Page 57 of House of Dusk

YENERIS

T he day was hot already, though the sun was only just creeping over the eastern wing of the palace.

But the lily garden still held onto some of the night’s coolness, in the damp breath of the pool and the shadows of the boxwood hedges.

Yeneris found Mikat there, her feet sunk into the shallow mud, pulling out the reedy stems of intruding grasses and weeds from among the water lilies.

As always, she listened impassively to Yeneris’s report, giving only a faint stir at the mention of the wedding.

“Five days,” she said, after Yeneris finished. “No more than five days.”

“Yes. They plan to hold the ceremony at the Temple of the Fourfold Gods, outside the palace walls. The kore will travel by palanquin. It could be the chance we’ve been waiting for. Can our people be ready to take her then?”

“We must be. The sibyl has spoken. This is our chance.”

“So you believe her?” Yeneris had expected this to be harder.

In fact, she and Sinoe had spent several hours the previous night plotting how to convince Mikat to go along with the plan.

Of course, she still hadn’t broached the subject of what would happen after they had reclaimed the kore.

Mikat would expect Yeneris to leave the city, to come with her.

Mikat looked up, lancing her gaze into Yeneris. “I have no reason to doubt that the princess speaks for the Fates. Unless you think the prophecy she made before the kore was a pretense? Could it be a trick?”

“No.” The blood tears had been horribly real.

And the words Sinoe spoke felt painfully true, still echoing inside her.

Only one shall walk free if the divided heart remains.

She still wasn’t certain what it meant. She cared for Sinoe.

And she cared for the kore, for Bassara.

Of course she did. She was human; she would never love only one person, only one thing.

The Fates would never ask a child to love only one of their parents.

Maybe that was the point. She had thought she had to choose between them, but in staying, she’d chosen both.

The kore and Sinoe. Though that was a decision she had not included in her report to Mikat.

Mikat bent over the water again, jerking sharply at one of the weeds. “Can she learn more? Either through prophecy, or from her father? What route they’ll use to take the kore to the temple? The number of guards? What sort of pursuit we might expect?”

“With luck there won’t be any pursuit, at least not for some time,” said Yeneris. “The princess promised to hide the truth from her father for as long as possible. She said we might even be able to use a set of decoy bones.”

“We have no wish to hide it.” Mikat crushed a handful of slimy roots, tossing them into her basket.

“Everyone must know. There can be no suggestion of deception. Let the Helissoni know the truth of their defeat. And let our people know the truth of our victory. They need that, as much as they need the kore. To know that we are not powerless.”

The words chewed at Yeneris, poking at memories she had scuttled and sunk deep, long ago. Ironic, considering it was Mikat who had taught her to set them aside. Focus on what you can do now. You grow stronger feasting on fresh meat than on bitter bones.

But the memories were always there. Ready to entangle her in past pain, to drag her down into the depths of that terrible day.

Waking to cruel silence. To her mother, cold as shadowed stone.

She had thought it was a nightmare. Had run through the streets, calling and calling, her voice fracturing, until at last she could only gasp, a horrible mewling noise like a half-drowned kitten.

It had been a bright blue day, but to Yeneris, it was night, and all the stars had been struck from the sky.

A hand gripped her shoulder. She blinked, finding Mikat standing beside her. Watching her. There was no judgment in the older woman’s expression, only a weary sympathy.

It took Yeneris three long breaths to center herself, to tense and release each muscle. Mikat was right. Their people needed this. To know that they still had the will and the power to shape their future.

Mikat had returned to her weeding. “So then. Will your princess scry for us?”

“She can’t. The Heron has bound her sight.”

Mikat went briefly still, her fists full of streaming muddy roots. “Bound her how?”

“With some sorcery. A bracelet that blocks the voices of the Fates.”

“Can it be removed?”

“Yes. He gave the king a sort of key. And he’s crafting another.

In his workshop.” Yeneris bit the inside of her cheek.

She hadn’t expected Mikat to care. Had, in fact, thought the woman might think it a distraction, which was why she hadn’t mentioned her plans to break into the workshop, to find out what lay behind that bronze gate.

“You can obtain it?” Mikat dumped her muddy handful into the basket, then stooped again, plunging her hands into the water. A few pinkish-pale fish darted away, riffling the water.

“We can try. Lacheron has a nightly appointment with the king, at the eighth hour.”

Mikat’s sharp gaze settled on her again. “We?” Her tone was carefully curious.

Yeneris swallowed her instinctive protest. She had nothing to hide. She was doing exactly what Mikat had asked of her. “Like I said, Sinoe wants to help. To make amends for how her prophecies have been misused. And...”

Mikat waited, seemingly as tranquil as the pool.

“And she’s concerned that Lacheron is planning something more.

Some...great evil. She believes that’s what the Fates are warning about.

If so, we could learn more about that as well.

I know it’s not my mission,” she added quickly.

“But it could still threaten our people. It could threaten the entire world.”

She braced herself, already imagining Mikat’s response. The world is not our concern. Only the kore. Only Bassara.

Instead, the woman nodded, looking thoughtful. “Very well. I trust you to keep yourself safe, Yeneris. You’re not our only blade, but you are the one closest to the heart of our enemy. Remember that.”

· · ·

Yeneris could hardly forget. She turned Mikat’s warning over and over in her mind throughout the day.

There was little else to occupy her. The physician had decreed that Sinoe should stay in bed, which meant that the chamber was fluttery with handmaidens fetching tea and cakes, opening and closing shutters, and dramatically reading a selection of the princess’s favorite poetry.

It was a warning. But what sort? Simply a caution to be safe, to keep herself ready? Why the bit about her not being the only blade? That felt like something more. Not a threat, exactly, but . . .

Yeneris shook herself. She would spin herself dizzy with it.

It was almost as bad as trying to unravel the words of the Fates.

At least the part about Lacheron’s workshop was fairly clear.

The key lies hidden behind the gate with no lock, opened only by the blood of the Ember King .

Thanks to Sinoe, they had that blood. The hairpin was tucked into Yeneris’s belt pouch. And it was almost time to use it.

At the seventh hour, Sinoe began to complain of a headache, banishing the handmaidens from her chamber so that she could sleep.

“We won’t have long.” Sinoe bounced from the bed and began to strip off her sleeping robe.

“I think Alcis suspects something. She’ll be back here with one of her horrible headache tonics, just you see.

Why are you staring at the wall, Yen? I know that color is hideous, but I hardly think it’s a threat to my person. ”

“I—” Yeneris coughed—“You were dressing.” Or rather, undressing.

And revealing a considerable swath of bare flesh in the process.

Skin softened by endless baths in milkroot and salt- of-dawn.

Yeneris rubbed her own fingers together, feeling the calluses from her years of training.

No doubt Sinoe’s skin was silky as rose petals.

And that was why Yeneris was making such a fixed study of the far wall.

“Ah. Yes. I forgot how very proper you are. Don’t worry, I’m quite decent now. At least on the outside.”

Yeneris turned back resolutely, to find Sinoe now garbed in one of her more sensible gowns. Though in this case, “sensible” still meant that it was composed of a half-dozen layers of thinly pleated linen with whispery folds that clung to her like clouds veiling a crescent moon.

“Are you sure about this?” Yeneris asked. “You don’t need to come with me.”

“And let you have all the fun?” Sinoe grinned. “I may not be very useful in a fight, but you’ll be glad I’m there if you get caught by the palace guard.”

“I wasn’t planning on getting caught.”

Sinoe tilted her head. “Were you planning on being thwarted by a foxwing the other night?”

Yeneris sighed. It was a fair point. And...she wanted Sinoe with her.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go see what’s behind that gate.”

· · ·

This time, Yeneris came prepared. The flask of oil wasn’t as dramatic as an entire jar of naphtha, like she’d used at the necropolis, but she hoped it would be enough to drive back any ghouls lurking on the other side of the bronze gate.

She’d also taken the precaution of coating her sword in emberwax.

It wouldn’t last long once ignited, but it was better than bare bronze.

She’d also borrowed a torch from the lower storerooms.

“Here.” She handed their small oil lamp to Sinoe, gesturing for her to stand to one side of the gate. The sulky flame did little to light the chamber, and did not penetrate the deeper darkness beyond the gate at all. But Yeneris saw no uncanny gleams, heard nothing but her own steady breaths.

Sword in one hand, hairpin in the other, Yeneris stood before the gate. She looked to Sinoe. “Ready?”

Sinoe’s eyes were huge, but her lips firm. “Ready.”

Gingerly, Yeneris extended the hairpin, brushing the crust of dried blood against one of the bronze bars.

Nothing happened.

She tested the bars, but they held firm.

“Maybe it needs to go in a particular spot?” suggested Sinoe. She held up the lamp, directing the frail beams over the gate.

Possible. Yeneris leaned closer, squinting at the bars. “I don’t see any old blood.”

She tried prodding the pin at several other spots, then gave up and slid it more quickly across the grill, filling the air with a dissonant chiming.

Still nothing. Yeneris blew out a breath in frustration.

“It’s not working. Maybe the blood is too old.

Or we’re misunderstanding the prophecy.” She glowered at the pin.

Opened only by the blood of the Ember King.

There didn’t seem to be any other reasonable interpretation.

But who knew what was reasonable to the Fates.

“Maybe it’s talking about your blood? You’re his daughter. ”

“Why would Lacheron seal his secret workshop with my blood? It’s not as if he can stop by for a vial whenever he needs it. Also, ugh .”

Yeneris stared at her, the words tugging at her. “You’re right. It makes no sense to use your blood. Or your father’s.” She let out a low laugh as the truth finally tore free. “This isn’t going to work. We’ve got the wrong blood.”

Sinoe frowned. “What do you—”

“Shh!” Yeneris tensed, cocking one ear toward the outer door. “Someone’s coming!”

Sinoe started toward the door, but Yeneris caught her arm as a key clattered. “We need to hide.” She tugged Sinoe toward the desk that held the map. It was solid enough they might just escape notice, so long as whoever it was didn’t stay long.

They ducked behind the heavy mahogany. Sinoe shuttered the lamp just as the outer door creaked open.

Someone paced into the room. Then halted.

Yeneris held her breath, her entire body tense and fluttering.

It did not help that Sinoe was curled against her, shoulders pressing into Yeneris’s chest. She could feel her soft, shallow breaths.

And her hair, sweet with rosewater. Fates, what if he could smell it?

Surely he must; it seemed to be everywhere, filling her nose, her mouth, her chest.

If they were discovered, she would fight. She would drive her sword into the man’s lying throat and let him choke to death on his own blood.

A murmur. Words she couldn’t make out, that might have been in another tongue for all she knew. Then a flare of strange, sickly light.

Sinoe trembled. Yeneris’s free arm tucked around her.

Their fingers met, lacing together. The bruised light cast strange shadows against the wall.

Yeneris watched them, gripping the hilt of her sword.

There was a faint grunt, the noise a person might make bumping his head.

Or pricking his thumb. Then a grinding creak of metal.

Then footsteps, receding. The odd light had also fled.

Yeneris eased herself free of Sinoe, though their hands remained inextricably linked.

Now that they had touched, it felt impossible to break apart fully.

To deny either herself or the princess the comfort and steadiness of that bond.

Cautiously, she craned her neck to glance over top of the desk.

The room was empty. But the gate was open now, the passage oozing a heavy, purplish light.

In the glow, Yeneris caught a single glimpse of a figure stalking away from them down the narrow passage.

“Lacheron,” she whispered, helping Sinoe to her feet.

She shook her head, frowning. “How did he open the gate?”

Yeneris crept closer, taking the lamp, releasing a single thin bar of light to shine across the open gate until she found what she was looking for: a smear of fresh crimson blood.

“With blood,” she said. “ His blood. Your father isn’t the Ember King reborn. Lacheron is.”