State of Sorrow

by Melinda Salisbury

  He’d held her very close as he’d explained it didn’t work like that. That someone with an ability in glamour might be able to make hair shinier, plump lips, deepen eye colour, or lighten it. But only in so far as it already existed. They couldn’t make blue eyes brown; they couldn’t make a tall person short. The abilities didn’t allow for changes to something or someone’s fundamental being. That’s why Vespus had such trouble growing Alvus – he couldn’t alter its innate needs to make it adapt to the soil in the north of Rhylla. So, he told her, no one could make his ears rounded, or hers like arrow tips.

  “Because I was told once,” she said finally. “And besides, there’s a registry for all the abilities. Even if it was possible, it would have been recorded there, and I’m sure it’s the first thing the queen would have checked when he came here.”

  Luvian shrugged. “I’ll stick with going through the list of Rhannish missing children and—” He stopped suddenly, eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his glasses. “They do love their registries here, don’t they…?”

  “Where did that come from?” Sorrow asked. “And what’s with that look? You look very scheme-ish.”

  “‘Scheme-ish’ isn’t a word. Though I suppose once you’re chancellor you can make up all the words you like.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Sorrow warned. “I know you too well.”

  He peered at her over the top of his spectacles. “Do you, now?”

  “Yes. You and your – what was it? – your fearsome mind?”

  “My fearsome mind?”

  “Or whatever you were bragging about yesterday. There’s so much you have to say about yourself that sometimes I forget…”

  His expression became amused, a single brow arching. “Ah, you mean my massive brain and intellect?”

  “In fairness, ‘fearsome mind’ sounds like the sort of thing you’d say in reference to yourself.”

  “Envy is such an ugly emotion, Sorrow darling,” he replied, and she laughed.

  It was only then she realized that Vespus and Mael had fallen silent and were watching them.

  Rasmus, too, was watching, his jaw clenched tightly as he looked between the two of them. Then he turned away, sitting down and waving for a servant to come fill his glass.

  Sorrow sat then, busying herself with her own wine, as Luvian lowered himself next to her.

  “What was all that about?” he leant over and murmured.

  “No idea,” Sorrow lied.

  She could feel Luvian watching her, waiting for more, and in response heat broke out across her body. She was saved when Melisia stood, and the rest of the room fell silent, Vespus hurrying to his seat as Mael took his.

  She spoke first in Rhyllian, then Meridian, Svartan, Skae, Astrian, Nyrssean and finally Rhannish, and Sorrow could only assume she said the same thing each time: “Greetings, friends, and know you have our sincere gratitude for travelling here for the Naming Day of our new daughter. Please be welcome at our table and hearth, feast and rejoice with us. There is nothing so precious as a new life, and we are honoured to share this with you.”

  The room erupted into applause, and Melisia bowed then sat down. The moment she did, wide doors at the end of the room opened, and the feast began in earnest.

  Sorrow found her eyes drawn to Rasmus, whose gaze flickered briefly to her, then away. Instead he turned to his cousin and fixed her with a smile so bright it could have lit the room, and jealousy stabbed somewhere near Sorrow’s heart. She speared her fork viciously into her chicken. She had no right to feel bitter, she told herself angrily. None at all.

  It wasn’t enough to make the feeling go away, though.

  Dinner was followed by a drinks reception, the party moving to another room without formal seating, allowing everyone to mix. Melisia and Caspar retired for the night, leaving the others to enjoy the celebration. When Vespus made a beeline for Mael, Aphora on his arm, Sorrow headed to the other side of the hall, to Darcia, and Lady Skae.

  Luvian had vanished, complaining of toothache, so Sorrow busied herself asking Darcia to teach her a little Svartan. Take that, she thought; while Mael stuck like glue to his Rhyllian friends, she was forging links with leaders from other countries. Luvian would be proud.

  Across the room, Rasmus laughed, and the sound was like a knife in Sorrow’s back. That laugh that she’d only ever heard muted, hushed, in the Court of Tears was unleashed here, loud and alive. She’d never heard him laugh like that before. Though she told herself not to, she turned to see him standing with Eirlys, whose own face was creased with mirth, her shoulder shaking silently. Beside them a third Rhyllian with red hair was laughing so hard his cheeks were shining with tears. She barely recognized Rasmus, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth leering as he gasped with laughter.

  She looked away, a cocktail of sadness, envy and annoyance confusing her. Was he behaving like this to get to her, or was it arrogance to imagine he even still cared?

  “They’ve been drinking Starwater.” Darcia shook her head. “Silly children.”

  “Starwater?” Sorrow asked. She’d never heard of it.

  “A trend with young Rhyllians. Rich young Rhyllians, at least. It’s made from the fermented sap of the Alvus tree. Very strong. A little makes laughter come easy. Too much will make you very ill. Well –” she paused “– not them. But my ambassador sent me some, and it did not agree with me. And I am not –” she fumbled for the Rhannish word “– weak, when it comes to drinking.”

  Sorrow made a mental note to avoid Starwater if ever she was offered it. If Darcia, who drank that dark aniseed alcohol like it was milk, couldn’t handle it, there was no chance Sorrow could. “What does it taste like?”

  “Mania,” Darcia said, and Sorrow wondered if she’d got the word confused. Mania wasn’t a flavour. “If the queen sees them with it, she’ll be furious,” she continued.

  “Doesn’t she like it?”

  “Not one bit. They wouldn’t dare drink it if she was still here.”

  Sorrow looked back at Rasmus, one hand over his mouth, the other clutching Eirlys’s shoulder as he laughed. He looked out of control, wild; for the first time his pointed ears and fey eyes made her uneasy. Perhaps Darcia was right, and it was the taste of mania. As she watched he gulped down more of the liquid, his eyes glittering with something deep and uncontrollable. It was a side to him she’d never seen before and she didn’t like it.

  “Bathroom,” she said, excusing herself.

  A guard pointed out the direction to her, and Sorrow was relieved to be away from the noise and atmosphere of the Great Hall. She lingered in the cooler room, running her wrists under the tap, allowing the cold water to slow her heart.

  The door burst open, and Princess Eirlys stumbled in. Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes sparkling. She grinned at Sorrow.

  “I apologize. The door wasn’t locked.”

  “I’m finished,” Sorrow said, edging past the Rhyllian girl and back out into the corridor.

  Rasmus was there, obviously waiting for Eirlys. The moment he saw Sorrow he began to walk back down the corridor.

  “Rasmus?” she said, before she could stop herself.

  He took two more steps before stopping, his shoulders high, spine ramrod straight as he turned slowly and looked at her. He’d pulled the tie at his throat loose and opened his jacket, exposing the white shirt beneath, the laces undone. In his left hand he clutched a small bottle, half full of clear liquid.

  “Hello,” she said.

  His face, which was carefully arranged into a bland expression, faltered for a moment. “Hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “And Rhylla? How are you finding my country?” His accent had changed, she realized, since she’d last spoken to him. He sounded more Rhyllian now, more rolling “r”s and lilting tempo.

  “It’s beautiful.” Sorrow could have kicked herself at the stupidity of her replies.

  He took a step closer to h
er, looking her up and down, and her heart exploded into a tattoo of rapid beats. “You look well,” he said finally.

  “Thank y—” She stopped herself. “That is kind of you to say,” she finished.

  He nodded, as if it didn’t matter, as if he didn’t expect her to reply the Rhyllian way, before raising the flask in his hands to his lips.

  Immediately his eyes changed. They looked metallic, somehow, the violet becoming steely. Her stomach tightened in warning.

  “It’s Starwater.” He followed her gaze to where it rested on the bottle.

  “I figured. Fain Darcia told me about it.”

  It wasn’t a hint that she wanted some – after what Darcia said she had no desire to poison herself – but he held the flask out to her as if it had been. She hesitated for a moment, then took it, holding it loosely.

  “I was sorry to hear about your father,” Rasmus said, unblinking eyes fixed on hers. “I would have written, only Lord Day made it very clear that word from me wasn’t welcomed by you. That it wasn’t appropriate.”

  It was the first time any hint of emotion had coloured his voice, but it was bitter, his accent clipping the words so they felt like hailstones. “No one would have thought it inappropriate for you to offer your condolences to the daughter of a man whose home you’d lived in for the past ten years.”

  “We sent a wreath.”

  Sorrow choked on thin air, forgetting to be careful. “Oh, well, that’s all right then.” When he stared at her with a patient, blank expression, her ire rose. “This was a mistake,” she said. “I should have known better.”

  “I’ll bid you goodnight, then.” He tried to leave, but Sorrow couldn’t stop herself.

  “Rasmus. Can’t we… Can’t we be friends? I still care about you.” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, and she knew even as they did it was the worst thing she could have said.

  “Care about me?” His face drained so abruptly of colour it scared her. “Care? Stars, Row, why don’t you stab me in the heart and be done with it?” He turned and strode away.

  “Rasmus, please,” she called desperately, knowing that if she let him walk away now she would lose him for ever. “That’s not what I meant. Ras, I’m trying – please listen to me.”

  But he kept moving, and Sorrow looked down at the bottle, still clutched in her hand, and made one final attempt to stop him.

  “You forgot your Starwater,” she called after him.

  He paused, and half turned, his profile caught in the lamplight, and Sorrow breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could explain—

  “Keep it. I know better than anyone how you like to experiment with Rhyllian things.”

  His words struck her like a punch, and Sorrow folded in on herself, gasping. Rasmus walked away without a backwards glance.

  At the sound of Eirlys fumbling with the handle of the bathroom door, Sorrow picked up her skirts and ran back to the Great Hall, to find Darcia and Lady Skae waiting for her.

  The two northern leaders chatted happily on the journey back to the small palace, and Sorrow let their words fly around her, nodding and smiling in the right places. She even stayed in the parlour for a drink with the two of them, somehow managing to participate, until Lady Skae made her excuses and left.

  When they finally went to their beds, Sorrow left her dress and bag in a heap on the floor. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, her heart breaking as she finally admitted the truth to herself. The real reason she’d never considered a future with him: not because he was Rhyllian and she was Rhannish. Not because of duty. She knew exactly what he’d wanted her to say. She’d known he’d waited years for her to say it. But she couldn’t. She didn’t love him. Not the way he’d needed her to. She’d wanted him – craved him, even – loved him as a friend, trusted him more than almost anyone. But she hadn’t been in love with him. And if she was honest – really honest – she wasn’t sure she could love anyone that way.

  Sorrow, for that is all she brings us, a voice whispered in the dark.

  For once it wasn’t Rasmus’s voice in her head. This time it sounded like her own.

  When she woke the next morning Luvian was gone, the door to his room open and his bed neatly made. Once she was dressed, and had eaten, Sorrow went to find him, but he wasn’t in the parlour or the library. She wondered whether to search the grounds, but a light drizzle, and the worry she might bump into Rasmus, put paid to that idea. If she never saw him again it would be too soon. She was already planning to fake an illness to get out of the second dinner that night.

  At a loss for what to do with herself, she retreated back to her rooms. She found the pile of Rhannish records Luvian had been going through on the table in their private parlour, and, remembering what he’d said about the vastness of the task, she decided to see if she could help.

  They made for gruesome reading, and once again Sorrow realized how little she knew of everyday Rhannish life. It seemed children fell into wells, rivers, or vanished into woodlands with something close to regularity. They were presumed eaten by desert cats, jungle cats, snakes and even, in one case, tiny carnivorous lizards that dwelt on the coast of the West Marches. Children who’d left their homes in the morning and simply not returned. Babies seemingly snatched from their cots, or from beside their sleeping mothers. Children who’d been last seen talking to strange adults, taking their hands and vanishing for evermore…

  Sorrow almost put the records down, not wanting to know any more. But then she forced herself to pick them back up. These were her people. She needed to know about these things, might be able to help, somehow, provide money to cover wells, and for fences for villages where animal attacks were likely. Besides, if she found him in here, she’d know for sure that he wasn’t Mael. She could get on with the election, and her life, with an easy heart. She began to go through the reports.

  Luvian, it seemed, had narrowed his search down to missing children from the North Marches, which Sorrow supposed made sense. Easier to take a child from close to the border than from deeper in Rhannon. She started to mark them off, following Luvian’s lead, crossing out any from outside the border state, and any who were female.

  Sorrow was so engrossed in the work that she didn’t hear Luvian return until he spoke.

  “There you are,” he said.

  Sorrow narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘there I am’? I’ve been here all day. It’s you who’s been off, Graces know where.”

  “Ah, yes, you’re quite right. I have been mysteriously absent,” he beamed.

  He sat opposite her, kicking his long legs up on to the table and removing his glasses, polishing them theatrically.

  Sorrow knew what he was waiting for, and she ignored him.

  Luvian squinted at her and pushed his glasses back on to his face, and despite how upset she still felt about Rasmus, and how heartsick over the missing children reports, she almost smiled.

  Five, four, three, two… she counted.

  One.

  Right on cue, Luvian said, “Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?”

  Sorrow shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll tell me in your own sweet time.” She smiled.

  He scowled. “I ought to make you wait. But I’m going to take the higher ground, because I’m a better person. Do you remember yesterday, during dinner, when you were talking about the abilities? You said there was a registry for them. And I said they had registries for everything?”

  “Yes…” Sorrow said slowly, leaning back against the carved arm of the sofa.

  “They keep lists of everyone who visits. That’s why they were so put out about Dain. She wasn’t on their list. So they added her.” He paused. “And you know who else would have been on a visitor list? Beliss. You told me the queen had her brought here. Ergo, she must have been put on a register.”

  “You found her?” Sorrow stared at him. “You really found her?”

  He nodded. “I skipped the drinks last night and went to find one
of the guards. I told him I thought there had been a mistake on the register about my address, and he told me I’d have to go to the registry, right here in the complex, to correct it. He also told me it was closed for the next few days for the Naming. So, this morning, at the crack of dawn, I went there.”

  For a moment she was puzzled. “But if it’s closed… You broke in? Luvian! If you’d been caught…”

  He smiled winningly, in a way that suggested the idea of him being caught was preposterous. “Then you would have had to fire me for misconduct and have me arrested, and release a statement saying you didn’t know about it, and it wasn’t done on your orders.”

  “It wasn’t!”

  “Good. You wouldn’t need to lie. Anyway, Madame Beliss lives in a charming, if unoriginally named, little place called Cottage Near the River, in the county of Starsia. So, I propose we send a bird to Irris and prolong our trip here. Take another detour on the way back to Rhannon.”

  “You’re a genius.” Sorrow shook her head in awe. “Insane. But a genius.”

  “Why, thank you. Now, you can go and get ready for tonight’s dinner. But be sure to continue ruminating on my genius as you do.”

  Sorrow’s joy immediately soured.

  Greetings from Rhannon

  The dinner went smoothly enough, with Sorrow tactically delaying herself and Luvian so that everyone was already seated when they arrived, and leaving as soon as it was over, claiming she felt ill. It wasn’t even untrue; being in the same room as Rasmus, even though he didn’t so much as look in her direction, left her shaken and vulnerable.

  So when Charon Day entered the ground floor parlour the following morning, Sorrow almost threw herself into his arms. She’d declined the offer to go on a celebratory hunt with the other guests, and had remained in her rooms, intent on brooding some more on the night before. But several birds had arrived for Luvian throughout the morning, turning their private parlour into part aviary, part office, and making it impossible for her to concentrate.

  Luvian arranged the papers they’d brought into some order only recognizable to himself, and when Sorrow, deciding she might as well make herself useful, had tried to reach for one, he’d snatched it from her and told her to go away and let him do his job, only to call her back a moment later and shove his infernal missing child reports into her hands.