The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 22: The Riddle of the Sphinx

The sphinx, Khofrah, tossed her ebony hair over one shoulder, readying herself for a battle. A battle of wits, maybe. She blinked her brown eyes at Inna, who stared back with a kind of impatient indifference that made the courtiers at her father's palace uneasy. However, who was she to assume a centuries-old creature would bend like those weaklings?

She cracked her knuckles. A wicked grin curved her lips. "Bring it on, Guardian."

Arran shuffled closer, stooping his head to whisper in her ear, "I hope she doesn't eat us if we fail to solve her riddle." His breath warmed the side of her neck, yet sent a shiver down her spine.

She shrugged to hide it and chuckled. "We won't fail. We can't."

"You didn't deny my fear about being eaten alive."

"My diet mainly consists of juicy birds and crispy scorpions," Khofrah interrupted. She put on an innocent smile when Inna and Arran both looked up, startled. "Humans just smell so bad. Sour like sweat and bitter like the lotions they smear on their skins to hide their stench."

"Good to know that," Inna replied, inclining her head in a polite gesture to hide her discomfort. "Now let's hear that riddle, shall we?"

Pleased, the sphinx lifted her chin high and cleared her throat. "You never see me in broad daylight, for when I come I bring eternal night. I appear to each person in a different way, and make no difference between young and gray. Some welcome me with open arms, those are the ones I will bring no harm. Yet those who struggle to come along, their fear will not be proven wrong."

Arran's forehead creased. "Could you repeat that?"

Khofrah did, with endless patience, yet Inna had stopped listening to her. Pacing back and forth, she analyzed every single word of the riddle in an attempt to find the meaning behind them. Eternal night. Unseen in the sun. More than one answer fit that description: sleep or darkness itself, to name a few. She continued with "sleep", pleased when she found that it more or less matched the next lines as well. Everyone slept, both young and old. Fearful people suffered from regular nightmares, which might explain the last part about punishing those who feared the riddle's subject.

With growing enthusiasm, she turned to Arran. "I think I know," she said, quiet enough so the sphinx would know this was not their definite answer yet.

He arched his brow. "That fast?"

She nodded. "Sleep. Think about it. It can't be anything else, can it?"

A few seconds went by. She tapped her foot, her stomach churning. "I'm not convinced," he finally answered. Her face darkened. "No, listen. It's a good suggestion, but I think it's too vague. How would you explain the part about appearing to each person differently?"

"Well, every person dreams, but the dreams themselves are different for each individual." There was an edge to her tone. Already, doubt trickled into her mind, and it irked her that Arran was the one responsible for it.

"Sleep and dreams are two separate concepts," he countered, sounding more confident with each word he spoke, whereas she relapsed into a sullen silence. "And it doesn't really fit the part about struggling to come along, don't you think?"

"Fine," she grumbled and pursed her lips. "If you have a better idea, please be my guest."

"You don't have to get all cranky about it. Everyone makes mistakes, Inna. Including princesses. It's not a sin."

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth, all too aware of his intentions to get under her skin. "Just shut up already and start thinking, all right?"