Page 74 of House of Dusk
Hura seemed equally shocked. His brows lifted. “Why?”
Sinoe was biting the inside of her cheek. And Yeneris saw the way she clenched her fists, though she tried to hide them in the pleated layers of her gown. Yeneris found her own fingers clenching in sympathy. She wanted to charge forward, to fight something, to protect Sinoe. To stand between her and anything that shadowed her joy.
“Because of him,” Hura answered his own question. He glanced away, across the green. Following the look, Yeneris saw King Hierax had just arrived, surrounded by soldiers and attendants, the weight of his presence already drawing the crowd closer.
“She’ll have a better life back in Scarthia,” Sinoe said. “She’s too closed in here. She can barely fly at all.”
“She’s not the only one,” said Hura darkly. Sinoe’s eyes went wide with alarm, but he held up a hand. “I know. I know.”
Sinoe drew in a quick breath. “Please. Tell Mother I—”
She broke off. King Hierax was approaching, a storm cloud crackling with the promise of lightning.
“Daughter,” he said. “You shouldn’t take too much of Lord Hura’s time.”
“Of course,” Sinoe replied smoothly, her expression tranquil. “I only wanted to request an audience with the Scarthian Ambassador. To arrange for the return of their gift.”
“Ah.” Hierax nodded. Placated. “Yes. Very good.”
“Here’s my mother now,” said Hura, as a tall woman strode to join them from the direction of the striped tents.
Opotysi was as impressive as Yeneris remembered, the sort of woman who could crush you with her mind as easily as with her fists. Her flaming hair was braided into a complex web of interweaving coils, decorated with small disks of hammered silver. Triangles of dark blue ink patterned her pale cheeks and ran up her arms. Yeneris had heard the marks were some sort of holy invocation. Scarthians honored the four god-beasts and the Fates, along with a host of other spirits and lesser gods. There were jokes about it. The Scarthian sailor who drowns because he makes a prayer to the god of waves rather than the god of tides.
“King Hierax,” Opotysi said, dipping her head to the king, and then to Sinoe. “Princess. What’s this about returning a gift?”
Sinoe stood stiffly, as if someone had replaced her spine with a spear. She gestured toward the waiting cart, the covered cage. “The gift is too great an honor. I cannot accept the ailouron. I have brought her here so that you can take her home.”
The faintest of dents dove between Opotysi’s brows. Yeneris couldn’t read her expression, but the beat of silence spoke loud enough. “You are a daughter of the steppes,” she said, finally. “Surely it is only fitting that you have an ailouron as your companion.”
Yeneris saw Sinoe’s shoulder hunch slightly. As if she was preparing herself for a blow. And again, Yeneris fought the urge to spring forward. To shield Sinoe from this. “No. I am a daughter of Helisson. My father is the Ember King. And my true mother—” there was no hesitation, only the faintest flex of Sinoe’s fingers as she spoke—“is his Faithful Maiden, who has returned to us, and praise the Fates, will once more stand at his side.”
A murmur rippled through the various nobles who had gathered. Yeneris saw cautious smiles and nods from those in Helissoni garb, but the Scarthians were less pleased. Some frowned. Others shook their heads.
The only person who seemed completely satisfied by Sinoe’s proclamation was Hierax. That was when Yeneris understood the point of all this spectacle. The truth of it sliced her, sudden and unexpected, like the slip of a paring knife. And for a long moment she could only stare at the blood seeping from the wound.Thiswas Sinoe’s plan to convince her father to allow them to visit the kore’s bones alone. The princess had publicly rejected her mother, had cast off her beloved ailouron, all to help Yeneris rescue the kore. All to win King Hierax’s approval.
And it had worked. Hierax gave Opotysi a triumphant look. “Indeed. As my daughter says, Ambassador.”
“Very well,” said Opotysi, her voice clipped, her expression cool. “I’ll make sure your message is delivered.” She gave another nod, then spun away. She paused briefly to speak with Hura, before heading off toward the Scarthian tents.
Hierax reached for Sinoe, one heavy hand wrapping her arm. “Come, General Fortus is about to fly his hawk.”
Sinoe glanced back as the king swept her away, her eyes hunting, landing on Yeneris. “See to the transfer, Yen. She trusts you.”
And then she was gone, leaving Yeneris to grapple with the aftermath. With the hard knot tied into her chest. This was the mission, she reminded herself. And why shouldn’t Sinoe make sacrifices? Yeneris surely had.
“Yen, is it?” Hura had lingered. He was watching her now, a little too curiously for her comfort.
“Yeneris,” she answered, painfully aware of her own voice, and how it might betray her. Hura might not think anything of it, of course. There were thousands of folk with Bassaran heritage scattered across the lands of the Middle Sea. She didn’t think he would suspect her mission. More likely he’d simply think her desperate, to take service in the household of the man who had destroyed their city. Or maybe he didn’t even care. Urabas had remained neutral during the war. Choosing to save themselves, rather than risk being attacked.
“Yeneris,” he repeated, speaking her name as she had, in the softer Helissoni way.
The name wasn’t unusual. The languages—like the people—of the Middle Sea had much in common. They had all been part of the old empire, after all. Before the cataclysm.Stop fluttering,she told herself.Stop acting like you have something to hide.
“May the kos bless you.” Hura gave the greeting casually, as if it meant nothing. And maybe it was true. He was half Bassaran, so no strangeness that he might offer her a Bassaran greeting.
She nodded in return, then turned and began marching toward the cart. The sooner this was over, the better. Tami was keening again, a plaintive wail that scratched her nerves raw.
This was all for her. No, that was presumptuous. It was for the kore. Sinoe needed to win her father’s trust, to gain access to the south wing. Still, Yeneris wished there were an easier way. One that didn’t require Sinoe to give up Tami. The princess hid her feelings well, but Yeneris knew she must have sliced out her own heart to make that speech. To know that her mother—her true mother—might think it was real. That Sinoe had so thoroughly rejected her.
