When he sighs I lean my head against his and he turns his slowly, until his mouth brushes my jaw and I hear him inhale sharply, his fingers tightening for a split second on my waist. He stays there, his lips an inch from mine, and I tilt my head until the corners of our mouths rest against each other. I close my eyes, waiting for him to move, to kiss me, but he remains tantalizingly still, holding me to his chest, where I can feel his heart pounding as violently as mine.
And then he pushes me away. Again.
“Errin,” he says, and my ears ring with the rejection. “I can’t, please.”
“I won’t, I’m sorry,” I stammer.
“I thought I made myself clear before?” he says quietly, and I nod, reddening again as a new wave of humiliation hits me. “It cannot be,” he says, his voice pleading as he walks away towards the door, and my traitorous heart lurches when I see him reach for the latch.
“Stay,” I blurt, and he pauses, head tilted, his back still towards me. “It’s late.”
“I can’t.” He shrugs the cloak from his shoulders and places it gently on the bench. “I’ll come back, when the sun comes up.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with a dying man.
I tidy away the bloodied water and throw the cloths on to the fire to burn, watching them hiss and pop. The man’s eyes are shadowed, his complexion dangerously wan. When there’s nothing more for my hands to do I take my cloak and pull it around me, sitting on the bench. And I wait.
“Silas?” It’s spoken so quietly that I don’t realize I’m awake, hadn’t known I’d fallen asleep. When the voice comes again, I open my eyes and look at the man in my bed. Who returns my gaze, one eye swollen shut, but the other fixed on me.
“Silas?” the man says again, and I scramble from the bench to his side.
“Hush, rest,” I say. “I’ll get him. I’ll get him for you.”
I’m halfway to standing when the man weakly raises a hand.
“You know him?”
“Yes, he brought you here. He—”
“I need you to pass on a message.”
“I’ll get him—”
“No!” The man coughs, and his spittle flecks the blankets, dark and glistening. He closes his eye and I worry it’s already too late. Then he speaks again. “Tell him she’s already passed.”
“She’s passed?” Who? Who’s passed? Does he mean Silas’s mother; is she dead?
“She’s the reason he’s here, he’ll understand. Tell him she’s gone to Scarron—” The man pauses to cough again and it’s a thick, wet sound. Blood bubbles from the corner of his mouth, and I know then that he’s not going to recover. I take his hand and the faintest smile graces his bloody lips. “She left there before … before he came. She’s safe, for now.”
“All right,” I say, taking his hand. Not Silas’s mother, then. Someone else.
The man takes a sharp breath. “He needs to find her.” There is a rattle in his throat. “And get her to the Conclave. Fast. He doesn’t have much time.”
“The Conclave?”
“Everyone… It’s the safest place. He has to get her there. They have to stay there. The prince is coming. He knows about her…”
“I’ll tell him. I promise.”
Then he dies. He just dies. One moment his eye is bright and focused and the next … I see him die; I see the change. Indefinable, but something in him is gone, something permanent. I remember then that I don’t know his name; I never asked, and Silas never said. And now he’s dead, in a stranger’s house, miles from home.
I close his eye, hoping it will make it look as though he’s sleeping, but it doesn’t. There’s a slackness to him that makes it clear he’s dead. I sit back on my haunches, staring at him. I’ve never seen anyone die before. I saw my father, but afterwards. I didn’t see it happen.
Long, strange moments pass and I feel numb, removed from it. I try to think of something to do but do nothing, staring at the dead man. It’s only when something in the fire shifts and crackles that I snap out of it, standing up. I need to tell Silas the message, to get her, whoever she is, to the Conclave.
I’m reaching for the latch when I stop, a wave of understanding flooding me. Silas knows where the Conclave is.
Before the last war, our alchemists lived openly in the towns, but after Lormere defeated us and demanded we hand them over, as though they were property or assets, we hid them away in a secret community known as the Conclave. It’s recorded on no map, and outside of the Conclave only two anonymous members of the Council in Tressalyn know where it is. Or so I believed, until tonight.
On rare occasions the Conclave can be visited, by prior appointment, but the visitor must consent to being placed in a drugged sleep before arriving and leaving, so they can’t find their way back. They’re guarded by an elite force during the visit, they must not speak to the alchemists except by invitation, and no more than two persons can visit at any one time. Prince Merek visited once, and even he – especially he – was put to sleep and guarded.
There aren’t supposed to be alchemists living outside of the Conclave, let alone in Lormere.
He said his ancestors were Tallithi. His eyes and hair…
And like that, it all slips into place. The white hair, the golden eyes. Tallithi family. Not any Tallithi, royal Tallithi, the alchemist line. Silas is an alchemist. A Lormerian alchemist.
I lean against the table heavily, knocking the vial over, the last precious drop sliding along the side of the glass.
And then I have to grip the table with both hands to keep from collapsing under the weight of revelation.
A mysterious remedy that cures my mother of being the beast, wakes her from her grief, and that I can’t hope to replicate. Given to me by an alchemist.
I don’t need Silas to tell me what’s in his potion. He’s right, I’ll never be able to make it.
It’s the Elixir of Life.
I reach for the vial and hold it up to the light. The Elixir of Life. Can it be?
Which means not all the philtresmiths are dead. Some still live, capable of making the Elixir. And I need more of it, for Mama. It’s the only way to silence the beast.
I peep through the window slats, looking for signs of life or movement out there, then back at the dead man. Dead alchemist. Do I dare…? Yes, I decide. We’re all running out of time. At least under cover of darkness I stand less chance of being seen by Unwin, or soldiers. And Mama will be fine; she doesn’t know anything happened tonight, and it’s not as if the dead can hurt her. As soon as I have my answer, I’ll be back. I fasten my cloak and then bend over the man. I pull a blanket over his face.
“Sleep well,” I say softly.
The night is too quiet. There should be creatures rustling and snuffling, making me gasp and start when their weight snaps the fallen twigs and rustles the dead leaves. There should be owls hooting softly, or nightjars calling. Rats, mice, deer; living things should be out living, but instead the world is utterly silent, and if it wasn’t for my heartbeat skittering loudly inside me I’d worry I’d gone deaf. Where are the soldiers who are supposed to be patrolling? Why can’t I hear them laughing nervously and joshing one another to keep the night at bay? The lack of sound makes me feel too aware, my senses reach out into the darkness for anything that will anchor me, any sound or scent or thing to see.
I use the moonlight to guide me as I try to keep to the shadows. It hangs lower in the sky now, and its light has turned the world monochrome: everything is black and white and grey and silver. The village looks painted, like a model, not at all real, and I have the uneasy sense that I’m not here. Almost every window in the village is dark as I scurry through; only the House of Justice is lit, candlelight visible in one of the upper windows.
I’m about to turn down the track that leads to the cottage Silas is staying in when a flash of silver
in the distance catches my eye. A shadow moves along the treeline; is it a soldier? Then I freeze.
From the woods a huge figure lurches into view, seven feet tall at least, its outline misshapen and hulking. A scream is born and instantly dies in my throat when I see its head.
It has no face.
The place where eyes, a nose, a mouth should be is a craggy, bulging mass atop a shape that’s barely humanoid. But its lack of eyes and ears doesn’t stop it from raising its head, as though sniffing the air, before its body turns towards me.
Then another steps out beside it and a gust of wind rattles the treetops and carries the creatures’ odour to me. Wet mud, rotting leaves, and sulphur; sweet, heavy, cloying decay. I turn then and run. I don’t look back as I move, running from Silas’s house, running past the House of Justice, running through the village, determined to put as much space as I can between myself and them. I run to the outskirts of the village and throw myself into a hedge, crawling through the brambles and tugging my cloak from them until I’m sitting in a tangle of undergrowth, my heart racing so fast I don’t know how it still beats at all. I curl up, my heart thudding, my eyes shut, panting and shaking.
My heart is beginning to slow when something touches my shoulder and I inhale, ready to split the night apart with my scream. A hand covers my mouth and then Silas is beside me. He’s not wearing a shirt; he’s naked from the waist up, and barefoot, his skin torn and bleeding from scratches where he’s followed me into the bush. As he twists around, peering out from our hiding place, I see markings along his spine, discs, fading from fully black to three quarters shaded, then half full, to a crescent, and finally an outline, a perfect circle of black ink on his skin, crossed through the centre with a line.
I tear my gaze from the tattoo and peer out through the twigs, waiting for the creatures to appear. He follows my gaze, his head tilted as he strains for the sound of movement, the moonlight reflecting off his silvery hair. I start to shrug my cloak off.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
“Cover yourself.”
He looks down. “Sorry. I was getting ready to sleep.”
“No. Your hair,” I hiss. “It’s shining.”
His eyes widen and he helps me take my cloak off, pulling it as best he can over his head and shoulders.
We wait, silently, each moment allowing the fear to slip away. After a long while, he nudges me and jerks his head; then he begins to crawl out from our hiding place.
I follow. My arms are scratched by the thorns, but the cold numbs the pain, and then he’s touching me, gloved hands on my arms as he hauls me out.
“I think they’re gone,” he says, scanning the space around us.
I look around too, the hairs on my body still standing upright. “Wait, did you see anyone out there, near the woods? A soldier, maybe?”
He shakes his head.
“I thought I saw someone, before I saw the golems come out.”
“I saw two golems.” He peers around again. “You’re sure you saw someone?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
Silas frowns. “We have to get inside.”
He moves like mist, light-footed and sure, and I follow him, aware that my own movement is not as muted as his. Where he glides I crunch, but he doesn’t hush me, staying close as we slide around the House of Justice. The light inside is extinguished now, the moonlight our only guide. At some point the hood slips from his head, my cloak too small for him.
“Hair,” I whisper, and he stops. I help him tug the hood up and over, obscuring the telltale glow.
“Better?”
I nod. Then that smell, coating the inside of my nostrils with decay, with sulphur. Our eyes lock as we realize what it means.
“Run!” Silas hisses, suddenly pelting away from me, the cloak flaring behind him as he grips the hood to his head. I freeze, shrinking back against the wall of Unwin’s home, watching as one of the large lumbering shapes looms seemingly from nowhere and pursues Silas. Everything about it, from the way it smells to the jerking, lolling way it moves, is unnatural, and I have to fight down wave after wave of nausea, because this thing should not be possible.
Where is the other one?
My eyes stare wildly into the night. I am struggling to draw a full breath. I make a break for it, trying to stay quiet, trying to keep to the darker places.
Only to almost barrel into it.
Up close the stench of wet rot makes me gag. It swings soundlessly towards me, reaching out with huge hands, and I stagger backwards, twisting and bolting towards the forest, this time hearing the footsteps heavy behind me. I have to bite back my screams. I don’t want the other one to know where I am and cut me off. Where are the soldiers? Where is Silas?
In the woods I run, zigzagging, panic ringing in my ears. I remember the mercenaries, the arrows, the swoop and thunk, the way the arrow snapped like bone when I wrenched the tip from it, and I swing myself into the low boughs of the nearest tree, hauling myself up. The closely set trees and bushes at the forest edge make it difficult for the golem to follow, and that buys me the seconds I need to climb ten, fifteen feet above the ground. I perch on a branch, my limbs locked, as it passes beneath me. As the smell reaches me I shudder.
It doesn’t have eyes. It doesn’t know where I am. If I stay still, and quiet, I’ll be all right. I’ll be all right.
It pauses, lifting its head and stilling like a statue, and terror almost makes me lose my grip. Then with surprising speed it lumbers away, moving deeper into the trees. I can hear the crushing of shrubbery as it passes. As soon as it’s out of sight I scramble down, falling the last few feet, scraping my hands, my knees shaking horribly, but I don’t allow myself time to stop, instead half running, half staggering back out of the forest and towards Silas’s hut.
I throw myself through the door and into the empty room.
I burrow into a pile of blankets until only the top of my head is exposed. I have to keep my eyes open and staring, because every time they’re closed, even for the split second that blinking takes, I see the golem standing beneath me, the space where its face should be featureless.
It feels like hours have passed before Silas appears in the doorway, panting hard. Then he’s next to me, cupping my face with one hand, the other pushing his hood back, and I have never been so glad to see anyone in my whole life.
“Are you all right? Were you followed?” His voice is low, and urgent.
“I lost it, in the woods.”
“I did the same…” He stops suddenly and turns towards the door and we both listen, my heart punching against my ribcage.
“I think we’re safe,” he says after a few moments. “No candles. No fire. And no sound. We don’t want them to come back.” Then he turns to me, startlingly close. “Why were you out? Is Ely—” He stops. “Oh.” All the fear, the urgency, flees him. He slumps back, and nods. “Right. I see.”
Ely. The dead man’s name was Ely. “I’m so sorry. I tried…”
“I know. I know you did.” He sighs deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose with long fingers, his neck bent.
“He woke up, briefly.”
Silas’s head snaps up. “Did he speak?”
“Yes.”
His eyes fix on mine. “And?”
“He said enough. I know what you are.”
A shadow passes over Silas’s face. “What I am. We’re back to that, are we?”
I speak slowly, choosing every word with care. “He told me what you are, and what you’re looking for.”
“Did he.” It’s not a question.
I nod. “He also said to tell you he’s coming. And that he knows.”
Silas’s face is blank. “Well, now you know everything,” he says flatly. “What are you going to do with this information?”
I’ve already made my decis
ion. If I tell him the girl is in Scarron, he’ll leave. He, and Ely, have made it clear that their duty to his mother’s order is their priority, regardless of the danger it puts them all in. Even if that means dying. He’ll go and find her, then he’ll disappear into the Conclave. And if I lose him, I lose any hope of helping Mama, or getting my life back.
This is the only way, for me and Mama. I don’t have a choice. I can’t make the Elixir, I understand that now. But he knows someone who can. And if he won’t bring it to me, then…
Family first.
“I want you to take us with you,” I say.
“To…?”
“The Conclave.” His jaw drops so fast it’s almost funny. “You didn’t believe me,” I say slowly. “You thought I was trying to trick you into giving yourself away.”
He stays silent, mutinous.
“I’m not tricking you. Ely told me. You are an alchemist. The reason you’re here is because you’re waiting for a woman, or a girl, someone who is in danger from the Sleeping Prince. She’s why you’re here; she’s what you were waiting for while you moved artefacts for your mother. Once you’ve found her, you have to get her to the Conclave.” I’m not sure how much of it is true, until I see the little colour Silas has drain from his face. “Ely told me where she is. And he told me the Sleeping Prince knows, and he’s coming.”
“Where is she?”
I shake my head. “You take us to the Conclave too. You know where it is. We’ll be no trouble; you know I can take care of us. We need to be somewhere safe, and hidden. And…” I pause. “More Elixir.” His face becomes stony and I speak quickly. “It’s the only thing that … It’s the only thing. When I have that, I’ll tell you where she is.”
Sin Eater's Daughter 2 - The Sleeping Prince Page 12