Then, from behind it, another figure enters.
Dressed in gold armour, pulling a golden helmet shaped like a dragon from his head, white hair spilling down his back, a grin carved across his bloodless face.
The Sleeping Prince.
He tilts his head in that uncanny way the alchemists seem to all have. “We’ve met,” he says, his eyes fixed on me, in the voice I recognize from my dreams. He moves his gaze to Twylla. “The Sin Eater’s daughter?” He nods to himself before continuing his survey of us, eyebrows rising when they reach Amara. “And the Sin Eater? How neat.” He smiles, a long, lazy smile that spreads across his whole face. Then he lunges forward, to be driven back by Silas.
“Run!” Silas bellows.
I push Twylla past him and the golem swings a massive arm at Silas. We immediately run into one of the black-clad men, leaning over a body. I can’t tell if it is male or female; all I can see is dark blood soaking into once-white hair. The man looks up and smiles horribly, raising his sword, and I pull Twylla away from the scene.
The man runs at us and my arm snaps out, yanking a torch from its bracket on the wall and smashing it into his face. His scream is awful as he collapses to the ground, clutching his head. The stink of charred flesh fills the cavern. Still clutching the torch, I reach for Twylla’s hand and begin to run, away from the Great Hall, and the burned man, and the Sleeping Prince.
I don’t look back. As our feet pound the stone floor, I try to keep track of left and right, throwing open curtains to see if I recognize anything. The air starts to feel cooler, telling me we’re deeper now, but that’s no good; we need to get close to the surface to have any chance of escape.
“Stop,” Twylla says, her breath coming in pants, too loud in the ringing silence of the tunnels. “We’re not going to find the way out without help; there are miles of tunnels down here. We’ll end up hopelessly lost.”
“Better that than caught,” I say.
She opens her mouth to argue, but then we hear it. Footsteps, heavy ones, the clinking of metal. Of armour plates. Coming towards us. I feel the blood drain from my face. But this time she’s taking my wrist and pulling me. When I see the door I understand the mistake we’ve made, trapping ourselves in the heart of the Conclave, but the footsteps still echo towards us.
“We have to hide,” she whispers urgently. “We have to.”
Realizing she is right, I follow her into the temple.
The grandeur from before has been replaced with a scene from a nightmare. With the chandelier fallen, the room is dim, lit by the torches on the wall. The floor is littered with a hundred shattered skulls, eye sockets stare emptily up at us, and broken jaws and teeth cover the battered pews. I look up at the ceiling, where bones now hang freely, and I wonder what the Sleeping Prince was doing above us to bring the ceiling down.
We clamber over the dead to get to the altar, slipping on treacherously sharp shards of bone and slivers of wood, dust clouds swirling under our boots as they crush the bones beneath them. My heart beats frantically; I feel sick with anticipation and dread.
“Where will we hide?”
“I don’t know.” She looks around frantically. “There must be something. Some cave, or shelf in the rock.” She begins to peer behind the screens and I do the same, shifting ribs aside with my feet as quietly as I’m able.
When I hear her gasp I think we’re saved, that she’s found a way out for us. But she’s not looking behind the screens; she’s staring down the aisle.
My brother stands inside the doorway, clad head to toe in silver armour, staring back at her. A helmet is tucked under one arm; the other, his right, hangs limply, the armour splattered with blood.
The Bringer isn’t the Silver Knight. Lief is.
His eyes are fixed on her as he walks down the aisle, seeming not to notice the bones beneath his feet. There’s something eerily matrimonial about it: her standing in a torn and dusty dress before the altar as he makes his way towards her through a river of bones.
He’s alive.
I was right, I think wildly, he’s alive, I knew he wouldn’t lie down and die. But my joy fades as soon as it rises. Because he’s here with the Sleeping Prince. Working for him – with him. My own brother. This is why he didn’t come home.
I watch him, half hoping he’s not real, that I’m hallucinating. His lips have widened into a smile that is nothing like the one I remember. Though his mouth stretches and curves, it’s closer to grimace than grin. “Hello, Twylla,” he says, stopping a few feet from her and putting his helmet down on a pew.
“Hello, Lief,” she replies, returning his smile.
His entire face lights up, and it’s painful to look at him; his feelings shine as brightly as his armour, and I know in that moment that he did love her, he still does, no matter what she believes. I turn to her and see an identical expression of yearning on her face. I might as well not exist. There is only those two.
I think he must be under a spell, that’s what this is, why he didn’t come back or write. He couldn’t. The Sleeping Prince put him under a spell, and now Twylla will break it. Like in the stories, one kiss and he’ll be freed and the three of us can go, get Silas, and find a way to defeat the Sleeping Prince.
Then I realize Lief is here, and Silas is not. Lief was fighting Silas. He must have beaten Silas to be here…
I reach for a pew, my mouth falling open in a silent scream.
I look at Twylla. All the love and longing on her face is gone. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?” she says.
“I can explain.”
“Are we really going to have this conversation again?” she snarls, and both Lief and I flinch away from her. “You can’t help being a traitor, can you? How can you be related to Errin? She risks her life for the people she loves. You’ve betrayed everyone who’s ever shown you kindness, time and again, for your own gain.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
She shakes her head and looks down at his sword. “Is that Merek’s?” When he doesn’t reply, she laughs bitterly. “Of course it is. If it’s Merek’s you have to have it, don’t you. His home, his sword, his bride…”
“I don’t remember you being unwilling,” Lief says coldly, and Twylla sucks in a long breath. “I didn’t know he was going to kill Merek,” he continues, obviously at pains to keep his voice even, and my heart twists sharply. My brother was there when the king was killed. He’s been there since the beginning. “I thought he was going to take him prisoner. I never meant him any real harm.”
“And you called me naïve.”
He shakes his head. “Twylla, I—”
“If you say you still love me then I swear to the Gods I will kill you,” she hisses.
“I wasn’t going to,” he says, and the ring of honesty in his words makes her recoil. “I was going to tell you to hide. Make sure you cannot be found.”
“Are you helping us?”
“He wants your head next to Merek’s on the Lortune gate,” Lief says. “And though we are no longer … friends, I don’t want to see that.”
I see Twylla blanch and my own rage rises, boiling and caustic. “Lief?” I say, and the sound jolts them both. They startle and turn to me.
“Errin.” Lief tries for a smile.
“Where have you been? Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you write?”
He looks at Twylla; then his gaze slides back to me. “We can talk about this later.”
“You’re the Silver Knight? You’re with him?”
My voice echoes and Lief looks over his shoulder. “Keep your voice down.”
I shake my head. “Where is Silas? Did you…” I can’t say it. “Did you?”
He shakes his head. “He’s fine.”
“But your master has him now, doesn’t he?” I spit, and Lief flushes. “Thanks to you.
Tremayne is destroyed! Our village, Lief. Gone. The bakery, the forge. My apothecary. His monsters levelled it, smashed everything they could to pieces. People are dead, Lief. The baker’s wife. The blacksmith. Maybe Lirys. People we know.”
“I wasn’t here when that happened—”
“I thought you were dead,” I cut across him, spitting my words at him. “I wish you were, Gods I wish you were. Traitor.”
His eyes move between Twylla and me. “What did she tell you?” he asks.
I shake my head and step away from him. “Tell us how to get out of here. You owe me that much. You owe her more.”
“Errin, I—”
Then the sound of boots. “Lief?” That smooth, chilling voice calls from further down the corridor, and I freeze like a deer caught in a huntsman’s sight.
“Here, Your Grace,” he calls. “Hide,” he hisses at Twylla. “I can’t protect you. Hide.”
She looks at me and I nod. After glancing around, she takes a few silent steps to the screen that we’d sat behind an hour or so before, and my heart sinks. It’s not going to be good enough. She’s going to be caught.
Suddenly Lief darts towards me and grips my shoulder painfully, forcing me to the ground in a horrible parody of the lieutenant on the road. I let out a cry that dies instantly when he raises his sword and points it at me.
“Play along,” he hisses. “For her sake. And Silas’s. And your own.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see the Sleeping Prince round the doorway, and Lief digs his fingers into my shoulder. “Where is she?” he demands, and I cry out again. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know,” I say. The pain, the fear, is very real.
“Liar,” Lief says, leaning in. “I know when you’re lying. Where did she go?”
“I’m telling you I don’t know.” Tears stream down my face.
Then Lief releases me, and the Sleeping Prince fills my vision, crouched before me, arms resting on his knees. He looks me over, his head tilted. “She says she doesn’t know, Lief,” he murmurs. “Is that true, sweetling?”
I nod my head, allowing more tears to fall.
“There, there, child.” He pulls me up with him, folding me into an embrace. My face is pressed against his cold armour, metal arms holding me to him. I’m so horribly aware of my brother standing behind us, of Twylla hiding behind the screen. Yet still he holds me. I feel his nose against my hair, hear him inhale. “We haven’t been properly introduced,” he says, lowering his mouth to my ear. “I’m Aurek. King Aurek now. And you’re Errin.”
I pull away and he lets me, smiling with an easy charm. Up close his cheeks are sunken and the skin across them is thin and waxen. His hair looks dry and brittle, and there are lines around his mouth, between his eyebrows. He’s aging. Rapidly.
“Where’s Silas?” I ask before I can think.
This time his smile is brilliant, his whole face lighting up with pleasure. “Ah, Silas. My miraculous nephew. What a gift, what an unexpected joy in a dark time. He’s safe, of course. He’s my treasure. As are you, sweetling. As is your brother. My new family. You can see him soon enough, if you behave. Though I don’t expect any trouble from you. You’re the girl of my dreams, after all.”
My stomach lurches. I’ve been so foolish. “So it was you—”
“One of the perks of being a vitasmith. My little joke. You’re not laughing, though.” There is something hideously childish about his manner. He shrugs. “It was really a joke for me, anyway. Both of them were.”
“What? Both of what?”
He places a long finger against my lips to silence me. “Later, my sweetest.” He turns to Lief. “When did you last see the traitor?”
“In the Great Hall, before they fled. I thought it was her I was chasing. She’s coloured her hair; it confused me momentarily.”
“And you truly don’t know where your friend went?” The Sleeping Prince scrutinizes me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to keep my gaze on his and not let it shift to where Twylla hides.
“I told her to run.”
“Oh dear,” the Sleeping Prince says. “That was foolish.” He frowns and turns away, scanning the room, and my heart skitters wildly.
“Is everyone in Tremayne dead?” I blurt. “Did your monsters kill them all?”
“You’re not very respectful.” He looks back at me, his eyes raking my face. “I’m a king, Errin. You’re supposed to bow to me; you haven’t yet. And you’re not supposed to address me until I’ve spoken to you.”
“Tell me what happened to them and then I’ll decide whether or not to bow to you.”
He scowls at me, his lip curling, anger flooding his face. Just as suddenly it’s gone, replaced with the same mechanical smile. “Enough questions, sweetling. Plenty of time for that later.” His hand darts out and takes my wrist, caressing it with his thumb, smiling when I flinch.
Over his shoulder Lief stands with the oddest expression on his face. He blinks once, as if remembering where he is, and then speaks. “Your Grace, if I might be so bold, I can have the golems search for her, if you wish? Matters upstairs should be finished by now, as well as the business above ground.”
“Business.” I stare at my brother. “Do you mean murder?”
“You have to scotch the nest to eliminate the threat, Errin,” the Sleeping Prince says musically. “We don’t expect you to understand.”
“Good, because I don’t.” I turn away from him. Panic stabs at me the second my back is to him, but I gather my courage and look at my brother. “What about Lirys, Lief? She was in Tremayne. Did you know she and Kirin were engaged? And what of him? He was a soldier, Lief. Did you come through Almwyk? Did you know he was there? Did you slaughter him too?”
Lief’s fingers flex, but his face stays blank. “If any soldiers died, they died doing their duty. It’s what they signed up for: the defence of their country.”
“He’s your best friend!” It comes out as a sob, and then I’m trapped again in the iron grip of the Sleeping Prince.
“Now, now, lovely,” the Sleeping Prince says, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I would have accomplished all of this anyway; it’s hardly your brother’s fault. In fact, I daresay he’s saved more lives than have been lost so far. I haven’t killed a tenth of the people I thought I’d have to.” I can hear the smile in his voice and it sickens me.
I ignore the Sleeping Prince and address my brother directly. “So now what? You live at the castle in Lormere as his lapdog?”
There is a tsk behind me. “He’s my heir,” the Sleeping Prince says softly in my ear. “Unless I have new children of my own, then your brother is my heir. And should I have more children, then he’ll become a grand duke, with land of his own to rule, and to pass on to his own heirs. No more bowing and scraping. My thanks to him for all that he helped me achieve. If you can learn to mind your tongue, you can be a duchess.”
“I’d rather die.”
“I can make that happen,” he whispers. Louder, he continues. “I owe your brother a great deal, Errin. His knowledge of the layout of Lormere castle, his knowledge of the geography and laws of Tregellan. He’s been invaluable to me. He also told me your great-grandfather was the captain of the Tregellian Royal Army once. I can see that in him.”
I look at Lief, expecting to see him glowing under the praise, but he merely bows.
The Sleeping Prince speaks again. “It’s simple, Errin. If you’re willing to swear loyalty to me, then I will reward you. I want a prosperous kingdom. My opening methods might be distasteful to you, but the legacy will be worth it. I will unite Lormere and Tregellan and we’ll thrive. Will you accept me as your king?”
“No,” I say immediately.
His grip on my wrist tightens and I yelp. Lief jerks forward as though coming to my aid, but then masters himself, his face carefully blank.
“Lief, would you give me a moment with your sister, please? I believe your presence is stirring a rebellion in her. Sibling rivalry, I remember it well. Have another look for the girl. Take the golems, and Brach and his crew. She can’t have gone far.”
Lief makes another bow and turns, crunching down the aisle and sweeping the curtain aside. I’m shocked that he’d leave me here, alone with the Sleeping Prince. That he’d leave Twylla alone behind the screen.
The Sleeping Prince spins me around to face him. “Let me phrase it another way, Errin,” he says pleasantly. “I have your brother. I have Silas. In a matter of hours I’ll have your mother, too. If you make me angry, I will hurt them. If you defy me, I will hurt them. Do you know, Errin, the one thing your brother asked for was your and your mother’s safety. All the rewards I’m heaping on him are unasked for. Isn’t that noble? I could have given him anything in the world, and all he wanted was for his family to be cared for. For us to be a happy family, together.”
“I told you, I’d rather die.”
“And I told you, that can be arranged. But I think you’ll come around. You liked me in the dreams, didn’t you?” I flush and he grins. “Yes, you liked me. You liked me very well.”
“If I’d known you—”
“Ah, that’s right. You thought I was Silas. There’s another gift I owe to the Vastels. My long-lost nephew, the philtresmith. Had you not told me, in your dreams, where you were, who you were with, I dread to think what opportunities I might have missed.”
“No. No. They were dreams. They weren’t real.” My blood freezes. “No.”
He answers with a grin like a nightmare. “I’m a vitasmith. I can create life, Errin. So I did. I used your brother’s blood and made two little simulacra. I told him I’d protect them, and as long as I did, you’d both be safe. I called one Errin, that was you. And one was Trina. Trina was my favourite, actually. Easier to play with. Malleable.”
My ears are filled with a high-pitched sound as the puzzle clicks into place. The doll in the dream. He showed it to me. He said it was me. It was real. And… Oh Gods… Sweetling. My mother said it when she was under the curse. Except there is no curse. There is no Scarlet Varulv. It was him all along. He made her like that. He made her do those things to me.
Sin Eater's Daughter 2 - The Sleeping Prince Page 27