Page 78 of House of Dusk
To stop the return of the Serpent. But Nilos wasn’t here. Sephre considered her own fears that she carried a piece of the Serpent’s power. If so, it didn’t seem to be drawing the skotoi to her at the moment. At least, no more than to any other ashdancer.
Could the skotoi be after the dagger? Were they slithering up the mountain even now to claim it? Impossible. The Holy Flame would guard it. Only the agia could claim it. And the agia . . .
Horror seeped through her.
“Fall back!” she bellowed. “This is a distraction! They’re after Agia Halimede!”
Beroe turned toward her, face clouded by confusion. There was no time to explain further. She’d have to trust Beroe to marshal the defenses. It might already be too late.
Sephre spun on her heel and dashed up the steps, heading for the infirmary.
• • •
The broad hall was echoingly silent. Dark, with only a faint glow from the brazier along the far wall. No movement. Nothing.
That was a bad sign. If nothing else, surely the bells would have roused Abas and the other retired elders. Well, aside from Sister Ketis, who could probably sleep through a second cataclysm.
Maybe not the best thing to joke about right now. Sephre padded deeper into the still room. Her breath strangled as a dim shadow along the ground resolved into a crumpled heap of cloth. A body.
A keening cry escaped her clamped jaw. Then the heap shifted. A groan. Sephre kindled flame in her hand, advancing quickly. “Abas?”
Fates, let them be alive, not corrupted into some soul-riven thing. She held the golden sparks before her. She could do this. If she must, she would.
“Sephre?”
Her legs melted. She fell to her knees beside the old ashdancer, finding an arm, a hand reaching for her. She gripped it, squeezing tight. Another groan, tinged with pain. “Are you—?”
“Only bruised and battered,” Abas replied, grimacing. “Skotos. It came through the window. I tried...it was so fast. It knocked me down. Ketis too. I think...I think it killed Jovan. He tried to burn it, when it went for the agia.”
Jovan. The oldest of the ashdancers. He’d told her a story once about nearly getting eaten by a sphinx when he was a boy. He’d tricked it into letting him escape by giving it a riddle with no answer.
“The agia?” she asked, bracing herself for the shattering.
“It took her. Carried her off.” Abas gestured toward the door on the far side of the hall.
The possibilities coiled cold in Sephre’s belly. Were they taking her to the summit even now? Did they think they could force the agia to claim the dagger for them? But how had skotoi known Halimede was here, in the infirmary? Nilos had suggested they served a new master now. Had he sent them here?
Lacheron’s absence was a seed in her teeth. Could he have known about this attack? He always had plans within plans. She shivered, feeling invisible hands shoving her across the game board.Someonewas directing the skotoi. It seemed ridiculous that it could be Lacheron. And yet, it would explain much.
“Stay here,” she told Abas. “Others are coming. Tell them what happened. I’m going after Halimede.”
Abas squeezed her fingers, nodding, then let her go. She moved quickly, smoothly. No time for panic. There was only the mission. Only the faint trail of ichor and ash that led out from the infirmary, along the corridor. Her mind parceled up the questions for later. She stopped once, leaning out from a window to try to see whether the fighting continued below, but the bulk of the lower temple hid her view of the courtyard. She pressed on. No time to wait for reinforcements.
The dark spatters did not lead her to the mountaintop, as she’d expected. Instead, they took her to the Hall of Doors. Good. The chamber had no other exits, no windows. No way out. The skotos was trapped.
Sephre paused at the threshold just long enough to kilt up her skirts and roll back her sleeves. To limber her shoulders and settle the knot in her chest. Then she stepped within, hands wreathed in flame.
The tiled walls reflected her light into a thousand watchful eyes. There were no other lamps or braziers. She held herself still, poised, ready.
A shadowy bulk shifted against the gold. A voice whispered.
You failed, baleful one. We know where you hid it. And now, our master will claim it.
“You’ll burn to ash first, demon.” She raised a flaming hand, spreading the pool of golden light. But what it revealed made her breath catch hard and sharp.
This skotos was not some shambling corpse. It was lean and powerful, smooth white bone wrapped in tendrils of darkness. Human-shaped, and yet there was something inhuman in the way it held itself. Skull too broad, jaws overlong, the eye sockets narrowed to slits. The teeth sharpened to fangs, split wide as it spoke. A horrible rasping formed without lips or tongue.
No closer. Or we destroy the blue one.
