Page 73 of House of Dusk

YENERIS

T hings did not look good. There were at least six other Bassaran agents spread around the street. They had pressed Hura and his people back against one of the nearby walls.

“Yeneris, you’ll take the sibyl,” Mikat ordered crisply. “We don’t have much time.”

That was true. So the sooner they finished this, the better. Yeneris took a breath, then drew her sword. She stepped carefully and deliberately out from the palanquin, setting the bare blade between herself and Mikat.

The other woman backed away slowly. A she-wolf challenged for her prey. “What are you doing?” Mikat narrowed her eyes, looking past Yeneris.

Sinoe had followed her. She stood on the palanquin steps holding the reliquary. Yeneris licked her lips, making her voice firm. “You can take the kore, Mikat. But not the princess.”

“And how exactly do you plan to stop me?”

“I don’t need to stop you. That gold bangle on the princess’s wrist will.”

Mikat’s lips pursed. “You have the key. Open it.”

“I can’t,” Yeneris said. “There was another ward on the kore’s bones. We used the key on that.”

“How unfortunate.” Mikat shook her head regretfully. “A true sibyl would be invaluable in restoring Bassara.”

A thread of relief began to unspool in Yeneris. Mikat believed her. Maybe this wouldn’t all go to the abyss. Maybe—

“But if we can’t have the sibyl, we will not let Hierax continue to wield her power.” Mikat lifted one hand, gesturing toward Sinoe.

Instinct threw Yeneris into motion, sword swinging even before she was aware of the distant twang!

Her blade caught the arrow, slashing it out of the sky. The reliquary clattered to the stones as Sinoe jerked back. “Go!” Yeneris shouted at her. “Get inside!”

She turned, holding her position before the door, heart thudding, body fizzing with tension, every nerve on fire now. The cedar chest lay abandoned on the street before her.

“Think very carefully, Yeneris.” Mikat’s voice was harsh, but not cold. “Remember who you are.”

Even now, she did not want to disappoint Mikat.

The woman had saved her life. Saved her spirit.

Given her something to hold fast to, when everything else in her world had crumbled.

Emotion gripped her throat as she remembered a warm blanket, tucked around her skinny shoulders.

The few, precious smiles. The feeling of belonging to something—to someone—again.

Yeneris dragged in a steadying breath. Yes. That was who she had been. And perhaps a part of her would always be that ragged, hungry, lonely girl. But she did not belong to Mikat. And not to Sinoe, either. She belonged to herself.

“I’m the person who’s going to stick a sharp blade somewhere very painful if you touch a hair on Sinoe’s head.”

Now, the chill. Mikat narrowed her eyes. “Best take care.” She reached—slowly—into a fold of her robe. Drew out something small and metallic: a dagger barely as long as her palm. “By my reckoning you’ve only got five left.”

It was her own blade. The one she’d planted on the supposed Bassaran spy. The boy. Right before she killed him. Nausea roiled her belly. For a moment she smelled the hot tang of his blood. Felt the sticky squelch of it between her fingers.

“He was a brave lad,” said Mikat. “Almost as good as you. His name was Cirrus.”

Cirrus. Yeneris chiseled the name into her memory. How had Mikat recovered the weapon? She thought of the boy’s body, dumped into some pit. She hoped Mikat had at least given him a proper blessing.

“I didn’t want to do it.”

Mikat shook her head. “Of course not. I know that. Everyone here knows it. You did what you had to do. Because you’re strong.

Because I trained you to do hard things.

” The dagger winked in the sunlight as Mikat spun it between her fingers.

“You care about the girl. I see that. I understand what I’m asking of you. ”

“Then don’t ,” Yeneris burst out. “Don’t ask me to choose. Listen to me when I tell you there is a greater enemy than Hierax. One that threatens all the world, not just Bassara.”

“Let them burn. We have the kore now. She will keep us safe.” Mikat snapped shut, tight as an ironclam.

“The way she kept us safe ten years ago?” demanded Yeneris.

A pain burst in her chest, to speak the words.

But they were true. They were a thorn dug deep in her soul.

She honored the kore. The bones were a sacred trust, and she would still do everything she could to ensure Hierax had no chance to abuse them further.

But they were not some panacea that would heal every wound.

“We need to do more, Mikat. If we truly honor the kore, we need to do what she did. Give everything to protect this world. The Ember King is trying to kill the god-beasts. We need to stop him before he unleashes a second cataclysm.”

Mikat’s lip curled. “We owe this world nothing.”

Maybe Yeneris could reach her, if she had a week. A month. A year. But there was no more time.

A dull pain had begun to beat against her temples. “Then take the kore and go.” With one foot, she nudged the reliquary forward. “But Sinoe is under my protection.”

“I trained you, girl,” scoffed Mikat. “You really think you can best me?”

That was it, then. Yeneris released the last of her hope. It was almost a relief, to let it go. To come back to what she knew best. Her body, honed to a weapon. She crouched, falling into the familiar stance, her muscles tense and ready. “Yes.”

Mikat’s attack was sudden and brutal, a quick punch of blades that sent Yeneris leaping to the side. One slash caught her sleeve. Mikat gave a bark of laughter. “You’re out of practice. Spending too much time making eyes at the princess. Not enough remembering to watch your left flank.”

Another feint and stab, but Yeneris blocked the blow this time, then followed up with a slash of her own.

Mikat evaded it easily, though she gave a nod of concession. “Better. Maybe you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.”

“I know who I am,” Yeneris panted. “You’re the one who’s lost her way, Mikat. Take the kore and go.”

Mikat’s only answer was a sweeping kick. Yeneris dodged, only to find a blade arcing into her face. She wrenched her own sword to block it, but the blow shuddered through her arm, rattling her bones.

“You know, I once thought you could be another Akoret,” said Mikat. “That was the girl I saved. That was the girl I trained. A true Bassaran, willing to sacrifice anything for her people.”

They traded blows, circling, weaving. Every time Yeneris thought she might have a window of attack, Mikat closed it. Despair began to chew at the edges of her mind. Mikat was quick and strong, and had twenty years more experience. Yeneris could match her speed and strength, but was that enough?

Every trick she knew, Mikat had taught her. There was no way to surprise her, no way to catch her off guard. And the longer this fight ground on, the greater the risk of discovery. “The Helissoni will come looking for us,” she warned.

Mikat drew back so abruptly she thought her warning had worked. Then she caught the furtive movement, a quick snatch to seize a hidden blade and send it streaking at Yeneris.

She blocked it, but the move left her open, and suddenly Mikat was there, pressing close with a flurry of blows that battered her faltering defenses.

Then one final twist, and Yeneris lost her grip, her sword skittering away. She coiled herself, ready to fight back with fist and foot.

But Mikat had spun away, making for the palanquin. For Sinoe.

Yeneris pulled two of her hidden daggers free and flung them at Mikat. One missed entirely. The other whistled past her cheek. Enough to send her ducking to the side. There was no time for relief.

She had her last two blades in hand by the time Mikat recovered. Blood oozed down the woman’s cheek, but she was grinning, triumphant. She hefted her sword and took a pace closer.

Yeneris flung one of the daggers. Mikat blocked it, moving confidently. She knew how this would end. Knew everything about Yeneris. Because she had shaped her, honed her, trained her, turned her into a living weapon to slice the heart out of their enemies.

Yeneris weighed her last blade in her hand. She knew what she had to do. She flung it straight at Mikat’s face.

The woman batted the blade aside as if it were a fly, laughing. “You’re out of weapons, girl.”

Yeneris held her ground as Mikat stalked closer. “Look at what she’s done to you.” Her lip curled. “Did she have her handmaidens give you those ridiculous braids?”

A faint squawk of protest came from the pavilion. Yeneris breathed in, one hand lifting to touch the braids, sweeping over them as if they were a talisman. Her fingers brushed the amber hairpin. To keep a loved one safe. Let’s hope the wind-spirits are paying attention.

“I’ll give you one last chance,” said Mikat. For all the bitterness in her voice, her brown eyes held something softer. “Prove that you still hold true and I’ll spare you. You’ll be a hero, instead of a traitor.”

“No. I’d be a traitor to the kos,” said Yeneris. “If there is a world soul, then Sinoe is part of it. She’s part of my heart. I will not cut that out just to please you. I’m not your blade anymore.”

Mikat took a long, slow breath in. Then let it out, sharp and quick, as if she were blowing out a lamp. Her sword slid under Yeneris’s chin. “Then you will both die.”

“You’re wrong about another thing too,” said Yeneris.

Mikat frowned. “What?”

“I still have one weapon left,” she said, and jabbed the amber hairpin into Mikat’s arm.

The woman shrieked, stumbling back, but Yeneris had already seized the hilt of her sword, twisting it away.

A heartbeat later their positions were reversed. Now Mikat was the one with a sword tip resting gently against her throat. Yeneris held her gaze coolly. “You have a choice, Mikat. You can swear by the kore that you will not harm Sinoe, or you can die.”

Mikat looked as if she were chewing a mouthful of thorns.

She glanced toward the palanquin, then to the cedar reliquary lying a few paces away.

Finally she swallowed, and nodded. “I swear by the kore that I will not harm the princess, nor will any other here. She’s free to go. Stand down,” she called to her people.

The Bassaran agents lowered their weapons, retreating slowly, releasing Hura and his people. Yeneris paced back a step, nodding to the cedar chest. Mikat went to claim it.

As she hefted it into her arms, her gaze found Yeneris again. “I will keep my word, Yeneris. But you will regret this choice. I will see that everyone knows what you’ve done. We will restore Bassara, but there will be no place for you there.”

Then she turned and stalked away, accompanied by the others. A few glanced back at her. Some with that same outrage and disgust, but others less certain.

“Yeneris?”

She barely had time to lower Mikat’s sword before Sinoe slammed into her, arms wrapped tight. “Fates. I thought...” The princess dragged in a long, shaking breath.

“You thought I was extremely competent and talented,” Yeneris suggested. But she gripped Sinoe’s shoulders as if daring the world to tear her away, and the words were rough.

“Yes,” Sinoe’s voice was a strangled mixture of laughter and relief. “That’s it exactly.”

A darker thought occurred to Yeneris. She pulled back, searching Sinoe’s bone-pale face, finding her hazel eyes in the dark rings of kohl. “You didn’t think I would do it, did you?”

“No. Never.” Sinoe slid her hands up, lacing her fingers into Yeneris’s tightly. “But I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to have to make that choice.”

“I’d do it all over again,” said Yeneris, steadily, clearly, so that Sinoe would see the truth of it. “A thousand times over.”

Sinoe’s lips parted around a soft sigh. Lifting Yeneris’s hand, she pressed a single kiss into her palm, then winked. “I’d thank you more properly, but you really don’t want to be covered in face paint. It’s horrible stuff.”

Yeneris was entirely willing to take that risk, but she was also keenly aware that this wasn’t over. The kore was free, but Sinoe was not. Which was going to make challenging Hierax and Lacheron even more dangerous.