Sin Eater's Daughter 2 - The Sleeping Prince

by Melinda Salisbury

  “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,” Silas answers me. “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 centre 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.”

  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 centre 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 once-again covered ones, just for a moment.

  “Sit,” Silas’s mother commands us, and I follow Silas to the centre 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 Honour and Sister Courage.”

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

  “I’m Errin—” I begin, but stop when a low hiss rises 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 stern.

  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 who 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. “I didn’t know they were looking for me, I swear. I didn’t lie about that. I’ll explain 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 Wisdom, 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 across Tregellan right now.”

  “Then I’ll go myself.”

  “Silas.” A warning.

  “I promised her…”

  “And what are your promises worth, Brother Silas?” Sister Peace says in a low voice. “You cannot keep your vows, clearly.”

  “Enough!” Sister Hope snaps, making us all jump. Silas looks down at the table and I glare at Sister Peace, who in turn fixes me with a calm, brown-eyed gaze. Not an alchemist. In fact, none of the Sisters seem to be. “Leave us,” Sister Hope orders the alchemists on the other benches.

  They don’t protest, rising immediately and filing out of the room. Nia, at the back, shoots me a glance of pure hatred. What is her problem with me?

  “Do you have any idea of the damage you could have done?” Sister Hope turns on Silas, her teeth bared, when we and the remaining Sisters are left. “Bad enough to tell an outsider our secrets. But to tell her. You could have ruined everything – you still might have. Only time will tell.”

  “Father told you our secrets. You were born an outsider too. I’ve hardly set some kind of precedent.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” I say finally. “I’m sorry if you’re upset by my … our … I didn’t know he was a monk when it started and I meant no harm, truly. No matter what happens, you don’t have to worry, I won’t betray you. Believe me, I know how to keep a secret. In fact, I should tell you now—”

  “What?” Sister Hope turns on me, eyes blazing. “What secrets are you keeping, Errin?”

  From the corner of my eye I see Silas shake his head. “I just meant I’m not a coward. I wouldn’t endanger you. Any of you. Not for anything.”

  “What if you were captured? What if you were locked in a dark room, and denied food and water until you spoke?”

  “Mother,” Silas warns, but I stop him.

  “I’m no stranger to hunger,” I say. Sister Hope’s lips quirk and I have the feeling I’ve walked into a trap.

  “Of course. But what if you were whipped?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I had my spine snapped by a golem a few hours ago, I’m hardly afraid of a whipping now.”

  Again that twist of her mouth: amusement, distaste, I can’t tell. “What if your nails were peeled off with pliers?” she says. “What if your fingers were broken, one by one, with a mallet?” I feel the blood drain from my face. “What if you were branded with hot irons?”

  “Stop…” I whisper.

  “What if they didn’t do it to you at all, but to
Twylla, or one of your friends from Tremayne, while you watched? What if they did it to my son? Or your mother? What if right now there are people seeking her out, knowing she’s the link to break you? What would you do to save your family, Errin? How far would you go?”

  “Stop it!” I scream, and the sound rings in the cavernous room.

  For a beat no one says anything. Silas looks down at the table, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles, save for those with the Nigredo, are white.

  “I love my mother,” I say. “To save her I’d do almost anything. Are you telling me you wouldn’t, to save Silas?”

  She doesn’t reply. Finally, though, it is Twylla who breaks the silence. “We’re leaving,” she says suddenly, pushing the bench back from the table. “These people have nothing to do with us.”

  “I told you, you will go nowhere until you’ve heard what your mother has to say.”

  Twylla slams her hand down, the slap of her palm against the wood echoing through the room. “I am tired of women like you telling me what I am, and what I should be.”

  Sister Hope looks at her. “Twylla, soon enough you’ll understand what the Sleeping Prince will do to us, will force us to do, if he finds us. What he’ll do to you. I see why you think me cruel, and I’m sorry for it, truly I am. But her people –” she points at me “– won’t suffer as mine will if he finds us. He can’t hurt them as he can hurt us. She’s a liability and if you knew—”

  “Can’t hurt them?” I speak before Twylla can, my voice icy. “You saw the state he left Tremayne in. Hundreds of people dead. Men, women, children. I lived in this town my whole life. I trained as an apothecary in the ruins above our heads. Today I saw bodies that I’ve healed in the past. My friends are missing. Maybe even dead.” And as I say it, I understand it might be true. The Dapplewoods, Master Pendie. “You have miles of caves down here where you could shelter children, and the weak. And you do nothing. Who are you, to think you’re better than us because you’re alchemists? That you’re worth more than we are because you make gold?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sister Hope says to me, shaking her head. “And this is not your concern. Twylla, please. Listen to us.”

  I ignore her. “We won’t hide. We won’t cower in the dark. We’re going to fight him,” I say, relishing the words.

  “And if you won’t help us, then you become our enemy too,” Twylla adds. “And may the Gods help you if you try to stop me.”

  She leans across the table, glowing with rage. In this moment I understand how she became the embodiment of a Goddess; I almost believe in it.

  There is a scuffling from outside the curtain and one of the Sisters rises swiftly, crossing the room and throwing the shade back.

  Standing there, clearly eavesdropping, is a group of people, alchemists and non. I realize with a start that it’s the group that helped Twylla fight the golem. Including Nia.

  “Forgive us, Sister. But we want to fight too,” a tall brown-haired man says, and the others nod.

  “They are our people.” Nia steps forward, hand in hand with the white-haired woman she sat beside earlier. “We want to fight.”

  “He can’t be beaten in battle,” Sister Wisdom says.

  “Perhaps not,” Nia replies. “But she stopped one of the golems.” She points at Twylla. “We saw it. If we work together, we can thin his ranks, make him vulnerable.”

  “And we can fight men. We can kill men,” I say. “The Silver Knight leads an army of men; we can battle them, to begin with, even if we can’t kill him with a sword.”

  Sister Hope stares at me.

  “I can teach them to fight,” Silas says, standing. “I can use a sword, and a bow. I’ll teach the willing what they need to know.”

  Sister Hope looks back at him. “Silas, you know there’s only one way to defeat him, and it isn’t a duel. It’s a waste.”

  “You can’t stop them,” he says softly, looking from her to me and then smiling ruefully. “You know that.”

  Sister Hope turns to look at her fellow Sisters, seeming to confer silently with them. “As you wish,” she says, looking at the crowd in the door. “Silas, find the girls somewhere to rest until Amara arrives. And I’ll … I’ll send a message to the Council. Your mother is Trina Vastel, yes?” She looks back at me.

  “Yes.”

  She nods again, then turns, her cloak gliding over the floor like a snake.

  “Errin.” She pauses in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” Then, followed by the other Sisters, she moves past the crowd, now looking sheepish and unsure in the doorway.

  “What do we do now?” Nia calls to Silas.

  “We’ll meet tomorrow after breakfast. I’ll form a training schedule.” He sounds sure, nodding firmly at them, his lip twitching when they solemnly return the gesture.

  When they withdraw, he turns to me and smiles, and it’s like a lightning bolt. There is no warning: one moment his eyes are hazy and the next they’re blazing, his grin taking over his whole face. I can’t help but smile back.

  The sound of heavy fabric brushing against the stone makes us turn to see the curtain swinging. Twylla has gone.

  We don’t speak, instead turning to follow her, catching up with her in the corridor.

  “Forgive me. I have a headache,” she says in a flat, empty voice. “I’d like to lie down.”

  “Of course,” Silas says. “I’ll take you to a room where you can rest, if you like?”

  She nods, but doesn’t turn around. Silas raises his eyebrows at me and I shake my head, puzzled by the sudden change in her.

  The passageways seem endless as he takes us to our sleeping quarters, corridor after corridor, until I’m sure we’re walking in circles. I try to count the sconces on the walls on the way through the passageways: one, two, three, left turn, narrow, five sconces, another left turn, a slight descent, right turn … but it soon becomes too much. Twylla walks a little ahead of us the whole way, her head down, and Silas and I stay quiet, not touching as we trail behind her.

  Finally, Silas calls on her to stop, reaching for a torch from the wall and throwing back a curtain to reveal a cavern with two beds resting as best they can against the uneven stone walls, a small table between them. In one corner is a washstand with a ewer and basin. I can see a water closet behind a screen in the second corner, and a large cow-skin rug in the centre of the room. The beds are made up with furs and woollen blankets; on each lumpy-looking pillow is a nightgown.

  “I’m a few rooms down. If you call me, I’ll hear,” he says, looking at Twylla, then back to me. When he leaves the room I follow.

  He walks a little further along the passageway and stops, leaning against the wall. In the light from the torches his hair looks translucent, like a halo. When I stand in front of him, I see the flames reflected in his eyes, turning his gaze to fire. His eyes meet mine and he flushes. My body feels warm and heavy. I’m too aware of how close we’re standing, of the rhythm of his breathing. Of how alone we are. Then he raises a hand tentatively and touches the ends of my hair, and I have to fight not to lean into his touch, not to frighten him away. “I like this, by the way.” He allows a few strands to trail through his fingers before lowering his hand. “When did you do it?”

  I smile. “Did you stop in a cottage outside Tyrwhitt, the night after we last saw each other?”

  “Yes. I was trying to catch up to you. I saw hoof prints in the mud and followed, but you’d gone.”

  “Actually, I was on the roof. I heard you at the window.”

  “You were there? Why were you on the roof?”

  “Not long before you came I was robbed. Two refugees broke into the cottage, so I hid there. If you’d stayed five more minutes you could have watched me fall flat on my back.”

  His eyes widen. “Gods… If I’d known.” He reaches out and takes my sh
oulders in his hands, as though to pull me to him, then freezes, looking at me carefully.

  “Well,” I say slowly. “I did it after that.”

  “Why? Because of me?”

  I think of the mercenaries, then the soldiers. “No. I’ll tell you one day. But not now.”

  “All right.” Then his gaze moves to my lips and I lick them self-consciously.

  “Gods,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening on me. My stomach clenches in response, leaving a strange ache behind.

  Then Nia walks past us, huffing loudly. “Goodnight.” She spits the “t” at the end.

  Silas snatches his hand from my shoulder and we both glower after her. When he turns back to me he looks thoughtful. “What made you decide to fight?” he says quietly. “I thought you wanted to stay safe, and hidden.”

  I shrug. “I did. But it won’t work. I saw the camp at Tyrwhitt. All those people, caged like animals. And the way it was changing Tregellan, making people superstitious and cruel… He won’t stop, and if he gets a tight grip on things, then … it will only get worse. Besides, he killed my brother. And my friends. And almost me. It’s right that I try to return the favour.”

  “I wanted to do something from the start. That’s why I was sent to Almwyk. I was going mad cooped up in the temple. Sending me to wait for Twylla was supposed to keep me occupied and out of reach.” He grins.

  “Why did she tell me she was called Dimia?” I ask.

  Silas grows quiet. “That’s her story to tell.”

  “But you know?”

  He nods slowly. “I do. And I’ll talk to you about it afterwards, if you want me to.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, but I know better than to question him. “Ask no questions and I’ll be told no lies?” I say.

  “You’ll be told no lies even if you do ask. But speak to her first.”

  We both fall silent, listening to the rhythmic drips of water falling further along the passage.

  “The apothecary, the monk and the living Goddess went to war,” I say finally. “We sound like the start of a joke.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I want…” he begins, then shakes his head. “Us,” he says. “I don’t know how to do this. But I want it. I’m sure of that.” His face darkens, his words coming fast and earnest. “The second I saw you on the ground, I knew for certain it could only go one way for me, after that.” He raises his left hand, trembling again, and strokes my cheek.