Page 87 of House of Dusk
Yeneris cursed, fingers slipping on the seal. She drew one of her daggers, slashing it clear. With one hand, she tipped back Sinoe’s head. With the other, she pressed the vial to her lips, dumping the contents past her chattering teeth.
Everything smelled of blood and honey. She held Sinoe tight as a promise as the woman shivered and moaned. Her secret dream, warped to this horrible nightmare.
Sinoe gave one final shudder, then went abruptly, horribly still. The empty vial cracked against the marble floor as Yeneris hugged the princess close, lowering her softly to the ground.Please. Please be alive. Please don’t take her.
“Sinoe?”
Nothing. The barest of breaths. So slow, so shallow.
“Help.” The word came out a croak. She coughed. “Help!” Stronger then. She heard the voices in the hall, a thud of heavy footsteps. “Please! Send for a physician.”
The door crashed open, and suddenly the room was full of people. And yet Yeneris could not move. She could only kneel there, with Sinoe cradled in her arms, praying to the Fates that she might keep her vow.
• • •
It had been nearly a full day, and Sinoe still hadn’t woken. Yeneris watched from her position along the wall in the princess’s chamber, as the physician pressed her fingers to Sinoe’s wrist. “Her heart is strong. I believe the danger is past.”
King Hierax let out a long breath. “Good. Thank you, doctor.”
He sat hunched beside Sinoe’s bed, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s face. He’d burst in shortly after the princess had been carried to her bed, and had barely left her side, a solid rock amid the swirl of servants and handmaids and three different physicians. Yeneris could almost believe that he truly cared for her. And maybe he did. She supposed you could be an arrogant, self-important ass but still love your daughter. You could love someone, and still use them, still sacrifice their happiness for your own. An imperfect, incomplete love.
It was a bitter irony that she would feel any shred of kinship with Hierax. But hadn’t she done the same? She cared for Sinoe—no sense denying it now—but she’d used her. Sinoe was laying there pale and still as a corpse because she had wanted to help Yeneris. Easy enough to excuse it, to convince herself that it was for the greater good, for Bassara, for the mission. Hierax probably had excuses too.
But if Yeneris truly cared only for her mission, she wouldn’t even be here now. She’d have taken the kore and fled. Now that opportunity was gone. Probably forever. Even once Sinoe recovered—please, please let her be well again—Yeneris doubted there would be any more unsupervised visits to the south wing. In fact, she suspected Sinoe would be watched even more closely.
Yeneris held her breath, testing herself, feeling for the bite of regret or guilt for choosing Sinoe.
She felt none. Because everything she’d said to the woman was true. And she had to believe that if the kore’s spirit still clung to her bones, that she would not want Yeneris to abandon Sinoe either. Mikat was another story, of course, but Mikat didn’t need to know any of this. Well, likely she would hear rumors, but it would be easy enough to explain.
There was a way to save both the princess and the kore. Sinoe’s own prophecy had said as much.Two maidens shall be bound, but only one shall walk free if the divided heart remains.
Yeneris was fairly certain the two maidens were the kore and the princess. Both were grasped tight in Hierax’s hands, closely guarded treasures. But what did the Fates mean about a key and a gate with no lock? Was Hierax going to move the reliquary to some impregnable storehouse? Or was it Sinoe who would be locked away? She chewed the inside of her cheek, watching the doctor sorting through a box of medicines and wishing again that the Fates could make things a little more clear.
On the other hand,only one shall walk free if the divided heartremainswas painfully clear. But Yeneris had chosen to stay. Was that enough? No, clearly not, given all the rest about keys and blood. Still, there was hope.
A moan drew her attention back to the bed. Sinoe’s eyelids fluttered. “Fates. How much wine did I drink?”
Hierax leaned over her. “No wine, daughter. The gift of the Fates.”
Sinoe’s eyes opened fully at the sound of the king’s voice. Her fingers spasmed, trying to push herself into a sitting position. “Father? What are—oh!” She twisted, her eyes darting around the room, before they found Yeneris and the wildness softened. Only for a heartbeat, but enough to make Yeneris straighten, for her throat to go suddenly dry.
Sinoe flopped back into her pillows. “I...I’m sorry, Father,” she said. “I was so overcome, seeing the Faithful Maiden, knowing how painful it is for you—for her—to be divided as you are. But the Fates granted me the most beautiful vision.”
Hierax blinked. His large hands curled slowly, as if he were seizing the hem of destiny. “What vision? Tell me.”
Yeneris tensed, but Sinoe didn’t even glance toward her now. Her expression was utterly serene, utterly innocent. “I saw the Faithful Maiden restored to life, and garbed in fine linen. A wedding veil, I think.”
How had she ever thought Sinoe simple? Even now, groggy, ill-used, and battered, the princess was quick-witted enough to weave such a lie. It was exactly the sort of thing the king would believe. It was what he wanted. That was obvious in every eager line of his body. “You’re certain? You saw her? Alive?”
“Standing at your side.” Sinoe gave her father a wan smile. “You both looked so happy.”
Hierax swallowed, his lips pressing tight for a moment. Then he reached out, taking Sinoe’s hand. How easily he could crush her fingers. But he only gave a gentle squeeze, then leaned closer, pressing his lips to his daughter’s forehead.
The physician and servants had withdrawn. Only Yeneris remained close enough to see Sinoe’s face. The spasm of emotions. Pride. Love. Sorrow. It occurred to Yeneris that if a flawed man was capable of love, he might also be loved in return. Even if that love was imperfect and wounded.
Voices sounded in the hallway. Yeneris tensed at the impatient rumble, a louder protest from one of the guards. “The princess is ill. The king does not wish to be disturbed. You can’t—”
Yeneris shifted one hand to the hilt of the dagger hidden along her thigh just as the door to Sinoe’s chamber burst open and Lacheron strode into the room.
