I nodded, my throat too raw to commiserate.
Across the room—a dimly lit interior, walled with shelves of books from one end to the next—Bastien stood alongside the Sleeper, holding the large tome that the woman had given to himback in the Cradle. Both of them leaned into one another as they spoke in hushed tones.
Prodding at the sliver of puckered skin on my chest where the Sanguine blade had pierced, I marveled at the handiwork of the mysterious figure. Just how had he managed to heal such grievous wounds? Even someone as powerful as Sancha would have struggled to close more than one Sanguine wound at a time, yet this man seemed to offer no sign of fatigue. My mind drifted back to that basement under the Mortal Cup and the story that the Sleeper weaved. Was there some sort of truth to it? If that were the case, then he’d be over a thousand years old. It would also mean that he was touched by the Source itself.
Just like I’d been….
“This one here,” the Sleeper announced, voice loud enough to reach my ears. “That should be able to negate the effects of the stasis. Combine it with the list of ingredients I gave you, and be sure they consume the entirety.”
“Are you certain?” Bastien questioned.
“I am most certain. Ah, I had forgotten how lovely Annora’s quillwork was. Keep these pages well, Seeker. They hold the knowledge of the original alchemist herself.”
The two turned back to us, the Seeker making a humming sound as he approached the desk, his mask of swirled porcelain staring down at me with glassy resolve.
“Welcome back, Acolyte.” He paused, raising a gloved hand to tap the chin of his mask. “Oh, I suppose that title no longer suits you. With the departure of dear Sancha, you have claimed the title of Saint.”
I shook my head, gravelly words failing to cross my tongue.
“Allow me,” the Sleeper said, resting a hand against my throat.
With a surge of warmth, the fire in my throat subsided.
“I’m not a saint,” I said finally, the words coming through smooth and clear.
The Sleeper shrugged. “Well, the political workings of the church hold none of my interest, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Where are we?” I asked, propping myself up on an elbow to get a better vantage.
“In my office,” the Sleeper answered. “The exact location shall remain a mystery for the meantime, but rest assured, I intend no harm to befall you or your companions.”
The dozen questions swirling around my head coalesced into one.
“What were you doing in the Cradle?”
“Running an errand,” the Sleeper answered without hesitation. “I had to wait until enough damage had been caused to the structure to get through those pesky wards around the vaults. We just so happened to come across you lot on our way down. How fortunate for you all.”
“And that abacus was what you were after?” Azrael interjected, his suspicions narrowed in on the man.
“Yes,” the Sleeper answered, once again without hesitation. “And a few other items that were also being held under dubious circumstances. Like Annora’s compendium there.”
“And what do you intend to do with the Abacus?”
“I intend to use it. That is, after all, what artifacts were created for.”
“What of the others?” I asked, the other questions simmering to the surface. “The other Hallowed that were there. Did they make it out?”
“Reina tells me that she spoke to a precocious little thing outside of the crater that used to be the Cradle, who saw a great host of people fleeing the structure before it collapsed. Now, I cannot say for certain that everyone made it out, but itdoes appear that there were survivors.” A sniffle emanated from beneath the mask. “That was all thanks to your efforts, dear boy. You should feel immense pride in your actions today.”
A broken laugh ricocheted through my chest.
“Yeah, it’s my turn to take your word for it.”
The Sleeper returned my laugh, a sharp, high-pitched thing that petered out just as quickly as it came. “You have been blessed by the Source, Cirian. Humility is for those without the fire of the Enduring within their veins.”
My thoughts drifted back to the Sleeper’s story. He said that he had also been blessed by the Source, back in the time of the Magi-King. I didn’t know how to reconcile the stacking similarities between us.
“I think my blessings have officially run out,” I said, grunting as I sat upright, my head spinning.
