Page 69 of House of Dusk

A single span of stone arched across the pool, ending at a point in the exact center. From where she lurked, along the far side of the pool, Sephre couldn’t see what lay there. A mass of rippling darkness obscured it. “Are those...skotoi?”

Demons , whispered one of the spirits. Sephre had given up trying to count how many there were. The mist shifted ceaselessly, trailing her and Nilos like a silver-gray cloak, more agitated now that they were so close. They guard the flame. They make this place our prison.

“It must be the flame of awakening,” said Nilos. “Where the spirits go to be reborn. Blocking it would trap the spirits here. Make them easier prey.”

Sephre gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.

She wanted to look away, but she had to understand the ground.

Especially given that she had good reason to believe this was a trap.

At the very least, they were expected. Another, larger mass of skotoi had gathered at the near end of the stone bridge.

Many were the formless slithering shadow-things that seemed to be the demons’ natural form.

But at least a dozen wore human flesh—a few shrouded corpses, more that had reshaped themselves, with long spiny fingers of bone, wings of flayed skin, extra limbs molded of melted flesh.

One was a monstrous four-legged beast that reminded Sephre of an enormous skeletal boar.

She shuddered at the sight of the sharp tusks.

But where was Timeus? Her heart lodged in her throat. Her fingers splayed, ready to tear her way through the lot of them.

“Your lad Timeus,” said Nilos, pointing. “He’s alive.”

Her legs wavered with relief. He was. Overlarge ears and lanky frame and quivering braids and all.

The skotoi had bound him to a stone pillar, arms wrenched up above his head.

He was moving, albeit weakly. Horror clawed her throat as a spidery skotos—each leg tipped with a pale limp hand—pawed at Timeus, hissing hungrily.

Sparks of crimson flickered around his fingers.

The skotos snarled, retreating a pace, but flexing two of its legs, fingers growing long and thin as needles.

Sephre was about to lunge forward—caution be damned—when one of the other skotoi lashed the spider with a supple, boneless limb. Patience. Soon the master will break the cycle. And then we will feast. Then they will all be ours.

Hissing, the spidery skotos backed away. Timeus sagged against the pillar. Still bound, but no longer in immediate peril. Hold on, lad. I’m coming.

Sephre looked to Nilos. “So their master isn’t here. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good, if it means we only have to face that lot.”

No. They were missing something. “But why? Their master wants to stop the Serpent from returning. So why isn’t he here to do that? What does ‘breaking the cycle’ mean?”

She chafed her arms against the chill of the labyrinth. And the deeper chill of her own suspicions. Lacheron hadn’t come to Stara Bron seeking only the dagger. He’d wanted the agia. He’d wanted Beroe to return with him, to summon the Phoenix so she might restore the Faithful Maiden to life.

“What if the Ember King wanted the dagger back for a different reason? What if he doesn’t care about killing the Serpent? What if he’s after a different god?”

Nilos stared at her. Then his green gaze shifted to the middle distance.

Thinking. And not good thoughts, judging by the grim set of his jaw.

“That would not be good. It would be...apocalyptic.” He gave a small shake of his head.

“But there’s little we can do about it now.

What we can do is free your boy. And these spirits. ”

“Two unarmed mortals against two dozen demons of the underworld?” She grimaced. “I don’t like our odds.”

Nilos drew a short dagger from his belt, the one he’d used to carve the toy horse for his niece. He held it out. “Does this help?”

“I don’t suppose you have anything a little bigger?”

He gave her a frankly wicked smile. “Maybe later.”

She had to stifle a snort of laughter. Now they were both making terrible jokes. That was a bad sign. “What about you?” she asked.

“I think it’s my turn to be the distraction,” he said. “Get to Timeus. Cut him free. His flames should be enough to drive the skotoi from the center of the pool. From the holy flame. Then the spirits can reach it and be reborn. And...and you can reach it, too.”

“Why would I—oh.”

Beroe had stripped away her flame. But there was nothing to stop Sephre from reclaiming it. She had trained for it. She had done it once before. Surely the Phoenix would accept her return. If that was truly what Sephre wanted.

To return to a life of burning purity, a gorgeous, ruthless flame that cast all her sins in sharp relief. A brightness that focused her gaze always inward. What had Nilos said, about the balewalkers? That they bore witness to the pain of life. They served the spirits within the Labyrinth.

A lump lodged in her throat. She swallowed it. “And you really think you can handle the other skotoi alone?”

“I have the shepherd’s fragment now,” he said. “It will have to be enough. The others are gone. Consumed by the skotoi.”

“Not all of them.” She held out her arm. The ring was dark against her skin. “We had a deal. You kept your end of the bargain. Now I’ll keep mine.”

He tried to step back, the wall was behind him. “No.”

She watched him. “You’re afraid.”

“Yes. I—” His jaw worked. “Fates, I can feel it. Him . I’m drowning in it, Sephre. It’s so close.”

She could hear the pain, the fear in his voice. Felt an answering echo in her chest. “What...what do you think will happen? Will you—” She forced herself to say it—“Will you die?”

He huffed, giving her a wry look. “Will the Serpent burst out of me like the Phoenix from the flames?” He shook his head.

“I don’t think it will be that simple. I’m—he’s part of me.

He’s making me him. I’m not even sure how much of me is still Nilos.

And I think it will only take a bit more to.

..tip the balance. And then I’ll be gone. ”

Fates. She had feared the storm on the horizon, only to find a scorpion in her hand. Death was hard enough. Death meant rebirth. Meant that sometime, someday, they might meet again.

She took his hand. Still warm. Still strong and human. He smiled, but there was no humor in it. Only a terrible resignation.

“But that’s not the only reason,” he said. One of his fingers traced the veins of her wrist, prickling her skin, sending shivers along every nerve. “You’re a mortal, walking in the labyrinth of the dead. The mark at least offers you some protection. Without it...”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I noticed.” He gave her a wistful smile. “I’m sorry we didn’t meet in another time. Another life.”

He raised a hand to her face, his palm smooth and cool against the flame of her cheek. There was a fire in her that had nothing holy about it. And a desperation. It could not end like this. She would not allow it.

“I’ll remember you.” Her voice wanted to crack, but she held it firm. “Even if you change. Even if you forget who Nilos is, I won’t.”

“Thank you,” he said, and the simple words nearly broke her.

There was nothing she could say. Nothing she could give him except the one thing that she had been so desperate to be rid of.

The thing that might destroy a man that she .

. . loved wasn’t the right word. She had known him only a few days. And yet it felt like a lifetime.

So she gave him something else. A gift to herself as much as to him, if she was being completely honest. One memory, one moment, of what might have been. She had spent the last ten years wanting to forget. Now, all she wanted was to remember this, forever.

She kissed him.

He went still in surprise at first, which charmed her. Then he was moving, lips parting, hand sliding back to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. Sweetness melted through her, and she was suddenly very aware that her body was a living thing. A hungry thing.

It was only a single kiss. But it was a kiss to last a lifetime.

Deep inside, she felt something tugging.

A deep-buried splinter pulling free. She felt his sharp gasp, the air sliding over her own mouth.

A part of her cried out in protest, but it was too late.

She scrabbled to keep hold of Nilos, her fingers lacing through his, tangled tight to the hand that had carved a toy horse, sliced a fig, tended her wounds.

But the hand was gone. The man was gone. All she felt beneath her fingers were cold, smooth scales.