“You have questions,” he said, his voice just as charming as he’d been in front of the crowd. “I can see it plainly on your faces. Don’t be afraid. You need only ask them.”
I stepped forward, leveling my gaze at him. “Where did you take Malachi?”
“Your friend is perfectly safe and waiting for me to help ease the malady that befell him during his last visit with us. I’m so grateful he was able to return. The last I heard, he was being held captive in the halls of the Cradle. I suppose that you two are to thank for that?”
Cirian stepped forward then. “And where would you have heard that, if I might ask?”
The Sleeper laughed, his head angling back as he did. “You of all people should know how gossip travels through those stone halls, Acolyte. But that’s not important right now, is it? You’re here because the Saint asked you to come. Tell me, was she too frightened to attend herself?”
Sparks shot from the ends of Cirian’s fingers. “You wouldn’t be laughing if she had.”
“No, I suppose not. It’s been too long since Sancha and I have had a chance to catch up. Sainthood has worn on hersensibilities, I fear. Though I do hear that her miracle was something to behold.”
He knew Sancha? Did that mean that she knew his identity as well? Had she baited us here knowing full well the strength of this man?
“Drop the act,” Cirian demanded, the air around him crackling with electricity. “Who are you, really?”
“Were you not listening, boy? I’m he who slumbers. The first to receive the Source’s blessing. Usurper to the Magi-King’s throne.”
“That’s a load of bollocks,” Cirian sneered. “You may have these Mortals fooled, but we both know that you’re lying.”
“Am I now?” the Sleeper questioned, stepping closer to the two of us. “Are you arrogant enough to ignore what’s been put in front of you, Acolyte? Or perhaps that’s the bitter tinge of jealousy I hear in your voice. Does the Source speak to you, boy? Does it whisper in your ears whilst you dream? Does it promise you adoration and glory if you merely obey?”
“Do not speak as if you know it,” spat Cirian.
Another laugh from the Sleeper. “Know it? I was there at the beginning, Acolyte. I felt its presence rend a gaping hole in our world. Felt the tendrils of its influence fill my veins with molten power. There were others before me. Those who burned to ashes at the sight of the Source’s light. Not me. I was strong. I was precisely what it sought. Someone capable of carrying the light where it could not go on its own. So do not speak to me ofknowingthe Source, for to know it is to know the very blood in my veins.”
“Then prove yourself,” Cirian rebutted, advancing on the man. “Show me that you are not a falsehood, and maybe then will I believe your heresy?—”
“Enough,” I interrupted, stepping forward and pulling Cirian’s shoulder to force him back to my side. “Whether you arewho you say you are matters little. You’ve managed well enough to convince these Converts. But we are not Mortals, so we have no interest in joining with your delusions of grandeur.”
The Sleeper cocked his head to the side, the blank recesses of the porcelain mask staring at me with a weight that scuttled across my skin.
“You’re an interesting one,” the Sleeper said, his voice soft enough that I could barely make out the words.
“Malachi returns with us,” I continued, squaring my shoulders and doing my best to keep my voice level. “So, do whatever you must to retrieve him, and we’ll take our leave.”
The Sleeper laughed once more.
Cirian squirmed at my side, his gaze trained on the masked man. I wondered what he thought of my attempt to seize the reins. It was the kind of action he would have taken if he hadn’t been so caught up in his emotions.
“Of course,” said the Sleeper, his voice still thick with amusement. “But before I retrieve the boy, was there not another reason for your presence here tonight?”
My pulse spiked, a chip appearing in my own mask of bravado.
“I know why you’re here. You seek answers. Solutions to a dire situation with someone you hold close. You’re desperate. I can smell it on you.”
He was bluffing. There were only a handful of individuals that we’d trusted with information regarding Tobias and his sister’s condition. This man was a charlatan. A good one. Tonight’s performance proved that. Still, I needed to confirm what he knew.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” I replied, exhaling a steady breath. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Come now, Seeker. Falsehoods taste strange on your tongue, do they not? The Acolyte is far more practiced indeception. He spews lies as if they were songs, dancing from his lips in a manner most saccharine.”
Cirian stepped forward once again, the air around him crackling with cerulean electricity. I caught him by the sleeve, keeping him from advancing further.
The Sleeper wagged a finger at us. “Such a temper, Acolyte. That is not befitting of a man of your status.”
“Allow me to show you exactly what a man of mystatusis capable of,” Cirian seethed, pulling against my grip.
