Page 7 of House of Dusk
“There are plenty of bald men with swords in Helisson,” said Sephre, warily. “Did anyone actually see him doing something? Attacking the victims?”
“No,” admitted Halimede. “But they did make note of his eyes. Apparently they were a quite striking green.”
Sephre clamped her jaw, considering this. Thinking of Brother Dolon’s masterpiece-in-progress, how he had come to her to help compound a particularly vivid green ink for the eyes of the Serpent. “Then you think Beroe’s right? That this is the Serpent’s work?”
Halimede sniffed. “I think that if the god of death were traipsing about the countryside, it would be considerably more dramatic. But Beroe is correct about one thing: we cannot ignore this.”
“So you’re going to send word to the king?”
“If I did, how do you think he would respond?”
“I—I’m sure I don’t know him well enough to say.”
Halimede arched a brow. “You seemed happy to share your opinions earlier.”
Sephre sucked in her cheeks, wishing heartily that she were back in her garden. “He would call it further proof that he’s Heraklion reborn. Raise taxes, conscript troops, call anyone who denies him a traitor.” Her thoughts drifted back to the earlier conversation. “Including us?”
Halimede nodded. “Indeed. Already he mistrusts us.”
“Because you haven’t publicly recognized him as the Ember King?” It seemed a small thing to Sephre. But then, she’d noticed that many powerful men seemed to find small insults more offensive to their pride than outright attacks.
“In part.” The agia looked away. Clearly there was more to this than just the recognition of Hierax’s claim to be Heraklion reborn. But whatever the secret, Halimede was not ready to reveal it. “But that isn’t our primary concern. We are sworn to guard this mortal world from the demons of the underworld, whenever they rise again. If this is that time, then we all must be ready.”
She lanced her gaze back to Sephre. “And that is why I need you, Sister Sephre.Allof you. Who you were, and who you are. I need you to help me fight it.”
CHAPTER 3
YENERIS
It was lucky for the princess that Yeneris had been hired to guard her life. Otherwise, Yeneris would almost certainly have murdered her by now.
Bad enough that she’d had to spend the majority of the past five days standing silently behind Sinoe for a mind-numbing succession of grooming rituals. The girl—Yeneris couldn’t bring herself to think of Sinoe as a woman, even though at twenty-five Sinoe was five years her senior—spent fully two-thirds of her waking hours being primped and plucked. There were warm baths scented with rosewater to smooth her milky skin. Salted foot soaks to keep her ridiculously tiny feet soft. Rinsings with oakleaf to darken the russet hair she’d inherited from her Scarthian mother to a more acceptable deep brown.
All of that, Yeneris endured. Just as she endured the hours in the solarium, watching the patterns of sunlight creep across the walls painted with irritatingly twee songbirds and butterflies, while Sinoe hummed and sighed over books of love poetry.
By the end of her first week, Yeneris had begun to cherish the hope that someone would try to assassinate the girl, if only to break up the wretched tedium.
She should have known better than to tempt the Fates.
Now, on her seventh night in the king’s service, Yeneris stood in Sinoe’s bedchamber, staring down at three pillows that had been hidden beneath the silken coverlet, artfully plumped into the shape of a peacefully sleeping princess. She muttered a curse, one of the particularly foul ones she’d picked up from the soldiers in the refugee camp.
It wasn’t a kidnapping. Yeneris could have held onto a few shreds of her pride if this was the work of Bassaran agents sent to steal away Hierax’s daughter, in some vain attempt to force the return of the kore’s reliquary. But Yeneris knewquitewell it could be no such thing. She’d held out some hope that it was local criminals, seeking a fat ransom, until she saw the note.
A pretty little scroll of fine parchment, tucked between two of the pillows. Unfurling it, Yeneris found a single line of Helissoni script written in a surprisingly neat and careful hand.
I’ll be back before dawn. Don’t raise the alarm. Father will have your head.
Yeneris crumpled the paper in her fist. The girl was a blitheringfool. A frivolous, self-interested ninny who seemed to think that a bodyguard was just another fancy trinket, like the amber earrings she’d lost five times in the past four days. On the most recent occasion, Yeneris had been forced to dig them out of a jar of Sinoe’s favorite fermented fish sauce. Her fingers still smelled like rotting anchovies.
By rights, Yenerisshouldraise the alarm. Inform the royal guard, set a hundred soldiers out into the night to track the wayward princess.
Yeneris smoothed the paper, considering the warning. People said that Sinoe was touched by the Fates. The Sibyl of Tears. Her father certainly claimed as much, even when she was only a young girl. It was Sinoe’s scryings that had sparked the war, after all.
Yeneris had seen no sign of such a gift thus far, but she couldn’t discount it. King Hierax had been absent from the palace for the past week chasing rumors of serpent cultists in the western foothills. But he would return eventually, and he wouldn’t be pleased if he learned that Yeneris had misplaced his daughter.
Her breath hissed out between her teeth. Fine. She would heed Sinoe’s words. But that didn’t mean she was going to sit here all night twiddling her thumbs. She had a job to do. Two jobs, actually. The one she’d been hired for. And the other one, the secret one, that no one must suspect.
Both missions required Sinoe, however. Which meant ensuring that whatever ridiculous escapade had lured the girl from the palace did not end in injury, death, or disgrace. Yeneris ground her teeth in frustration. “Fool,” she muttered, to herself as much as the princess.
