Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [115]
"Skotophagotis!" said a voice I knew to be Nesmut's.
I took a step forward, my feet as heavy as lead. A black shadow fell across the flagstones, fell across the kneeling boy. He lifted his head. A black bar of shadow lay over his face, cast by an unseen staff. He knelt unmoving, and I saw that a chain ran from the iron collar to his shackled wrists. Above the staff-shadow, his eyes were as blue as sapphires.
"Lypiphera," he said to me in Hyacinthe's voice.
I woke up shaking and weeping, with Joscelin's arms around me and his voice, warm and alive, murmuring soothing things in my ear. He held me until it passed. My anxious heart slowed and my breathing grew calm. I freed myself from his arms, then, and went to stand before the open window, letting the night breeze dry my sweat-dampened skin.
"How long have you been having nightmares?" Joscelin asked behind me.
"Since the City," I murmured. "I dreamt of Hyacinthe, before it all began."
"You should have told me."
"I know." I turned around to look at him sitting up in the bed, his beautiful face somber with concern. "It doesn't matter, though, not really. I had nightmares before, too; before La Serenissima. I'm no seer. They never tell me anything I don't already know. Only things I don't want to admit."
"And what did this one tell you?" he asked, grave as a child. Joscelin would never laugh at my dreams, whether I told him or no. We had been together too long. I shivered and wrapped my arms about myself.
"I don't know," I whispered. "But I saw that priest's shadow."
"Skotophagotis." He said the word and fell silent a moment. "Phèdre, come to bed. I think this is a conversation better held in daylight."
I agreed wholeheartedly, crawling back into bed and into his arms. With my head on Joscelin's shoulder, I fell asleep at last. His eyes were still open when I did, staring awake at the ceiling, and what private darkness he saw, I could not say.
In the morning, we did not speak of it until Nesmut came.
He came at the tail-end of the breakfast hour, as was his wont, sauntering into Metriche's dining-hall. Taking a seat at our table—it was only Joscelin and me, Lord Amaury's delegation having departed already—Nesmut helped himself to a serving of bean-cake, amply spooning jellied figs atop it. He had, I noted, a new tunic, white cotton with a fine brown stripe, the fabric still crisp. Nesmut had prospered in our service. I felt guilty terminating it.
Nonetheless, there was the dream.
"Nesmut," I said, making my voice firm. He looked at me wide-eyed his mouth full of bean-cake. "I have come to a decision. Our bargain is ended. I don't want you risking yourself or others in searching the Palace of Pharaohs."
"No more," I said implacably. "Swear it. Swear it by Serapis."
Joscelin raised his eyebrows and shifted, showing the hilt of his sword to better advantage.
"I swear it," Nesmut muttered. With a sullen look, he raised his hand and rattled off an oath in Menekhetan. "The gracious lady is happy? You wish me to go?"
"Wait," Joscelin said mildly. He leaned forward. "Nesmut, my lady Phèdre fears to put you in danger; you, or anyone. It does not mean we have no need of your wisdom. Tell us this, if you may, and heed my lady's tender sensibilities well. Who is that man you call Eater-of-Darkness?"
Nesmut shuddered and glanced around, then lowered his voice in the bright morning light. "Gracious lord, it is a danger to name them! They are shades, priests of a kingdom that died and lives, Persis-that-was. In Iskandria, and all across the world, they go where they will. Akkadians hate them like the plague, so it is said, but even they fear to cross a Skotophagotis' shadow. Many have tried, and died for it."
"Like the charioteer," I said.
Nesmut nodded