Sin Eater's Daughter 2 - The Sleeping Prince by Melinda Salisbury Page A

him.
    “When were you in the woods?”
    “Now. I … I saw you there. A moment before I was attacked.”
    He frowns and a line forms between his eyebrows. I watch as the shape of his eyes changes with it, and I realize I have no idea how to judge what he thinks from his face. I don’t know him at all.
    He looks at my mother, who gives no indication she knows we’re there, and then grasps my elbow gently to lead me from the room. I flinch at the contact, and he lets go immediately, the corners of his mouth tightening. I follow him as he stalks out of the room, bending to pick my knife up first. He locks the door and nods at the bench, as though I’m the guest. My heart still thumps too hard as I turn my back on him, but I sit down and fold my hands in my lap, trying to look calm. By turn he looks anything but calm. His eyes rake over me, his fists clenching and unclenching by his side.
    “What happened? Were you attacked?”
    “No,” I tell him, raising a still-shaking hand and starting to pluck twigs and dead leaves from my hair. “You said you were going to explain. So explain. Let’s start with you telling me how you got in here. And why.”
    He looks down. “The front door was open.”
    “No it wasn’t.”
    “It was once I’d opened it.” He attempts a smile but I keep my own expression stony, waiting.
    When he says nothing, I rise, collecting a cloth from the washing line and the pipkin, the water inside cold. Carefully I begin to clean my bloodied ear. “You have about thirty seconds before I start screaming for the guards again.”
    “I wanted to make sure she was all right,” he says quietly. “After yesterday.”
    “Why?”
    He ignores the question. “I wasn’t trying to intrude.”
    “Entering a house that isn’t yours and then opening a locked door is the definition of intrusion,” I say. “So if you weren’t trying to intrude you should have left the door closed and not come in.”
    He looks at me and nods. “I’m sorry.” His head lowers like a boy caught with his hand in the jam jar. In the wintry light his hair and skin glow, making him look like a ghost.
    “What are you?” I ask without thinking.
    “I’m not a ‘what’.” His head snaps up to look at me, his golden eyes flashing with outrage. “I’m a person, same as you. Not a thing. And not the Sleeping Prince.”
    “Sorry,” I say, looking at the floor. “I’ve just … the only time I’ve ever seen anyone like you was in the stories about … him.” Sitting opposite the Sleeping Prince’s double makes it hard to say his name. “It’s different.”
    “Not to me.”
    “Well, it is to me,” I say. “Just … Silas, think about it. For three moons I had no idea what you looked like, no idea about you at all. You won’t tell me anything; I have no idea where you come from, or what you’re doing here. You both showed up at the exact same time, and until recently no one else knew you were here. You have unlimited money; you have secret tasks. And I saw you in the woods before I was attacked, Silas. You were there, minutes before. With someone. I saw you meet them and then I lost sight of you. Then I come back here and see your hair, and your eyes. Can you blame me for what I thought?”
    Silas looks at me and shrugs, before shaking his head.
    “My family is originally Tallithi, generations back,” he says quietly, his voice oddly bitter. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I’d hurt him. “I inherited my astonishing good looks from them. Moon hair, the Godseye. That’s what they call it, in Lormere. Tallithi features, you can look them up in any of the history books. It’s less common to see someone with one or both now, I’ll grant you that. But it’s because we stay out of the way. We’re conspicuous enough as it is.” He crosses his long legs like a schoolboy and rests his elbows on his knees. “Obviously, since the Sleeping Prince’s return, it’s essential for me to keep my appearance