Page 67 of House of Dusk

“A vision,” Yeneris pressed her. “Something more about what Lacheron’s planning?”

Sinoe huffed, brandishing her gold bangle. “I haven’t had any visions lately, thanks to this. Don’t worry, Yen. I don’t need a vision to know that we’re going to stop him. The kore will be safe, and so will my people. We know what we have to do.”

She gave Yeneris’s hand another squeeze, then pulled away. “Speaking of which, we really should leave you boys to your sparring practice. Be gentle with him, Hura.”

Then she was sweeping onward across the field, and Yeneris had no choice but to follow. Sinoe’s confidence should have cheered her, but she couldn’t help thinking that the princess hadn’t really answered her question.

· · ·

The soldiers found them just as they passed back into the covered walkway of the north wing.

Two men in bright bronze armor and bloody crests, their footsteps clattering like warning bells against the marble floor as they marched briskly forward.

Sinoe muttered a surprisingly foul curse, then cast Yeneris a brief, worried look.

But there was no time for words. The soldiers filled the passage, blocking their way toward Sinoe’s chamber.

Yeneris ground her teeth. They had lingered too long. If the king suspected what they plotted, he could unravel everything. But how had he discovered it so quickly? They’d only just left Hura and Ichos.

“Yes?” Sinoe lifted her chin, her tone cool and untroubled, as if the men were small stones in her path, nothing more. “What is it?”

“Your father has need of you, Bright One,” said one of the men.

The princess did not falter. “Very well. I’ll be there shortly, but I have a fitting just now.”

The soldier shifted his stance. “Apologies, Bright One, but the king said we were to accompany you directly to the great hall. Immediately.”

Perhaps it was only some urgent detail of the upcoming festivities. Or the king wanted Sinoe to be there to welcome Agia Beroe. Yeneris studied the two soldiers. They were tense. One of them kept glancing down the nearby corridors. As if he expected they might be attacked.

Sinoe gave a breathless laugh of disbelief. “Do you know how hard it was to convince Mistress Cleia to come all the way here to the city to personally oversee my gown? I’m quite sure Father wouldn’t wish me to insult—”

“They’ve caught a spy,” said the soldier. “A Bassaran agent.”

The words struck like invisible daggers, utterly unexpected, making Yeneris huff out a strangled protest. Fates, no. Mikat. Terrible images bled through her mind. Torment and torture. The woman was strong as iron. But even iron could be broken.

Yeneris strangled her horror. Held herself stone still as Sinoe likewise took in the unwelcome news.

“I see,” said the princess. “And what does this have to do with me?”

“He wishes you to prophesy, Bright One. To learn the plans of your enemies.”

Sinoe did not look at Yeneris. But one hand twitched, as if she wished to reach out. Then she curled the fingers into a fist, and nodded. “Very well,” she said, and set off briskly along the corridor.

Yeneris knew it wasn’t eagerness. She saw the strain in Sinoe’s eyes, and matched her own pace. The soldiers, apparently taken by surprise, were slower to catch up. It gave Sinoe a single moment to speak privately, low and quick.

“The amulet,” she whispered. “What if they discover the fake?”

Fates. Yeneris hadn’t even thought of that complication. But Sinoe was right. Scarab’s might, what a mess. There could be no scrying. A cold pit opened in Yeneris’s chest. “They won’t. I’ll see to it.”

Sinoe frowned. Started to open her mouth, to ask how. But it was too late. The soldiers rejoined them, and Yeneris was glad of it. Glad for the chill that was now spreading through her. Driving back fear and doubt and horror, and leaving only the certainty of what she knew she had to do.

By the time the doors to the great hall swung open, she was ready.

Her fingers drifted, tapping each of her hidden daggers lightly.

It had taken her five years to earn all six.

Grueling hours of training, pushing her body past pain and exhaustion.

She remembered the day Mikat had given her the last, a tiny blade no longer than her thumb.

Small. But as deadly as the rest. You need to be ready for anything, Yeneris.

I am , she’d insisted. Thanks to you.

It had been one of the rare times Mikat actually smiled at her.

A ghost of warmth pressed Yeneris’s arm, the memory of strong, weathered fingers gripping her.

I chose well. Fates, you were a scrawny little thing.

But I knew it, the first time I saw you.

Brave, and bold, and stubborn. You were the one who could save our kore.

No matter the sacrifice. No matter the cost.

Yeneris braced herself and looked across the hall.

It was not unlike the last time she’d been here.

Hierax sat in his lion-guarded seat. Lacheron lurked beside him.

And there was the scribe, ready to record Sinoe’s prophecy.

The brazier, already smoking. Two soldiers stood nearby, a prisoner hung limp between them.

It was a man. A boy, really. Younger than Yeneris, with clear olive skin and short, tightly curled black hair. He had been handsome. Now one cheek was split. His lips were puffy. It looked as if he’d lost a tooth. Sweat streaked his brow, mixing with the blood.

For a moment, she felt relief. It wasn’t Mikat. She didn’t even know this boy. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t one of her people. Yeneris knew only a handful of those Mikat had recruited. It was safer that way.

Either way, it didn’t make this any less perilous. Even if the false amulet wasn’t discovered, Sinoe’s prophecy could doom them all. Shatter any hope of recovering the kore and thwarting Lacheron’s plans.

She had to stop this. Every step brought them closer to the brazier. Sinoe’s face was pale and pinched. One hand gripped her wrist, the bangle that imprisoned her visions.

“Good,” said Hierax. “Now we’ll have some answers. Hold your tongue all you like, boy. The Sibyl of Tears sees all. Your paltry schemes are nothing, when I command the voice of the Fates themselves.”

Yeneris gritted her teeth. The breathless arrogance of the man.

Lacheron might be plotting to destroy the world, and yet it was Hierax, pompous, vain, fool of a king, who made her blood boil.

She’d bury every one of her daggers into that broad chest, that thick neck, those heavy-lidded eyes.

But that would solve nothing. She’d be dead herself, a heartbeat later.

Leaving Sinoe in Lacheron’s clutches, unguarded.

Ichos was a decent fellow, a good swordsman, but he’d lived too long in his father’s shadow.

And as for Lacheron, she had no confidence even all six of her blades could end the man. Mikat had warned her that others had tried, and failed. Too great a risk, if there was another option.

Which there was. She saw it. Hated it. A time will come, Mikat had told her, when you may need to make difficult choices. Sacrifice more than sleep and sweat and tears. Do not hesitate. I trust you to make the right decision, Yeneris. You know what’s at stake for our people.

There was no more time. It had to be now. Casting iron around her heart, Yeneris cried out her warning. “Knife!”

She was already moving, flinging herself toward the prisoner.

His eyes met hers. Wide and brown and shocked.

His lips parted, but the words were wet, red spatters.

Did he know who she was? Hot blood gushed over her fingers, turning them sticky.

No time for guilt. Yeneris shoved herself closer, so that his jerking movements hid her own.

Then her arms were suddenly heavy, supporting dead weight. She let it slump to the floor, bile surging up her throat. One of the soldiers was grappling the dead body. She heard one of them curse as he stooped to pluck a small dagger from the boy’s limp hand.

“How did this happen?” Hierax demanded, glowering first at the soldiers, then at Lacheron.

One of the soldiers began babbling excuses, but they rang dull in Yeneris’s ears.

Or maybe it was guilt that silenced them.

No doubt the men would be punished. Maybe even executed for the apparent lapse.

She held herself still, even as she felt Sinoe’s warmth at her shoulder.

She couldn’t risk looking at the princess.

All her careful walls might crumble. And she needed them more than ever.

Lacheron was watching her. Not suspiciously, but with an intensity that froze her blood. She thought of the voice in the flames. The First One. The horrible sensation of unraveling.

“We are fortunate, it seems, that your daughter’s handmaid is so attentive and quick to act,” he said. “Even if she’s deprived us of our answers.”

Iron , Yeneris told herself. Iron in your spine, iron in your bones. You did your duty, nothing more .

“Better that than to deprive my father of his daughter,” said Sinoe, with queenly disdain. “If there’s nothing more, Father, I shouldn’t keep Mistress Cleia waiting.”

“No,” agreed Hierax, grudgingly. Then he, too, fixed his gaze on Yeneris. “That was good work, girl. You honor Helisson with your service. Now, see that your mistress reaches her chamber safely.”

· · ·

They didn’t speak. Partly because Hierax sent an additional complement of guards to escort them back to the north wing.

Partly because Yeneris had no words. She was hollow as a broken shell, tumbled and cracked by the sea, cast up onto a dry and unforgiving shore.

She kept seeing the boy’s eyes. Wide and brown and terrified.

Good work, girl.

Sinoe set a brisk pace, but when they finally reached the princess’s chambers, she sent her maids away, and even went so far as to spurn Mistress Cleia, pleading nervous exhaustion following the morning’s “traumatic event.”

Finally, they were alone. Yeneris followed Sinoe into the bath chamber, her own mind slow, thoughts curdling. Like the blood clotting her hands. “Go on,” Sinoe prompted, gesturing to the steaming pool.

“I can’t,” Yeneris croaked. “I’m filthy.”

“You do understand the concept of a bath, don’t you?

Hot water? Soap? Scrubbing?” Sinoe plucked a cloth from a nearby basket, snapping out the fabric, refolding it unnecessarily.

“I don’t need to stay. I know I’m probably the last person you want around you right now, after.

..” She coughed, then set the towel back in the basket.

Her tone pierced Yeneris’s dullness. She lifted her head, forcing herself to meet Sinoe’s eyes. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m—I’m the enemy.”

A noise caught in Yeneris’s throat. A wild sound that wasn’t a laugh or a sob. She shook her head. “No. You’re not. I don’t blame you for any of that. I blame him . Lacheron.”

Sinoe’s expression softened, though the unhappy line of her lips held firm. “And my father.”

“Yes,” Yeneris admitted. “But we’re better than them.

We have to be. I won’t let any of this drive us apart, Sinoe.

I swear it.” She started to reach for Sinoe, to prove the words with deeds.

But the sight of the blood on her fingers froze her.

No. She would not touch the princess with a killer’s hands.

So it was Sinoe who fulfilled the vow. Gently, firmly, she set her smooth palms to Yeneris’s cheeks. Then she drew Yeneris down. Their foreheads met, their breath mingling, their lips barely brushing.

“Good.” Sinoe’s voice was husky. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”