The Sin Eater's Daughter Page 14

  “You owe me nothing, least of all your thanks,” he says softly, and Lief shifts his weight from one foot to the other behind him. It reminds Merek he’s there, acting as the reluctant chaperone, and he stands.

  “I’ll leave you to rest,” he says. “I’ll call on you soon.”

  He nods to me, and Lief bows as he leaves.

  “I’ll stay with you,” he says softly when Merek is gone. “You shouldn’t be alone now.”

  I wonder why it is I can only have one friend at a time. I had Tyrek, and then he was gone. Now Dorin is gone and all I have is Lief. Who will take Lief from me?

  * * *

  I cannot sleep, cannot even pretend to, and instead I pass the night staring out of the window. When the sky is at its darkest I spot three comets blazing across the sky like birds fleeing winter. It comforts me somewhat, as if it were a sign from Dorin that he is at peace, or from the Gods to tell me they love me still. I watch them until the sun starts to rise, the light hiding them from me, and again I feel comforted, to know they’re still there, though I can’t see them. Lief stays with me, sitting silently on the chair in the corner. Occasionally I turn to him, but he doesn’t sleep, sitting with his sword across his knee, watching me, nodding gravely when my eyes meet his.

  While he fetches my breakfast and I wash and change my gown, the motions are more habit than deliberate. I don’t understand how a man as strong as Dorin could fall to a bee sting. It seems so stupid.

  “Will we stay here today?” I realize Lief is standing in the doorway, holding a tray.

  “No. I’m sick to death of these walls.”

  Lief nods. “I’m so sorry, Twylla.”

  “As am I,” I say. I’m sorry I forgot about my most trusted ally and left him to die alone in the bowels of this castle. The Gods did not save him for me.

  * * *

  Music plays softly somewhere outside of the castle as we leave the tower and it soothes me, spreading a balm over the raw edges of my grief and smoothing it into something less jagged. As I turn toward the long gallery, hoping to catch a glimpse of the player through the windows, I see another girl, small, dark-haired, has already had the same thought.

  “Dimia,” I say, and she turns, the glazed look in her eyes clearing as she realizes who talks to her. She cowers against the wall, and in that moment she reminds me of myself, the way I draw myself in when I am around the queen. I feel sick again.

  “I’m sorry,” I say firmly before she, or Lief, has time to speak. “I was wrong to threaten you. I would never touch you. Ever. I’m sorry for saying what I did.”

  She looks from me to Lief before she nods.

  “I won’t say anything, my lady. I wouldn’t have done. You didn’t give me time to finish.” She pauses before she looks me in the eye. “I had two brothers in the queen’s service once. The queen turned against one of them, Asher, because she said he smiled too much.”

  My mouth falls open and we’re both silent. The flautist in the gardens plays a trilling melody, the sound both sweet and melancholy, and I want to go to them, to lay my head in their lap and let them play my worries away.

  “So you see,” Dimia says quietly after a moment, her voice laced with longing. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “Could you pass on my thanks to your other brother, when you see him? For taking my message to the prince.”

  Dimia smiles sadly. “I will, my lady. I’m on my way to see him now, as it happens. He has the afternoon free while the king and prince hunt and the queen is away. He likes the prince, my lady.”

  I am nodding again when I realize what she’s said.

  “The queen is away?”

  “Yes, my lady. She’s gone to the mere. The king and the prince are hunting, but they let Taul stay behind. There’s hardly anyone in the castle. I expect that’s why someone is brave enough to play their flute on the grounds.” She turns again toward the window. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I nod and try to keep my expression calm, both the music and hope filling me with warmth. We can move as we like; there is no one here to stop us. “It is. Well, I hope you and your brother make the most of your freedom today.” I smile.

  “Yes, my lady.” She dips into a curtsy before turning back to the window. “I will.”

  As I continue down the long gallery, my smile widens, and Lief glances at me curiously. When we have rounded the corner, he speaks.

  “What has pleased you so?”

  “We have the castle to ourselves.”

  Lief smiles at me. “What shall we do? Would you like to go back to the apothecary garden?”

  I think of Dorin and shake my head. “Not today. I want to go to my temple, but we may as well take advantage of being able to roam the grounds. Have you seen the walled garden?”

  He shakes his head. “I have not.”

  “It’s not much, flower beds and spiraling walkways. We could sit there and listen to the music for a while.”

  Lief looks confused. “What music? I can’t hear anything. I wondered what Dimia meant. I thought maybe her fear of you was making her hear things.”

  “What do you mean you cannot hear it?” I step to the window and tilt my head to the side. “Oh. It’s gone. But it was there, a flute, or pipes of some kind. It was lovely. I would have liked to learn the tune, make a song for it.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, my lady.” Lief smirks, and for a second I want to shove him. But I don’t, too mindful of the consequences. I flush, though, and he looks at me. “Are you well?”

  “A little warm,” I say. “The fresh air will do me good.”

  “Perhaps you should have gone to the mere with the queen. Mountain air is cool, so I’m told.”

  “I wasn’t invited. I never am.”

  “How rude. But don’t you normally sing for the king while she is away?”

  “Usually, yes. But today isn’t her usual day to go; she must have some other reason for wanting to go to the mere. And I can hardly sing for the king if he’s on a hunt.”

  “I’d rather hear you sing than hunt,” Lief says. “If I were him, I would have summoned you to sing for me instead of chasing deer.”

  “The king enjoys hunting,” I begin, flustered by his compliment. “Besides, I’ll sing for him in two days when the queen goes to the mere and—” I stop dead. Why does she go to the mere today? Her visits there are connected to her own moon cycle; today is still the waning moon. She would never go to the mere during the waning moon—it’s the death moon; it’s my moon. So where is she? And though the king loves hunting, I don’t believe I flatter myself by thinking he’d rather have me sing for him if he could. Why has everyone suddenly vacated the castle?

  Three beats of my heart, and then it’s as if the hounds from the hunt are with us. All of the calm from the flautist’s melody is gone. Instead there is dread, the hot breath of a pursuer on the back of my neck, the snapping of jaws at my ankles. I freeze in the corridor, fear holding me captive.

  “My lady?” Lief says. “What is it? Are you well?”

  “I need air,” I say, my legs shaking as I move with speed through the castle, Lief keeping pace with me. I stumble down the stairs of the keep, but right myself and continue, not stopping until I’m in the walled garden. I sink to my knees and bury my face in the fragrant lavender.

  Something isn’t right here. Every bone in my body is telling me something is terribly wrong. Merek would have said last night if a hunt were planned. He may even have invited me, had he known. Hunts happen rarely; this is twice now within a moon. And the queen shouldn’t be going on her pilgrimage today. It’s always the day after the Telling, always. Death on one day, life on the following. Why has the castle been emptied? Why has the order been changed? Why have I been left behind?

  Then it hits me. I have always had two guards, and now I have one. I was confined to my room and now I am allowed out. Who would aid me if I were attacked? I have no one save a guard whom I have encourage
d to be more friend than protector. A guard who fought the prince a few nights ago to win me my freedom. Freedom won against the queen’s command and behind her back. She must know what Merek did.

  It’s a trap. This is a trap. But for whom? Me? Lief? Does she know Lief and I have become friends, that we’ve spoken of things that are treasonous?

  Then I realize. Merek went behind her back to grant me my freedom. Merek, Prince of Lormere, who yielded to a Tregellian farmer’s son. And now we will pay for it. The waning moon. Somehow today we will pay for it and I will lose another friend, a friend I shouldn’t have. I will have killed my only friend again.

  I look at Lief, standing over me, his face lined with concern.

  “Twylla?” he says cautiously.

  “No,” I say. “You must address me as ‘my lady.’ ”

  He jerks as though I’ve slapped him, blanching before my eyes. “Have I done something to offend you?”

  I ignore the note of panic in his voice. “You’re too familiar,” I say, my voice shaking. “It can’t be—I can’t be your friend.”

  “Twy—My lady? Are you quite well?”

  “No,” I say. I push my hands into the earth beneath the lavender and grip it in my fists to disguise the trembling. “This is a mistake. Anyone could be here, and you would be too busy chattering at me to notice. You must stay alert. You cannot be my friend.” I tear my hands from the soil and stand.

  I can feel his stare on me, the weight of it pushing at me, and I focus on breathing steadily, in and out, counting my breaths until my heart is steady. I look at him, the pain on his face giving me pause.

  “What’s wrong? Twylla, talk to me.” He is plaintive, childlike in his bewilderment.

  “Stop it, Lief. We can’t do this. We cannot.” I turn on my heel and walk away, trying to think.

  Surely the queen would want to be here to witness this? She does love a spectacle. I scan the garden left to right, looking for movement, a sign that we are about to be overcome. How many men would she send against him? Ten? Fifteen? More? I pace the garden with my fingers clenched.

  I can feel Lief behind me, can taste his confusion as he breathes it into the air around me. The weight of his tread is heavy; he is angry, too, and is making no attempt to hide how he feels.

  To the temple or to my room? My room, I decide. The temple still leaves us vulnerable. We’d have to leave it at some point. “We’re going back,” I say sharply. “Hurry.”

  As I climb the steps I hear him behind me, his boots thudding against the wood, and again my heart quickens with the feeling we’re being chased, hunted. I move faster and he does the same, passing too quickly through the hallways, alarming the pages, who duck behind tapestries and into doorways at our approach.

  At the door to the tower I lift my skirts and run, sheer terror propelling me up the stairs. The sanctuary of my door is in sight. I reach for it but his hand is there first. Habit makes me shrink away from his skin, his closeness pinning me against the wall of the tower, as he puts one hand on my door, keeping it shut, and extends his other arm so I can’t move past him.

  “What have I done?” he demands, his eyes blazing like marsh lights.

  “Step back,” I say, cowering against the wall as he looms over me.

  “Twylla, don’t do this. Talk to me.”

  “Step back, for the sake of the Gods, Lief. You’re too close.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong. What have I done to deserve this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t be so cruel, then.” He steps closer. “Don’t treat me as though I’m one of the others.”

  “Lief, please. You have to move away. If you touch me, then …”

  “Then what?”

  “You’ll die. You’ll be poisoned and you’ll die.”

  “Will I?”

  “You know you will. The Telling—”

  “The Telling is a lie.”

  I stare at him, shaking my head. “The Telling—”

  “Is a lie,” he repeats. “All of it.”

  There is a pause and then, my voice like ice, I say, “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t really believe it. Think about it, Twylla. How could you carry a special poison inside your skin that won’t kill you because you have the right hair color and the blessing of the Gods? How is that possible?”

  “You know nothing of the Gods or their ways—you don’t even believe in them.” I can hear myself babbling, terrified by his closeness and his words.

  “Do you think if there were Gods, they’d allow the queen to do as she does?”

  “I’m Daunen Embodied. I was anointed; I dedicated my life to the Gods—”

  “You’re not Daunen Embodied. There’s no such person. They’ve given you a title and spread a nasty rumor to scare people into obedience. She’s using you.”

  “How dare you?” I hiss at him. “You don’t understand … How could you? You’re from Tregellan. Things in Lormere are different.”

  “There is no difference, Twylla, and it’s because I’m from Tregellan that I know. We used to have Gods, too. And now we don’t and yet the country doesn’t falter; it thrives without them. Don’t you see that? It’s all made up. You’re not beloved by the Gods—there are no Gods. There is no poison that you can take that won’t kill you, too. It’s lies, it’s all filthy lies, and you’re too clever to believe it.” He pauses and runs his hands through his hair. “Morningsbane isn’t a real poison. Believe me, I could tell you about real poisons—my sister is an apothecary, remember? It’s all a lie to keep you obedient, to make you do what they want you to. Don’t you see that?”

  “Stop saying that!” I scream at him.

  “Not until you listen! If the Gods are real, why haven’t they struck me down for saying otherwise? Why am I not punished?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Because they’re not real,” he bellows. “They’re made up to keep people like the queen above people like me, to make us all obedient. It’s all lies. Do you see the foxes worrying about the Gods? Do you see the cows in the fields worrying about pleasing them? If the Gods were real, everything and everyone would worship them; everything would feel their impact. But it’s only Lormere that does. No Gods in Tregellan. No Gods in Tallith. Doesn’t that tell you anything? It’s about power and control, to keep you all in line. People like the queen tell us that if we don’t do as the Gods want—as she wants—then our souls are damned. Think of the amount of murder she’s committed and tell me whose soul is more likely to be damned, hers or yours?”

  “I’m the murderer,” I shout back at him. “I am the executioner for treason. Of course I’m damned.”

  “You’ve never killed anyone,” he says harshly. “It’s not real.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  He makes a sound of pure frustration, slamming his hands against the wall by my head and making me flinch. “What do I need to do to prove it to you?”

  “You can’t prove it to me.”

  “Yes, I can,” he says slowly. “Yes, I can.”

  He leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine.

  I shove him away from me as hard as I can and turn to run back down the stairs. He grabs me from behind, one arm around my waist as his other hand claps over my mouth, trapping my scream against my teeth. I struggle in his arms, but he pulls me into my room, kicking the door closed. Then he releases me and I lunge for his sword: I’ll kill him with that before the poison can.

  “Wait!” he cries, catching me again and holding me against his chest. “Just wait.”

  “You stupid, foolish …” I sob. “Let me go, you’re making it worse.”

  But he refuses, holding me firmly, and even though I know my kicks are landing hard against his shins, he doesn’t let go. I keep waiting for him to cough, collapse, to spill hot, sticky drops of blood on me, but it doesn’t come. I stand locked in his arms and he doesn’t die.

  After a few moments, he releases me and I step
back, staring at him.

  “I’m not dead,” he says quietly. “I feel fine.”

  I shake my head. “No, you’re young, and strong. It must take longer. You’re dying.”

  “I’m not dying. You’re not poisonous.”

  “This is madness. You are mad.”

  “It’s a lie, Twylla,” he says. “It’s not real. Look at me.” He spreads his arms wide and stares at me.

  But still it doesn’t sink in. I keep waiting, deciding that as soon as he coughs, or his breathing changes, I’ll do it; I’ll draw his sword and kill him with it. Better that than the other way. The wait is agony. “What have you done?” I chant, over and over, under my breath. Skin, on my skin. His mouth on mine. I tasted him and he tasted me. “You touched me. I’m Daunen Embodied and you touched me. What have you done?”

  “You’re not Daunen Embodied.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “For the sake of your Gods, Twylla, it’s a lie!” he roars. “You’re just a girl.”

  I launch myself at him, my nails bared, my teeth snapping for his skin, forgetting that he’s already dying from my touch. I hit and kick and scratch as much as I can, sobbing as I do. He tries his best to fend me off but I cling to him, beating him with my fists. I don’t know when my mouth meets his, when my attack changes, but then my nails grip the sides of his face, keeping his lips against mine. Our kisses are hot, wet, and messy; our teeth clash as he stumbles back against my bureau; I taste blood on his lips where I have bitten him. When I tear myself off him, he stares back at me, his eyes both bright and dark, the green of his irises close to being eclipsed by his pupils. He breathes as hard as I do and we both stand, watching, waiting. He doesn’t fall to the floor. His nose doesn’t bleed. I’ve never seen anyone look more alive.

  He moves first, pulling me against him and wrapping his arms around me, kissing the top of my head fiercely as I give myself over to his embrace.

  * * *

  He must have held me for a long time, because when I pull my face out of the folds of his tunic the shadows in the room have moved, lying long across the totem. We are sitting on the floor; I’m in his lap like a child, his arms around me, under my cloak, and he kisses my head intermittently. He’s still alive. It’s been hours, surely, and he’s still alive. He strokes my arms, my back, his fingers never leaving me, touching bare skin where he can. I’m still trembling, but I don’t know what I’m afraid of.