I say, taking his hand. Not Silas’s mother, then. Someone else.
The man takes a sharp breath. “He needs to find her.” There is a rattle in his throat. “And get her to the Conclave. Fast. He doesn’t have much time.”
“The Conclave?”
“Everyone… It’s the safest place. He has to get her there. They have to stay there. The prince is coming. He knows about her…”
“I’ll tell him. I promise.”
Then he dies. He just dies. One moment his eye is bright and focused and the next … I see him die; I see the change. Indefinable, but something in him is gone, something permanent. I remember then that I don’t know his name; I never asked, and Silas never said. And now he’s dead, in a stranger’s house, miles from home.
I close his eye, hoping it will make it look as though he’s sleeping, but it doesn’t. There’s a slackness to him that makes it clear he’s dead. I sit back on my haunches, staring at him. I’ve never seen anyone die before. I saw my father, but afterwards. I didn’t see it happen.
Long, strange moments pass and I feel numb, removed from it. I try to think of something to do but do nothing, staring at the dead man. It’s only when something in the fire shifts and crackles that I snap out of it, standing up. I need to tell Silas the message, to get her, whoever she is, to the Conclave.
I’m reaching for the latch when I stop, a wave of understanding flooding me. Silas knows where the Conclave is.
Before the last war, our alchemists lived openly in the towns, but after Lormere defeated us and demanded we hand them over, as though they were property or assets, we hid them away in a secret community known as the Conclave. It’s recorded on no map, and outside of the Conclave only two anonymous members of the Council in Tressalyn know where it is. Or so I believed, until tonight.
On rare occasions the Conclave can be visited, by prior appointment, but the visitor must consent to being placed in a drugged sleep before arriving and leaving, so they can’t find their way back. They’re guarded by an elite force during the visit, they must not speak to the alchemists except by invitation, and no more than two persons can visit at any one time. Prince Merek visited once, and even he – especially he – was put to sleep and guarded.
There aren’t supposed to be alchemists living outside of the Conclave, let alone in Lormere.
He said his ancestors were Tallithi. His eyes and hair…
And like that, it all slips into place. The white hair, the golden eyes. Tallithi family. Not any Tallithi, royal Tallithi, the alchemist line. Silas is an alchemist. A Lormerian alchemist.
I lean against the table heavily, knocking the vial over, the last precious drop sliding along the side of the glass.
And then I have to grip the table with both hands to keep from collapsing under the weight of revelation.
A mysterious remedy that cures my mother of being the beast, wakes her from her grief, and that I can’t hope to replicate. Given to me by an alchemist.
I don’t need Silas to tell me what’s in his potion. He’s right, I’ll never be able to make it.
It’s the Elixir of Life.
I reach for the vial and hold it up to the light. The Elixir of Life. Can it be?
Which means not all the philtresmiths are dead. Some still live, capable of making the Elixir. And I need more of it, for Mama. It’s the only way to silence the beast.
I peep through the window slats, looking for signs of life or movement out there, then back at the dead man. Dead alchemist. Do I dare…? Yes, I decide. We’re all running out of time. At least under cover of darkness I stand less chance of being seen by Unwin, or soldiers. And Mama will be fine; she doesn’t know anything happened tonight, and it’s not as if the dead can hurt her. As soon as I have my answer, I’ll be back. I fasten my cloak and then bend over the man. I pull a blanket over his face.
“Sleep well,” I say softly.
The night is too quiet. There should be creatures rustling and snuffling, making me gasp and start when their weight snaps the fallen twigs and rustles the dead leaves. There should be owls hooting softly, or nightjars calling. Rats, mice, deer; living things should be