not at this time of year. And the nearest market is back in Toman. We stop going after harvest, bring back what we need for winter then; the road gets too treacherous when winter comes. We’ll get the news in spring, I shouldn’t wonder.”
He sounds supremely unconcerned by everything I’ve said and anger starts to rise up again, red and pulsing. “Look, I really need to find Dimia tonight. It’s more urgent than you know.”
“There’s a storm coming, love. You’ll need to get indoors.”
“Please. I’m begging you. Just tell me where she is.”
He blinks at me, and then shakes his head in disappointment. “Walk back through the square and take a sharp left at the harbour. Follow it along until you see the path up to the cliff. Take that, and when it forks back inland, you’ll see her cottage at the end of that track. You can’t miss it, it’s the only one out that way.”
“Thank you.” I nod and begin to close the door.
“Wait,” he says, following me out. “You can’t take that horse up that way. It’s too narrow.”
“Is there somewhere I can leave her?”
He thinks. “May as well leave her here. She’ll be safe enough in the lean-to out back, out of the storm. I’ll lead her round, soon as I’m done here.”
I look at the horse, then at him, weighing it up. “Thank you,” I say finally. “I’ll be back for her soon.”
“No hurry,” he says. “You got a lantern?”
“No.”
“There,” he says, gesturing at an oil lamp hanging on the wall. “Take that.” I lift it down carefully.
“Thank you.”
“No need for that. Any friend of Dimia’s is welcome here. You be careful. That storm’ll come in fast and angry. Watch your step.” With that he turns back to his hook, and I leave him to it.
Following his directions, I walk into the tiny village square. I count nine cottages around the well, with the blacksmith’s cottage down the path, the row of five along the harbour front, and Dimia’s. There is no House of Justice, no inn, one small store, which is clearly someone’s home as well. Is it possible no one here knows about the Sleeping Prince? Is it really true that no message has been sent, that they’ve been overlooked, or forgotten? I think about it all the way along the cliff path, listening to the sea beat against the rock below me, watching the storm clouds roll in and obliterate the stars. I pick up the pace before they can cover the moon, turning right at the fork, heading back inland.
The cottage appears quite unexpectedly, looming out of the darkness. It has no upstairs, but is large. I count two windows on either side of the door, more along the sides. I put my lantern down behind me and stare at one of the ones at the front, trying to make out any light around the edges of it. Then – yes – there. A slim orange bar running down part of the wall.
I push my hood back and smooth my hair, regretting that I didn’t go into the inn and at least wash my face. Too late now, I decide, pushing open the small wooden gate and making my way through the bare garden. A spot of rain lands on my nose, then my cheek. I hope she’s feeling hospitable.
I brush down my dress and then, taking a deep breath, I knock at the door.
The door flies open, and a girl stands there, silhouetted against the light from the room. She glances at me, then does a double take, looking at me again with narrowed eyes before peering over my shoulder into the night. And I look at her.
Long black hair. Green eyes.
She’s not an alchemist. She can’t be the one who makes the Elixir.
She peers back at me, frowning, seeming just as confused and disappointed as I am.
“Who are you?” she asks.
“My name is Errin. Errin Vastel.”
Her lips part, a strange look crossing her face. “Did someone send you here?” Her tone is brittle, crystalline. Her eyes bore into mine as she waits for my answer.
“No. Sorry.” I pause, trying to collect my thoughts. “Are you Dimia?”
She stills, and hope rises in me that perhaps she isn’t. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I’m Dimia.”
“Oh.” I can’t disguise the sting of disappointment that pierces me, and she raises her eyebrows at me before glancing back into her home. “Wait – are you alone?”