secreted into a hidey-hole in the walls of the agia’s office. In either case, she doubted it would remain secret for long. Lacheron’s soldiers had spent the last two days digging holes throughout the Terrace of First Light, heedless of the priceless tilework crafted by Kalanthe herself. Where would they dig next?
She closed the codex and went to replace it in the jar. Halimede still clung to life in the infirmary, but she had not woken. There was no one to guard the blade.
No one except Sephre.
And it was time to act.
• • •
She decided to start with the agia’s office. The treasury was locked, and the main gates barred at night, but none of the other doors at Stara Bron were ever sealed. And it was nearly time for the chorus of high sun, which meant Beroe should be in the Great Hall.
Even so, Sephre crept up the stairs, careful to muffle her footfalls, an excuse sheathed behind her lips, just in case. Five steps from the top, she heard voices. She nearly retreated, but the words were faintly muffled. Coming from inside the agia’s office. She crept closer, listening.
“The blade isn’t in the treasury and there is no record of it in the archives,” Beroe was saying. “Nor is it hidden beneath the Terrace of First Light, as your soldiers so helpfully proved with their extensive excavations, Lord Lacheron.”
If there was any sarcasm in her tone, she had done an excellent job filing it away. “Indeed,” said Lacheron. “Your solicitude has been most welcome, Sister Beroe. The Ember King will need allies like yourself in the days ahead. People who are not afraid to act. If only Agia Halimede were so brave.”
If it were Sephre, she would have socked the man on the jaw for such an insult. Beroe, of course, was more politic. “Agia Halimede’s devotion is beyond question,” she answered carefully.
“I mean no slight to your predecessor,” said Lacheron, smoothly. “No doubt she had her reasons for rejecting the king’s request.”
A pause. “What request?”
