Page 44 of House of Dusk

SEPHRE

T his was, quite possibly, the worst idea she’d ever had.

And Sephre had had her fair share of bad ideas.

Letting Zander order drinks. Bowing to fashion and bobbing her hair, then having to endure a year of looking like some weird overgrown mushroom.

Or that time, early in her soldiering career, stupidly eager to prove herself, when she’d challenged her greatest rival to a race through the Razorfells.

Barefoot . She still had a scarred divot cut out of her left heel.

The stairs up to the agia’s office were not lined with thornweed, but even so, Sephre’s feet flinched from them. But she climbed, grimly, aware that she was out of other options. Halimede might never wake. Like it or not, Beroe held power in Stara Bron.

And yet Sephre had not shared any of this with her. She’d told herself she was being cautious. That Beroe’s ambition made her untrustworthy. It might even be true. Beroe might scoff at her concerns, do nothing. Or turn on her. Call her traitor, summon Lacheron’s soldiers to cast her in chains.

Or she might listen. She might be an ally. She might keep Halimede’s oath, and send Lacheron away empty-handed.

Sephre paused at the top of the steps, letting her breathing slow. Her heartbeat was a lost cause, still rattling as she finally rapped at the door. “Beroe? It’s Sephre.”

“Come in.” There was a sigh in the words.

Sephre pushed the door open to find Beroe at the agia’s desk. A stack of wax tablets teetered before her. A half-drunk cup of tea abandoned near her elbow. The spill of golden light from the nearby lamp traced deep shadows under her eyes. She looked pale and tired and worn.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Sephre offered.

“It’s fine. The numbers aren’t going anywhere.

Unfortunately. Sometimes I think I’d far rather wage battle with a host of skotoi than with the temple ledgers.

” Beroe gave a weary laugh, then seemed to remember who Sephre was, her brow furrowing.

She took a deep breath, as if to brace herself for something unpleasant. “How can I help you, sister?”

Sephre swallowed the sting of that breath.

She couldn’t blame Beroe. They had been prickly as cats together ever since Sephre had come to Stara Bron.

Because she’s an ambitious, headstrong fool, whispered a petty voice at the back of her skull.

Just like you were , Sephre whispered back.

This time, she forced herself not to squirm away from the truth.

Beroe raised Sephre’s hackles because she reminded her of herself.

She could do better. She, who knew what it felt like to have Lacheron’s fingers twitching at you, plucking out the tune he wanted. But instead of reaching out, instead of trying to help, Sephre had written the woman off. Measured her by all her worst aspects, and ignored the good.

“The temple is lucky to have you,” Sephre said, partly because it was true, and partly in the hopes of softening that suspicious frown. “I can’t imagine how much work it must be, managing Stara Bron.”

Beroe’s brows arched, and for a moment she looked pleased. Then her gaze narrowed again. “Thank you. Though I’m sure it’s nothing to commanding an entire wing of soldiers.”

“I’m serious, Beroe. No one else could do what you’re doing right now, especially not me.”

Beroe studied her a moment longer. “You didn’t climb halfway up the mountain just to compliment me. What do you want?”

Now it was Sephre’s turn to draw a steadying breath. She hadn’t planned the words. Better to speak plainly. She wasn’t Lacheron. She didn’t want to pluck strings and poke wounds. She just wanted Beroe to believe her.

“I need to tell you something,” she began. “We’ve had our differences, but I know that you care about Stara Bron. About the vows we swore. That you would fight to the last against any skotoi that dared enter this world.”

“I would.” Beroe’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She was wary, but curious.

“Before she sent me to Potedia, Agia Halimede told me about a vow she swore to the agia before her.”

“What vow?”

No going back now. “To keep Letheko hidden at Stara Bron, and make sure the Ember King never used it again. Because doing so would cause a second cataclysm.”

Beroe stared. Blinked. Then carefully folded her hands together in front of her. “So the dagger is here at Stara Bron? You know where it is?”

The words were flat, colorless.

“Yes,” admitted Sephre.

“But you’re not going to tell me,” Beroe added. “Because you think I’ll give it to Hierax.”

“He would be a powerful ally for Stara Bron.” Sephre gestured to the wax tablets. “Make all those accounts a lot easier to manage.”

“I don’t care about the accounts,” said Beroe. “I care about keeping my vow to the Phoenix. I care about guarding this world from the demons of the labyrinth. I care about stopping a second cataclysm.”

“Then we can’t let Hierax claim the dagger.

I don’t know the full truth, but I’ve learned enough to know that something’s not right.

The Ember King wasn’t the hero we think he was.

The Faithful Maiden herself brought the dagger here and swore Agia Cerydon to keep it safe.

And every agia after them has kept that oath. ”

Beroe’s fingers knitted tighter. “And why, exactly, did Halimede share all this with you ?”

“Because she knew how I felt about Hierax.”

“You could be lying. You could be inventing all of this.”

Sephre blew out a breath of frustration. “Here.” She drew the codex from where she’d tucked it in her sleeve, then set it on the desk between them. “I found this in the archives. I think it was written by the Faithful Maiden, before she took the Embrace.”

She curled her fingers into fists as Beroe reached for the codex.

It felt like a violation to share it, but if it would convince Beroe to believe her, it was worth it.

She waited as the other woman flipped the fragile pages, frowning at the mold-spattered paper.

A breath of despair blew up her spine. The words had seemed so powerful, earlier.

But what were they, really? A thimbleful of whispers.

Beroe’s expression was unreadable.

“Maybe you don’t trust me,” said Sephre.

“Fine. But you trust Halimede, don’t you?

You know she refused to recognize Hierax as the Ember King.

She must’ve had a reason. It’s dangerous to deny him.

If you love Halimede, if you still respect and honor her as your agia, then at least consider that she did it for a good reason. ”

“A reason she neglected to share with me.”

Sephre clung doggedly to her patience. “Are you really going to ignore all this because your feelings are hurt? Look, I don’t know the full truth either. Halimede didn’t tell me everything. But something terrible is coming, Beroe. And I’d rather not face it alone.”

She searched the other woman’s face, hunting for any sign that the words had reached her. Was that a softening in her jaw? A spark of thoughtfulness in her eyes?

A bell began to toll. Sephre bit her cheek in irritation. Surely prayers could wait for this. But the bell rang on, no mellow call to worship. This was sharp and strident. A warning. A call to arms.

Stara Bron was under attack.

· · ·

The bells were still ringing when they met Brother Dolon in the cloister.

His round face was grim. “It’s skotoi. I don’t know where they all came from.

There must be a dozen of them. Obelia managed to close the outer gates, but they’re coming over the walls.

She and Vasil and some of the reds are holding them in the courtyard for now.

But I don’t know how long they can last. They.

..they just kept coming. What do we do? ”

“We do our duty,” said Beroe, unwavering. If she had doubts, she hid them well. “They will not claim this holy place. Not so long as we hold the flame.”

The acting agia led the way onward, down the passage that led to the courtyard and the gates.

The bells had stopped ringing, but Sephre could hear the dim screams and shouts from below, mixed with other noises, slick and slithering, inhuman.

Whatever ashdancer had been raising the alarm was now dead, or fighting for their life.

Sephre’s nerves crackled. She held flame at the tips of her fingers. It must be enough.

“Do you know where Lacheron is?” she asked Dolon.

“No. I haven’t seen him. Or his soldiers.”

So much for the Ember King and his glorious defense of the mortal world.

They emerged beneath the pillared portico of the temple, above the wide, shallow steps that led down to the courtyard.

A pall hung over the sky, turning the world dim and smoky. The air was heavy and hot and thick with decay, turning Sephre’s stomach. It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing.

The outer gates were gone, the oak beams torn apart.

And through them surged a flood of corpses.

Many of the skotoi no longer looked even remotely human.

Some hunched like crabs, scuttling on multiple needle-thin legs.

Another rose tall but limbless, a mountain of flesh that surged slowly but inexorably across the stones, shifting like molten wax.

And yet here and there she caught a glimpse of something terrifyingly, wrenchingly human.

A hand, reaching from a slurry of meat. A single eye, wild and brown.

A row of perfect white teeth rippling along the tip of a tentacle.

A dozen ashdancers formed a line along the base of the steps, holding back the monstrous tide from the temple.

Flames spattered her vision with crimson and gold.

Squinting, she made out the sturdy figure of Sibling Vasil, sweeping a lash of flame to drive back a skotos with wide strips of gray, flaccid skin hanging from its shoulders in a gruesome mockery of wings.