Sin Eater's Daughter 2 - The Sleeping Prince (22 page)

“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 discs at the centre 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 your 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. 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,” 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.