Page 47 of House of Dusk

She summoned it, now, to brighten the cell.

To drive back the gnashing images of Timeus being tormented by skotoi.

Sephre might never understand the grand shape of the world, the machinations of the Fates, the epic struggles of the gods.

But she knew that a boy she cared about, her apprentice, a young person placed in her charge, was in danger.

Whatever else, she had to find him. Free him. Return him safely to Stara Bron.

The Embrace would steal that from her. She would lose her memories of Timeus. She would forget that he had been taken, that she had ever cared. This pain in her chest when she imagined him suffering would fall to ash.

But Timeus would still be a prisoner. The skotos had taken Timeus to lure Sephre to them.

Because apparently she was so dangerous to them that they wanted not just to kill her, but to consume her spirit.

To destroy her beyond any hope of rebirth, as they had Iola.

Perhaps that was only possible within the labyrinth?

Or maybe she was giving the skotoi too much credit for tactical thought. Regardless of why they wanted to lure her to the labyrinth, if she failed to show up, they might simply consume Timeus, and annihilate his spirit instead.

She forced the thought back, buried it deep. That would not happen. She would find a way into the labyrinth and bring him out again. She would dare those drear dark walls, she would walk those mist-shrouded passages. She would face her own demons if she must.

Maybe she had wanted the Embrace once. Maybe a part of her still did, even now. To be free of her shame, of the terrible things she had done. Zander’s eyes. The silent streets of Bassara. But those weren’t the only things the flame would burn away. And she needed to remember.

Sephre might not recall Halimede’s dying words exactly, but she didn’t credit Beroe’s interpretation.

It hadn’t been a command, but a warning.

Did she know about the Maiden burning her own memories to ash, leaving the world to believe the Ember King’s lies?

Had that been one of the secrets Agia Cerydon had passed down?

If so, she could have been asking Sephre to discover the truth of what really happened three centuries ago. But even so, why tell her to remember , unless . . .

Halimede said she was watching for signs foretold by Agia Cerydon. Many things may be reborn, not just the Ember King.

Such as the Maiden herself?

When she was ten, her father had caught Sephre play-acting the Trials of Telemena, using a purloined melon to represent the Unequaled Pearl and his walking stick as the Swan-Wing Sword.

He’d laughed, stinging her young pride, and she’d shouted at him—Fates, she had been a handful—that she could be a great hero reborn.

He’d only shaken his head, gesturing to their humble home, their stark mountain.

You think a great hero would be reborn to this?

Yes, she’d felt a pang of familiarity, reading the Maiden’s codex. Yes, they carried similar burdens. Similar wounds. But that didn’t mean she was the Maiden reborn. It would be too cruel an irony, even for the Fates. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with rescuing Timeus. He was her priority.

She heard movement in the corridor outside.

Sephre carefully rolled her shoulders. Shook the tension from her arms. This could be an opportunity.

The soldiers outside were well trained, strong, quick.

She was out of practice, old, and exhausted.

But highly, highly motivated. And they had already underestimated her once.

She gave herself even chances of breaking past them.

But then what? Back to the Hall of Doors to see if she could somehow open the same portal the skotos had?

Or should she flee Stara Bron entirely? Where would she go? She had no allies.

She could think of only one person who might help. Who might know how to enter the realm of the Serpent. Nilos. If she could find him. If he even still lived, with Prince Ichos hunting him.

“It’s food. Nothing more.” Someone was speaking in the corridor. A mellow, gentle voice, but with a core of iron that Sephre recognized. “Agia Beroe made it clear that Sister Sephre is to be treated with compassion and respect,” said Brother Dolon. “Now step aside, please.”

Some grumbling. Then the creak of the door.

A shadow, cutting the brighter light that spilled in.

Sephre hesitated, measuring the distance to the door, taking note of the soldier just outside, a spear ready in his hand.

No. Better to learn what she could from Dolon first. Maybe Beroe had reconsidered.

Or, even better, maybe the blue flame had rejected her.

Only a full agia could grant the Embrace.

It would at least give Sephre a bit more time.

Also, she was ravenous. And the platter in Dolon’s hands was heaped with rounds of bread, a bowl of oily, herb-flecked cheese, boiled eggs, and even one of Sister Obelia’s apricot pastries. Memory gripped her throat in a vise, and she blinked hard. Obelia was gone. Murdered by the skotoi.

The door swung closed. Dolon sat beside her on the cot, his brown eyes soft, their golden spark muted. Grief and pain carved his normally jolly features, but at least he looked uninjured, save for a few scrapes and bruises.

“Who else?” Sephre asked. “Aside from Obelia and Halimede.”

“Jovan and Actia,” said Dolon, gravely. “And...Timeus.”

“No,” she swung the word like a sword, driving back the possibility. “Timeus isn’t dead. They took him to lure me. I can still save him.”

Dolon pressed his lips together, not arguing, but not agreeing either. He nodded to the tray of food. “You should eat. Have you slept?”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Have you?” But she tore a bit of bread, scooped some of the cheese, and forced herself to eat. The pastry sat untouched.

Dolon watched her. She swallowed her mouthful. “You’re not afraid to sit here with me? With this?” She turned her right arm, brandishing the mark.

“You’re my sister,” said Dolon, simply. “The flame hasn’t abandoned you. Neither will I.” He hesitated then, glancing toward the door. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “It’s not right. The Embrace isn’t meant to be forced.”

Sephre frowned, thinking of the gray-knotted volumes in the archives.

“Even when it’s a punishment,” Dolon went on.

“I...looked into it. I wanted to understand. And there’s always a choice.

Not a good one, perhaps, but a choice. The Embrace or death.

The Embrace or twenty years of hard labor.

I still don’t know why I made the choice.

But I know it was my decision. And it should be yours. ”

She held his open brown gaze. “I don’t want it, Dolon. Not anymore. I need to find a way into the labyrinth. I need to find Timeus and bring him back. And I can’t do that if they burn away my memories.” A breath, a brief plea to the Fates. “Will you help me?”

Dolon looked away, and her heart cracked. But it wasn’t a rejection. He was thinking. He always tilted his head like that when he was deep in thought, dredging up some reference, or the name of an obscure scroll. “Why are you so certain he’s in the labyrinth?”

“The skotos took him there. From the Hall of Doors. It opened some sort of...magical gateway?” It sounded ridiculous even to Sephre, who had seen it with her own eyes. The portal had closed before the others arrived. He had only her word for it.

“Truly?” Dolon sounded delighted at the idea that a door to the underworld could pop open inside the temple at the whim of a demon. “Fascinating! It suggests the damage might not be as severe as we thought. Or that there was some other reason the paths were disabled.”

“The paths?” Sephre prompted, before he could wander off into even more obscure academic musings.

“Connections binding the four great temples. Stara Bron, Stara Vex, Stara Mhyr and Stara Sidea. There’s evidence that prior to the cataclysm, there was considerably more communication among the four orders.

Imagine it!” His expression lightened. “A dustspinner from Stara Vex borrowing a book from our archives. A balewalker, stopping by to take tea.”

“It didn’t look like a temple. More like a cave, and a pool, or maybe a river?”

“It must have been Stara Sidea,” mused Dolon.

“Just as Stara Bron was built to defend the Holy Flame, the temple of the balewalkers supposedly guards the mortal shores of the Lyrikon, the river that carries the Serpent’s power.

Still, I’m surprised you saw anything. According to all the contemporary accounts, the House of Dusk was destroyed utterly during the cataclysm.

Of course, some say the Ember King slew them all and toppled their temple, and others claim it collapsed in one of the earth-rendings, and still others say the balewalkers all perished with the god they had bound themselves to.

” Dolon shook his head regretfully. “A shame. They were our allies, once. Our mirror order, patrolling the labyrinth itself to ensure that no evil escaped.”

The details slid through Sephre’s mind, but she seized on just one. “Can we open the door? Can I follow them?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Dolon. He gave her a wan smile. “I’m afraid there’s no manual in the archives on opening portals to the underworld. And there are...other difficulties.” He glanced significantly toward the door.

Sephre ground her teeth. She could risk it. Knock down the two soldiers, if she was lucky. Run for the Hall of Doors. But with no way to open the portal, she’d likely just get trapped there. There must be another way. “Do you know where Stara Sidea is?”

“No.” Dolon shook his head regretfully.