Sin Eater's Daughter 2 - The Sleeping Prince (23 page)

“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 shoulders 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.

This time I do lean into it. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” I say, then press one light kiss on to his palm. “It’s been a long day. We should rest.”

I hear the words, sensible, practical, coming from my mouth and want to bite them back. I don’t want to rest. I want to spend all night exploring this, whatever it is. But I know it’s a bad idea. Right now we need to think about the Sleeping Prince, and my mother, and whatever it is that Twylla’s mother wants from her, and how we all fit into it. I need to find out why Twylla lied to me.

And I need to be sure of him. That he won’t push me away again.

“There will be time,” I say, hoping I’m right.

His eyes search mine, worry pulling the corners of them tight. Then, slowly, he leans forward and kisses my cheek, the touch of his lips so hot I half think I’ll be branded by them. “Goodnight, Errin Vastel.” He is so close his breath kisses my mouth. “But … I’ve made my choice. And it’s you. Us, if you want it.”

I want so much to sink my fingers into his hair, to pull his face to mine. To touch, to taste. But I step away from him. “Goodnight, Silas Kolby. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I can feel him watching me as I walk back. “No,” he calls as I go to pull one of the curtains. “Next one. I’m four away. If you change your mind.”

I smile at him and enter my room.

Though I wasn’t gone long, when I return, Twylla’s in her bed, seemingly still fully dressed, save her boots, the nightgown ignored. She has the covers piled over her, and she’s facing the wall, the torches in their sconces still lit. I light the candle from one of them then extinguish them.

“I’m not asleep,” she says, startling me. She turns over and props herself up on an elbow.

“All right,” I say, sitting on my bed and pulling one of the blankets over my shoulders.

“I’m sorry. It must have seemed so rude, to have walked away from you in the Great Hall. I just … I have a lot to tell you, it seems. I suppose we should begin with why I lied?” she says, and I nod. “It’s a long story. But to begin, you should know that Dimia was the name of the girl the Bringer used to wake the Sleeping Prince.”

I inhale sharply. So that’s why it sounded familiar. I remember then, the men who came through Almwyk asking if we’d seen a girl and a young man. She was Dimia, with the Bringer.

Twylla continues. “He took her from the castle in Lormere. She was a servant there. I heard the Bringer when he came for her. I heard the music he played to lure her.” She lapses into silence, her brow furrowed. Then she takes a deep breath. “Dimia was the first name that came to me once I got to Scarron. I was escorted part of the way there by her brother, Taul. Merek had dispatched him and some others to try and find her. And I didn’t want to be Twylla any more. I was done with her, and her life – lives – so when Javik asked my name, I said it without thinking. I’d already coloured my hair so I could leave Lormere unnoticed, and it seemed fitting: new hair, new name. New life.” She pauses and I feel as though I’m missing huge parts of this tale: Daunen Embodied was desperately important to Lormere. Surely they wouldn’t let her walk away from it?

As if she’s read my thoughts, she continues. “I left, if not at Merek’s desire, then with his understanding. I had to go and he respected that. He helped me. It was his money that paid for my cottage, and that we were going to use to rescue your mother.”

“Weren’t you betrothed to him?”

“I was.” Twylla hangs her head. “I knew your brother,” she says. Her voice has changed. “When I saw you on my doorstep, I thought at first he’d sent you. Then when you said you sought a Lormerian named Dimia, I knew that he hadn’t.”

“Why would he send me to you?”

She pauses. “I was betrothed to Merek, but I had a brief … relationship with Lief.”

“Relationship? With Lief?”

She nods. “He was assigned to guard me and we became close. It’s why I left the castle.”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t work out as I’d hoped.”

“He hurt you?” I say quietly.

She pulls the strangest expression, looking as though she might fly apart, but at the last moment she pulls herself together and meets my eye, her gaze defiant.

“I thought you were him, you know. When you knocked. You have the same knock. Isn’t that strange, to think something like that is a family trait. But of course it would be. I’ll bet one or even both of your parents knocked in the same way.”

Now it all makes sense: why she looked so hopeful and yet so scared when she answered her front door, why she looked so sad at my father’s grave. But it doesn’t explain why she’d want to help me.

“Were you disappointed?”

She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “My heart was. My head wasn’t. Most days I’m at war with myself. My head wins, usually. And for that I’m glad.”

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, because I don’t know what else to offer.

“You’re not responsible for it,” she says evenly, though her gaze drops. “He spoke about you. And your mother. Told me about your farm. And your father.”

It makes me want to cry, imagining Lief miles away, confiding in this strange girl about us.

“Why did you offer to help us? If you and he … If it didn’t end well, why would you help us?”

“I’m not glad he’s dead,” she says, ignoring my question. “No matter what happened. I don’t want you to think that.”

She closes her eyes, as though praying, and I watch her in the thin light from the candle. She has an oval face, a neat chin. Her cheeks are freckled, and the corners of her mouth turn down slightly, making her look pensive, even when her face is relaxed. The more I look at her, the more I think she’s pretty, which surprises me because I didn’t notice it first. Lirys is obviously beautiful; all my life I’ve been used to how people react to her, how they smile automatically on seeing her, as though her beauty is a treat to them. Twylla’s beauty is the kind that sneaks up on you. I wonder if Lief thought the same.

“What do you see?” she says suddenly, and my face reddens. She looks at me, fixing me with green eyes, darker in this light. “Tell me, when you look at me, what do you see?”

“A girl,” I say, and she smiles. “What should I see?”

“You look like him,” she says. “Before you said a word to me I knew you were his sister. Same eyes, same shape to your face. You have the same smile. You’re very like him too.” She pauses, then sits back, curling her legs beneath her. “I know you want to know what happened. And I will tell you all of it. I promise. But not tonight.”

I nod. “Twylla,” I say hesitantly, testing this new name for her. “When he lived on the farm, Lief was… He never thought about anything but the farm. When we lost it, he was heartbroken. So if he behaved badly, then…” I trail off. “What I mean is, when Lief cared, he really cared. He was all or nothing. So I think he must have really liked you, for a while at least.”

Her expression clouds over, her mouth pursing. “No, Errin,” she says deliberately. “He didn’t.”

Her eyelids flutter shut again and I take a deep breath. I don’t want to know any more; I don’t want her to say anything that might make me think too badly of him. “Did – do you have brothers, or sisters?”

“Both. Twin brothers, older than me. A younger sister, but she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

We’re quiet for a moment. And then I speak. “I think the worst thing is the way you lose part of yourself.” I roll on to my back and stare up at the dark, speckled roof. “There’s so much that only Lief knew about me. So many memories that we shared – mostly of things we shouldn’t have been doing – but now I’m the last one who remembers them. Times we woke in the night and stole honeycomb from the jars in the kitchen. Times we used to jump into the hay on the farm. No one will ever know me like that again. And what if I forget things? What happens then?”

I turn to look at her, in time to see her wipe her face.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s a nice way to think.” She pauses. “I suppose we should try to sleep now,” she says. “Tomorrow is going to be interesting, I suspect.” She stares into the distance, then turns abruptly, facing the wall once more.

I clamber off the bed to wash my face. Then I pull off my boots and change into the nightgown, happy to have clean clothes, before blowing out the candle. I can hear her crying softly.

Lying in the dark, I think of Silas, a few caves away. He knew her name was Twylla. And he expected her to come through Almwyk, was waiting there for her. Was that because of Lief? Did he expect her to come there because of him, or merely because it’s the main border town between the two countries?

Then I have a horrible thought: is that why he befriended me? To get to her?

I sit up in bed, staring into the darkness. Twylla has fallen silent. I’ll ask him tomorrow, I tell myself. And even if that was the reason, does it matter?

No, I decide as I lie back down, it doesn’t. It alters nothing between us.

After a few moments I hear another muffled sob and I clench my fist in the blankets. I feel terribly guilty for whatever it was my brother did to her. Sometimes I don’t think I knew Lief at all.