The Sleeping Prince

by Melinda Salisbury

  “Why?” I ask. “Why does it happen? The curse.”

  He looks at me and smiles humorlessly. “Alchemy, Errin. What is the principle of alchemy? What’s the ultimate function of it? What do the textbooks on it say?”

  “To transmute. To turn base metals to other substances,” I say. “But you’re a person.”

  “And human veins flow with blood full of iron …” he says slowly and my mouth falls open in horror. “Each time an alchemist performs their alchemy part of them changes, and there’s no telling which part it will be. Fingernails, earlobes, lungs, heart …” He trails off.

  I start to ask if he’s changed anywhere else, but he cuts me off with a vigorous shake of the head. “Just my hand. So far. It’ll get worse, I’ve no doubt. If I keep doing it.”

  “Then you have to stop.” Something passes over his face, something fleeting and indecipherable. “It’s not worth it,” I say. “You could die. What if next time it’s not your hand, but your heart, or your lungs?”

  He looks at me. “It saved your life. It could save countless others.”

  “But you’d have to die for it.” He looks away. “Wait. Do all alchemists have a curse? Does that mean the Sleeping Prince does? Every time he makes a golem, does that happen to him?”

  Silas shakes his head. “If only.”

  “Why doesn’t it?”

  “You know Aurek and Aurelia were the first alchemists? They were born with it, they had the moon hair and the Godseye, but no one knew what it meant. When they were eight, Aurek had a nosebleed and bled onto a set of iron ball bearings he’d been playing with. They turned to solid gold. With the king’s consent, experiments were done, and they discovered that Aurek’s blood turned base metals to gold if it touched them, and also, horribly, brought clay to life if it touched that. Aurelia’s blood seemed to do nothing, at first, until one of the more zealous scientists tried adding her blood to water and drank it. He noticed immediately that his bruises vanished, his gout calmed. More blood was taken, and everyone who drank of it was healed of anything that ailed them.”

  I wince, disgusted by it, but not surprised.

  “I told you Aurek sired many children and they were raised at the palace? Well, they tried to use the children’s blood to make gold, hoping they’d inherited the gift, but nothing happened. It didn’t work. They tried with smaller and larger amounts of blood, but iron stayed iron, and water remained water. They almost killed one of the children, draining her within an inch of her life. That’s why Aurelia brought them away when Tallith fell, to stop people trying to use them.”

  “Oh gods,” I murmur, sickened by the image of it.

  “People tried to use Aurek’s blood, too. While he slept. They’d prick him and steal his blood, but the poison that put him to sleep seemed to have stopped his powers. So Aurelia hid his body, and brought the children away. She thought that alchemy would die with her and resolved to live quietly until it did. But then the children discovered they could activate their blood to make it alchemical. Some of them were trying to make a potion to wake their father, and one of them accidentally cut her finger and a drop of blood fell in the bowl. The legend says it bubbled and smoked, and when it cleared there was a lump of gold in the bottom of the pan. They’d found a way to be alchemists, like their father. But there was a cost.”

  “Nigredo.”

  Silas shakes his head. “The aurumsmith’s curse is called Citrinitas. Like the Nigredo, it affects them physically. But they turn to gold. That’s the price. They could make as much gold as they liked, and each time they did, part of them would turn to gold, too.” He pauses, his head tilting. “I always think they have it worse. At least if the Nigredo stops my heart, no one is going to carve it from my chest to sell.”

  My hands rise to cover my mouth.

  “Aurelia was furious,” he says, sinking back into the tale. “She tried to prevent them from making it, but when they demanded the right to choose, she gave in, saying when they turned nineteen they could decide for themselves. She banned all other forms of experimentation, though, frightened of what it might lead to. And who could blame her, after what she’d seen in Tallith? The Sisters uphold that rule. Hence our inability to make our own poisons. We can make the Opus Magnum, but nothing else. We never learned.”

  I mouth the words Opus Magnum as he continues.

  “Aurelia eventually married, and had children of her own, and she offered them the same choice as their cousins.” He looks down at his hands. “Aurelia didn’t know what the curse would be, but it soon became apparent it was different from the Citrinitas. We don’t know why it happens; something in the blood differing from Aurek’s and Aurelia’s, some impurity. All modern alchemy starts with the same base potion, whether making the Elixir or gold. It’s the blood that makes the difference.”

  “Oh, Silas.” I breathe, my head spinning. “So the potion you use to make the Elixir was supposed to be the cure to wake the Sleeping Prince?”

  “Originally. You know the saying ‘Like cures like’?” he asks and I nod; it’s a common apothecary edict. What causes, can cure, if the dose is right. “They did what you tried to do with the Elixir. They deconstructed the remains of the poison from the vial found in the rat catcher’s rooms. They isolated all of the ingredients, salt, quicksilver, sulfur, and so on, and were experimenting with reversing the potion. They thought it would wake him, and if he woke, he could restore Tallith.”

  “And they wanted that?”

  “Originally it was their goal. Raise the Sleeping Prince, and then reclaim and rebuild Tallith. Stop hiding and go home.”

  Before I can ask him anything else the curtain is thrown open and the dark-skinned woman stands there. Her name comes back to me then—Nia, the salt merchant’s daughter. We used to buy our salt for the apothecary from her; she used to deliver it.

  She doesn’t look at me, looking instead at Silas. “Your mother is here.”

  He nods. “Thank you, Nia. Tell her I’ll be along soon.”

  Nia raises her eyebrows, but says nothing, whipping back out of the room, the curtain swinging in her wake.

  “I know her,” I say. “I thought she liked me.”

  “She’s funny about outsiders. Interesting, given that she’s not an alchemist, but married in.”

  “Her husband is one?”

  “Her wife.”

  I try to imagine a female alchemist, with the silver hair and an amber gaze. It’s how Aurelia must have looked. “So this is the Conclave.”

  “Welcome.”

  “I lived above it all my life.”

  He nods. “You did. Which reminds me, I heard about your mother. We’ll get her back. We’ll get her here, safe and sound. I mean to keep my promise to you. I always did.”

  I feel horribly guilty then, for everything: for blackmailing him, and not trusting him. And for asking him to allow my mother in here without knowing what she is. He deserves to know. “You have to let me explain,” I say. “I lied to you. About my mother.” He looks at me blankly. “She isn’t just grieving. The scratches on her arms, I think the Scarlet Varulv attacked her. Changed her.”

  “The what?”

  “The Scarlet—”

  “I know what it is,” he interrupts gently. “It’s impossible; it’s a story, Errin.”

  “Yes, well, we thought that about the Sleeping Prince, but that turned out to be a mistake.”

  “The Scarlet Varulv really is just a tale, I know that much.”

  “No. You don’t know what she’s been like. It was she who chipped my tooth.” My tongue pushes my lip aside to remind him of it. “You’ve seen her eyes, how red they are. And her hands like claws. Silas, when the moon is full she tries to hurt me. Something happened in the woods, and I think—no, I know—it was that. It’s the only explanation.”

  He sighs. “Errin, I saw your mother, remember. I sat with her, twice. I promise you, she’s not a storybook monster; she’s sad and lost. And I know it’s been hard for yo
u in Almwyk—”

  “Don’t patronize me,” I snap at him.

  “I’m not. Truly. I know it must have been hard for you to deal with her behavior on top of everything else, and naturally you’d look for explanations for it, especially when she didn’t respond to your treatments.”

  “Forget it.” I swing my legs off the bed and he holds up his hands.

  “Wait. I’m sorry. I’ll listen to you, please.” When I don’t make any further movements, he continues. “Look, we’ll get her released, and bring her here, and then we’ll see, all right? We’ll get her out before the next full moon and then we’ll see what we can do. If the Elixir helps, so be it. I’ll make it for her.”

  I look down at his gloved hands as the full weight of what he’s offering—what I’d asked for—hits me. His life for my mother’s.

  “I can’t let you.” I speak so quietly I don’t know if he hears me.

  “I made myself a promise once,” he says suddenly, looking at me. “When I was growing up, I saw my father crippling himself to save lives. Every time there was a knock at our door, I was terrified that it was someone begging for help. Well, two years ago, he got a call for help, and as always he went to make the Elixir. The Nigredo stopped his heart.”

  My hands rise to my face, covering my mouth gaping open behind them.

  He looks down. “It didn’t kill him straightaway. I made the Elixir to try to heal him. It … it was my first time. It didn’t work; we were too late. The Elixir can cure anything, but it can’t restart a dead heart. After that … the knocks came for me. And I found, that like him, I couldn’t say no. How could I when my refusal would mean certain death, or at the very least, a lot of suffering? So I made a decision. No marriage. No children. No relationships. I swore my loyalty to the Sisters. That way I’d never put my wife in my mother’s position; she’d never have to watch me kill myself to save others. And there would be no children to worry I was going to die every time I made the Elixir. Or to have to take my place when I did.”

  “Silas …”

  “When I saw you lying there, broken, I didn’t even stop to think. Even if it meant the Nigredo taking my heart, I would have done it. And gladly.” He stands and crosses the room, somehow taking an age to walk the three steps to where I am. He kneels before me, his hands resting on my knees.

  “I couldn’t lose you, Errin. I couldn’t have stood it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He looks up at me, swallowing. I watch the lump in his throat bob, then meet his gaze again. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

  Slowly I reach for his hands, peeling the gloves off, holding them, touching the black skin, folding my fingers through his. He closes his eyes and I look at him, at the white lashes resting just above his sharp cheekbones, his skin flushed, his lips parted. I realize his hands are shaking, and I squeeze them gently. When his eyes open, his pupils are wide, dark disks at the center of the gold, and my heart skips, fluttering like a bird. When he tilts his head, my stomach swoops.

  “Silas, your—oh.” We whip around and Dimia flushes bright red in the doorway. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s your mother.”

  “What about her?” he asks, sounding as frustrated as I feel.

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  Behind Dimia a woman appears. She’s tall and thin, and there is something hawk-like to her face. She’s dressed in a long robe with bell-shaped sleeves, and though the robe is black, with a short cape, when she puts her hands on her hips I glimpse the gold lining of the sleeves. She wears a headdress that leaves her face exposed; her neck and the rest of her head are covered by a tall hood that fans out as it leaves her forehead, the top of it shaped like a wave. As she turns to look at Dimia I see the hood is shaped the same all the way around, triangular in design.

  She stares at us, glancing back and forth between us. “I warned you,” she says, fixing her gaze on Silas. “I told you that you were too young, but you wouldn’t listen. You insisted you knew you own mind.”

  “Mother, please,” Silas says, his hand reaching for mine.

  “You swore your life to the Sisters, Silas. So you’ll answer to them.”

  We follow her through the corridors in silence, single file. Silas walks before me, glancing back every now and then, his expression thoughtful, and Dimia behind us. The passageway we are being led down is wider than I would have expected; a small carriage could travel through it. The walls are stone, flecked with salt, lit by more sconces. It must cost them a fortune in candles, but then I recall who lives here.

  “Did the Conclave build this?” I ask to break the oppressive quiet, jumping when my voice echoes back at me. I’d thought I was whispering.

  “No, it’s what’s left of an underground river, we think,” he says. “Obviously long gone, but you can see the signs. There are fossils in the floor and along the walls. There are caverns down here we haven’t even explored yet, miles of them.”

  The ground is dusty but smooth, faintly dipped in the center where many people have walked along it over the years. There are columns of stalagmites that look as though they’re made of wax, and I trail my fingers over them as we pass, then rub them together, surprised at how soft my fingers feel.

  We turn another corner, into a narrower passage, a large red curtain at the end. Silas’s mother reaches for it, holding it back so we can enter.

  “After you.” She looks at us, then down at our clasped hands.

  The room is cavernous, furnished with three wooden tables, a bench along each side. The two outer tables are full of people, most white-haired and golden-eyed, though some are normal looking, dark- and light-skinned, old, young, male, female; generations of alchemists and non-alchemists. At least fifty pairs of eyes turn to watch us as we enter, and none of them looks glad to see us; every face is stony and cold, like the room itself.

  Along the center table, four other figures sit alone. Each wears the same eerie robes as Silas’s mother. The Sisters of Næht.

  I swallow and feel Dimia step closer to me. I turn to look at her. Her face is pale, her freckles stark against her pallor. To my left Silas lets out a long breath, and I shift so my fingers brush against his, just for a moment.

  “Sit,” Silas’s mother commands us, and I allow Silas to lead me to the center table. Dimia remains close to us. No one smiles or makes any gesture of greeting as we approach. Instead their gazes move from Silas, to me, finally lingering on Dimia.

  Room has been left at the far end of the central table, and it’s here we sit. Out of the corner of my left eye I see Nia lean over and whisper to a white-haired woman beside her.

  Silas’s mother walks to us, standing by her son.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced,” she says, looking down at Dimia and me. “I am Sister Hope, of the Sisters of Næht. We’re joined tonight by Sister Wisdom, Sister Peace, Sister Honor, and Sister Courage.”

  Each one nods in turn, though there’s nothing in their manner that would be recognized as friendly. Sister Peace even goes as far as curling her lip at us.

  “I’m Errin—” I begin, but stop when a low hiss begins to my right. I turn to look at the sea of faces staring at us, shrinking back when their cold eyes meet mine.

  “We know who you are, Errin Vastel.” Sister Hope’s voice is cold.

  I look at Silas, who is leaning forward, tense and poised, scowling at the room.

  “And you, of course, are Twylla Morven, daughter of Amara Morven,” Sister Hope continues, though in a much warmer tone. I look around to see whom she’s addressing, to find her looking at Dimia. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “What?” I say, looking from Sister Hope to Dimia.

  “Heir of the Sin Eater, lately Daunen Embodied.”

  A shiver seems to go around the room at her words, and a memory clicks into place. Daunen Embodied, the living goddess. The missing one.

  “That’s you?” I say, trying to reconcile the image of the girl who fought the
golem with what I knew of the pious, virgin girl destined to marry the prince. The dead prince. Oh. Of course she was so upset about his death; she was supposed to marry him. “But you said you were Dimia,” I say, and again the alchemists and their companions murmur. “You said you didn’t know what I was talking about when I said the alchemists were looking for you.”

  “She doesn’t know?” Sister Hope looks from Dimia to Silas, then to me.

  “Don’t,” Dimia snaps, glaring at Sister Hope. “Don’t.” She turns to me, her hands clasped before her. “I didn’t know they were looking for me, I swear, I didn’t lie about that. I’ll explain. I’ll tell you why I deceived you. But when we’re alone. Please. Please.”

  Her hands are clasped before her, her eyes beseeching, and I nod once.

  Dimia—Twylla—closes her eyes in thanks and then turns back to Sister Hope. “Well? Why were you looking for me?”

  Sister Hope’s mouth twists as though her words taste sour. “That is your mother’s right to tell you.”

  “My mother?”

  “She’s on her way here. She was before we knew you were here, as fate would have it. She can explain; it’s her duty.” There is something dark in Sister Hope’s expression, something scathing and angry, and it’s matched in Twylla’s face, a deep line forming between her brows.

  Her words have reminded me of my own duty. I look at Silas, raising my eyebrows, and mouth My mother to him.

  He nods and turns to Sister Hope. “Errin’s mother has been taken to a facility in Tressalyn. She has a kind of depression, brought on by grief. I was helping her. Who is available to secure her release and bring her here?”

  “No one.” Sister Widsom, silent until now, speaks up. “What concern is this of ours?”

  Silas raises his brows. “It’s my concern.”

  Sister Hope looks at him. “We don’t have the resources to send anyone across Tregellan right now.”

  “Then I’ll go myself.”

  “Silas.” A warning.