Page 64 of House of Dusk
“Oh,” said Lacheron. “I assumed she had shared the matter with you, sister. Youareher anointed successor, after all.” He added just a tiny twist of doubt to the words.
Beroe clearly felt the sting. “She did not,” she answered flatly. “But perhaps you would enlighten me. Given that I act now in her place.”
This was the Heron she knew. The man who could convince you to do anything, could make you believe that whatever solution he offered was the only real option. And Beroe was falling for it. Too lost in her own sense of injury, her entitlement, her ambition.
“To restore the Faithful Maiden to life,” said Lacheron.
“You mean to free her from the curse that traps her spirit in her bones,” said Beroe. “So she can finally be reborn into a new, unblemished life.”
“No,” said Lacheron. “Not reborn. Restored to life, so that she may be reunited with her lost love, as was prophesied.”
Impossible. Unthinkable.
On the other side of the door, Beroe drew in a sharp, scandalized breath. “Not even the holy flame has that power.”
“But the Phoenix does,” said Lacheron. “And if the agia of Stara Bron summons her, she will come.”
“In theory, yes,” admitted Beroe. “The Phoenix promised the first agia that she would return, if ever there were a time of great need. But the Blue Summons has never actually been used. It’s...it’s...”
“Unprecedented,” said Lacheron. “Yet we live in unprecedented times. The Ember King has returned to us. Skotoi walk the mortal world, and the minions of the Serpent seek even now to restore him to power.”
“Yes.” Beroe sounded wary. “But even so, only the agia has that power.”
Only the agia.
The rest of the conversation slid away, muted by those three words. That was it. The treasury, the terrace, the agia’s office, none of those were truly beyond reach of someone with enough determination and a handy company of soldiers with no scruples about destroying priceless architecture.
The certainty clicked into place, a well-fitted boot. Sephre knew where to find Letheko. She turned away from the door to the agia’s office, toward the narrow archway to the left, the one that led out onto the mountainside, where a set of well-worn steps carved a path to the summit, and the flame that burned there.
CHAPTER 18
SEPHRE
The wind caught at Sephre’s hair and whipped her gray robes against her legs as she crested the stone-carved steps. The summit was utterly bare. There were no golden ornaments, no rich tapestries. Even so, her breath always caught at the sight of the enormous boulder perched there. A great crack split the stone, cleaving it into two equal halves. And through that fissure blazed the holy flame.
A pressure hovered in the air. A feeling of being watched, as if this bare stony bowl was the navel of the universe.
Sephre put the setting sun behind her and faced the burning channel. Eight and a half years ago she had taken a single step into the blaze. Crimson flames danced over her skin, anointing her a red sister. A second step, four years ago, had made her a yellow sister. But only the agia could take a third step, into the blue heart of the flame.
Sephre thought of the fragile form lying in the infirmary. When Halimede died, Beroe would be the next. She would stand here, in this exact spot, and take three confident steps forward. Or maybe she would go slowly. The woman did love a dramatic moment.
Either way, the dagger would not remain hidden much longer, if it was here.
If. That was the question.
She had to learn the answer. But the flames exacted a price. The pure light of this holy fire would expose every corner of her soul. All the places she had stuffed tight with her old shames and sorrows. All the poisoned flesh of her soul that she could not wash clean, no matter how many tonics she brewed, no matter how many ills she soothed. No matter how she tried to forget.
She had done it before. She could do it again. Maybe it would even be easier, this time. Sephre sucked in a breath of the chill mountain air and stepped forward.
Crimson light curled around her. At first, instinctively, she flinched from it. Wary of what it might awaken. But she had passed this challenge before. All that came to her within the red flames were dim voices murmuring in a distant room, while her father sang a lullaby, the one she liked best, about a lost sheep and a faithful hound. Her eyes stung. Her chest stung.Papa.
Another step. Yellow light veiled her world. She was out in a flower-spangled meadow, racing through the tall grasses, breathless with laughter as a woman with merry brown eyes chased her.You can’t run from the tickle monster!
Sephre breathed deep. So far, so good. But what lay before her now was a trial she had never endured. The blue flame. It was like staring into an endless summer sky, with no cloud or bird to hook her gaze. A sky that would suck her in, split her open and expose her stinking entrails to the sun. But maybe she didn’t need to go farther. She pressed one palm against the wall, feeling for any recess, any hiding place. Gingerly, she slid her hand along the cracked stone, closer and closer to the wall of blue. A single spark licked her fingertips.
The blood slicks the stones beside the wall, thick and dark. At first, she thinks she can stop it. She calls for Boros to give her the small kit, tears through it for bandages. Her fingers leave red smears everywhere. Zander gives another agonized groan. It echoes, too loud.
“They’re going to hear,” whispers Boros. “We need to keep moving. The mission—”
