Page 29 of House of Dusk

Halimede was dignified even in slumber, her long gray hair combed back neatly, her arms folded across her belly, her lips slightly parted in the slow breath of deep sleep.

Natural sleep, for Abas had agreed with Sephre that three days of the poppy tincture was enough.

Now, they must see if she would wake, or drift forever deeper.

Come back. Sephre held the old woman’s hand in her own, watching the rise and fall of her thin chest. We need you still. I need you.

But Halimede slept on. And might never wake. It was her heart, Abas said. There is no herb that can cure time.

She felt a pinch of guilt over her suspicion of Beroe.

Only a small pinch. The woman hadn’t scrupled to take advantage of the situation.

But Sephre had to admit that Beroe was keeping the temple running smoothly, even with all the additional preparations for a royal visit.

And she’d come every day to visit Halimede, a golden flame cupped in her hands as she whispered silent prayers at the agia’s bedside.

Sephre would have given much to know exactly what Beroe prayed for.

Something tickled her palm. Halimede’s fingers, moth-soft, fluttered briefly against her own. Sephre squeezed the old woman’s hand in answer, hope lodged so tight in her throat that the word came out a whisper. “Agia?”

Time hung, a wheel spinning in the mud. Halimede slept on. A piercing pain gripped Sephre, chased by anger. It wasn’t fair. Halimede sent her after Nilos, gave her the task of chasing down answers. And all she had found were more questions.

The sensible thing would be to ignore everything Nilos said. It was clear he was trying to manipulate her. Sliding his taunts under her skin like splinters. He wanted them to ache. To fester.

And yet she had to admit there might be some truth to them.

Perhaps the Maiden had been faithless. Perhaps the Ember King wasn’t the hero the stories claimed.

And that was why Cerydon had set an oath on the agias of Stara Bron.

An oath that no one but Sephre knew about.

“Acting Agia” Beroe certainly wouldn’t hesitate to grant whatever the royal emissary asked of her, seeing it as a means to gain power and influence for Stara Bron.

And Sephre doubted anything she said to the woman would convince her otherwise.

Which meant it was up to Sephre to keep Halimede’s oath. A throbbing ache began in her temples. She forced her jaw to unclench. What now? How could she thread this maze, and bring herself and her fellow ashdancers safely past the demons?

She needed answers. And Nilos had told her where to look for them. The secrets of the Embraced are always held close.

If so, maybe that was where she should start. By speaking with one of them.

· · ·

“Sister Sephre, what brings you to my domain?” Brother Dolon smiled broadly from behind his desk as she entered the archives the next afternoon.

Like the rest of Stara Bron, the library echoed with unuse.

There must be thousands of scrolls filling the compartments along the walls.

Several tall ladders gave access to the highest shelves.

There were a half-dozen worktables filling the center of the room, lit by bright shafts of morning light that slanted in from the windows high above.

Sephre could imagine them filled with ashdancers copying out records and accounts of the dead.

Once, the temple had served as the primary source of such information, but the duties had shifted over time into secular hands.

The king’s offices of taxation handled it now.

“Good morning, brother.” She met Dolon’s smile with one of her own, though it felt tight on her lips.

She had always liked Brother Dolon. He was a sturdy, unflappable man with a deep interest in the smallest details of the world and a contagious joy for knowledge.

He always set aside any records he came across in his work that might be of use to her.

Herbal recipes, medical tomes, and once the journal of an ashdancer who visited the hidden city of the Idrani and documented their ingenious water systems, which allowed them to cultivate glorious gardens even in the seemingly barren Bleeding Sands.

Spending time with him always made her feel as if she’d gained a new pair of eyes, that she could see all the intricate beauties of the world, the patterns shaped as if by some unknown, numinous architect.

She had no wish to hurt him. To poke at old scars.

Though if it was true, what Beroe told her, maybe there would be no hurt.

That was the whole point of the Embrace.

To burn away the shame and pain and corruption of spirit.

Even if so, she feared it would be an awkward conversation.

And so she’d brought a gift. Or maybe “bribe” was the better word for it.

She set the small glass jar on the table between them. It had taken her most of the morning to compound. “I brought you something.”

Dolon’s eyes went wide with delight. “Is it...did Abas remember the recipe?”

“I think so. You’ll be the best judge.”

He plucked it up reverently, tilting it to catch the slanting afternoon light. The substance inside glittered, sparkling a pure, bright blue. “Azarine ink! Hah! I can finally finish!”

She had her doubts about that. Dolon had been working on his treatise on the children of Chaos for as long as Sephre had been at Stara Bron.

She’d helped Abas to produce a number of other dyes and inks for the man over the years.

The perfect gold for the Sphinx’s wings.

Just the right glossy blue-black for the Beetle.

Every time he’d claimed that the work was almost done.

“It’s exactly what I need for the waters of the Lyrikon,” he went on effusively. “Thank you, sister!”

Sephre winced. Part of her wanted to turn and walk away. Leave Dolon happy and untroubled. She gathered her courage, and forced herself to speak. “There’s another reason I’m here.”

“Of course.” Dolon was still swirling the bottle, admiring the brilliant blue. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the shelves that held the botanical scrolls.

“It’s not about the herbarium. It’s...” Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. Just spit it out. “It’s about the Embrace.”

Dolon’s grip on the jar of ink faltered.

Sephre lunged forward, snatching the glass bottle from the air.

For a long moment they stood in silence, though she could hear the man’s quick breathing.

She set the ink on the desk between them.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.

And I’m not asking you to speak about.. .yourself.”

A sigh. Dolon reached for the jar. His pure joy in the ink had fled. Now, he cradled it like a talisman. “There’s little I could say. But go on. Ask, and I will do my best to answer.”

She’d already decided it was best not to repeat Nilos’s suggestion that the Faithful Maiden had come to Stara Bron to seek the Embrace.

She hadn’t told Beroe either. If it was false, then no one else needed to know she had been duped.

If it was true, then it was likely connected with the secrets of Halimede’s oath.

Either way, she needed a different excuse for her questions. There had been plenty of time to plan a nice, composed, reasonable speech while she decanted the ink, but now the words turned to stones in her mouth. “I...it’s for me. I want the Embrace.”

“Ah.” Dolon turned the jar in his hands. He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how I can help, sister.”

Fates, he looked miserable. “I just...I thought you might be able to tell me what it’s like. Whether you’re glad you did it.”

The question had nothing to do with the Faithful Maiden, but it flew out of her lips unbidden.

“You’re assuming I had a choice.” He kept his gaze fixed on the ink.

Oh. Right. She hadn’t even considered that option. Dolon might have been sent to the Embrace as a criminal. The question hovered on her lips, unspoken.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a moment. “I don’t know if I asked for it, or if it was a punishment.”

“Do you want to know?”

“No.” The answer was quick, sharp, certain. “It’s done. It won’t change anything to know who I was.”

A wild goat had broken into Sephre’s garden last fall.

By the time she chased it out, it had torn its way through the beds, heedless, snapping up tender shoots and vulnerable buds.

She’d wanted very much to wring the creature’s neck.

And yet here she was, ripping and chewing her way through Dolon’s past.

“So...you don’t remember any of it?”

“Only the flames.” His gaze went distant. “Blue flames. I stepped out from them and Halimede was there. I was at the shrine. On the mountaintop. And I felt...free. Like I’d just set down a boulder.”

Sephre hunched, feeling crushed and sour. It had been a mistake to come here. All she was doing was tormenting herself and making poor Dolon uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you, sister,” he said. “I’m not sure anyone can. The Embrace is personal. Although I suppose...But no, they’re sealed for a reason.”

She jerked her chin up at his thoughtful tone. “What are sealed?”

Dolon looked as if he regretted opening this conversational door. “Anyone who comes to Stara Bron seeking the Embrace is required to leave an account in the archives. But it wouldn’t be right to read them. They’re memories of lives that are gone now.”

A tremor shook her, as if one of the Fates had just tapped her on the shoulder. “How old? How long have they been kept?”

“Oh, centuries. We lost most of the records from before the cataclysm, of course, but there are some from not long after, I believe. I don’t visit those shelves often,” he admitted.