“You can carry on going through these,” he said, effectively dismissing her as he returned to his new tasks.
Miffed, she’d retreated to her room, only to be shooed out by Rhyllian maids armed with clean linen and dusters, muttering darkly as they began to tidy the room. And the main library was now Dain’s bedroom; she couldn’t exactly go and commandeer it to work in.
She’d eventually hidden herself away in the rose parlour with a pot of moonstar tea and the reports. She was going through them, her heart aching more and more with each child, when she heard the familiar whisper of wheels on the ground, and she looked up to see the vice chancellor of Rhannon.
“Charon,” she cried, putting the papers down with indecent haste, crossing the room in three steps and kneeling in front of his chair. Charon applied the brakes and took Sorrow’s face in his hands.
He didn’t speak at first, scanning her with practised eyes, nodding to himself as he took her in. Though it had only been little over a month since she’d last seen him at her father’s funeral, she did the same, checking him over for signs of strain or tiredness. She was pleased to see he looked well: bright-eyed, relaxed … and unmistakably happy to see her as his face broke into a grin. She drank the sight in, already feeling more settled, more capable, now he was here. Then a thought came to her, and she frowned.
“Are you allowed to be here?” she asked. “I mean, you can’t be seen to be supporting me. This might look bad.”
Charon raised a brow. “I hardly snuck in.” He glanced down pointedly at his chair. “Besides, I’ve already been to see Mael, so there can be no accusations of favouritism.”
“You went to him first?” Sorrow tried, and failed, to hide her hurt as petty envy needled her.
Charon’s expression was one Sorrow knew well from her childhood – one part infinite patience, one part exasperation – and his tone was long-suffering as he said, “If I’d come here first I’d have to leave you, to go to him…”
“Oh. Of course.” Reassured, Sorrow returned to her spot on the sofa, smiling as the butler discreetly slipped out of the room, giving them privacy. “So, I suppose we can’t talk about the election?” she said, and Charon nodded. “That narrows the field considerably,” Sorrow said as she tucked her legs beneath her.
“I’d very much like to hear exactly what happened in Prekara. Your note wasn’t terribly heavy on detail.”
“Stars, Charon, it was awful.” She relayed to him her version of events, starting with the appearance of the hooded men, the shouting, the fire, Meeren Vine’s pause before he came to her aid, ending with Commander Dain’s assignment at Vine’s insistence.
“Where is she now?” Charon asked. “Isn’t a bodyguard meant to do exactly that?”
“The library. Deryn – the Rhyllian who greeted us – was offended at the idea I’d brought a guard, but she was quick to accommodate her. She had the library set up as a makeshift bedroom. And Dain seems to love it. She’s quite the bookworm. And, as everyone keeps telling me, I’m perfectly safe here.”
Charon opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it.
“What?” Sorrow asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.” She knew him well enough to know he was lying.
He pressed his lips together, seemingly thinking, and then said, “There was a break-in, at the house you’ve been using in the North Marches. The night you left for Rhylla.”
Sorrow’s heart stopped. “What do you mean? Wait, Irris was still there; is she OK?”
“She’s fine, don’t worry. In fact, she’s here too; she came with me. She wanted to come straight to you, but I asked her to let me speak to you first. I’ve left her unpacking, so by my estimate she’ll be here in ten minutes and our belongings will remain in their trunks.” He smiled.
Sorrow’s mood lifted temporarily at the thought of her friend being here, but fell again almost immediately. “Who broke in? Do you know? And how?”
Charon paused. “They came through your room. Through the balcony door. And I suspect, after what happened in Prekara, that it was the Sons of Rhannon.”
His words picked at something in her memory then. Monkeys on the roof, metal hitting the tiles…
Charon continued, bringing her back to the present. “Irris was still awake, when it happened. She heard sounds coming from your room, and knowing you’d gone, took some of the servants and a large knife with her to investigate. By the time she arrived, there was no one there but the balcony door was open. The lock had been picked. I’ve ordered it repaired, and additional bolts added, but I think it best to move when you return to Rhannon. To somewhere more secure. Bayrum Mizil would offer his manse. Or there’s the Day seat in the East Marches.”
“Stars…” Sorrow said, as understanding chilled her to the bone. They’d come for her in the night, when they knew she’d be alone. And vulnerable. So they did mean her real harm; it wasn’t just public threats and graffiti. She shivered and crossed her arms.
“And I have a man ready to take over as your bodyguard once you return,” Charon continued.
“Actually… Assuming she’s not a spy for Vine, I think I’d like to keep Dain,” Sorrow said, as Charon’s thick eyebrows rose. “She stood up for me at the bridge, and she’d welcome it, I’m sure. Plus, it might go a long way to appeasing the Decorum Ward when the time comes if they see me employing their former colleagues—” Sorrow stopped as Charon held up a hand. “Too close to election talk?” she said, and he nodded. “Sorry. Should we tell Mael about the break-in?” Sorrow asked suddenly, ignoring the look of surprise on Charon’s face. “They’re probably after him too. I know he’s more or less an enemy of sorts right now, but I don’t want him murdered in his bed,” she added when he continued to stare at her.
Charon nodded. “I suppose we should. I’ll speak to Arta Boniface later. But for now, tell me about Rhylla. How are you enjoying it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Sorrow said. “I still can’t get over the food. I feel like I’m actually eating colours sometimes, everything is so tasty and vibrant. And I met Fain Darcia and the Lady of Skae. I think I made a good impression on them.”
Charon shot her a warning glance and Sorrow swallowed an impatient sigh. This was harder than she’d thought.
“Have you seen Rasmus?” Charon asked, watching her closely.
Sorrow nodded. “You needn’t worry. He hates me. He can’t even look at me.” She remembered his words from last night and felt her chest contract as sadness rose like a tide inside her.
“I never wanted that,” Charon said. “And for what it’s worth, I am sorry. Really,” he said, when her eyebrows quirked, betraying her scepticism. “So, any other news?”
“Oh,” she remembered. “We stopped on the way here in Ceridog, for … a reason. And we’re going to see some of the south before we return, for the same reason.” She didn’t know how much she could, or should, say about Mael here, so she gave Charon a deliberate look.
“That’s the last avenue you have?”
“Yes. No.” Sorrow’s gaze fell on Luvian’s reports. “Luvian pulled all the reports of children who went missing around the time—”
Charon jerked so violently Sorrow was afraid he’d tip out of his chair. Her words died in her mouth as she reached for him, but he shook his head, bracing his hands on the armrests, and took a deep breath.
“Are you all right?” Sorrow asked him.
He nodded, but Sorrow didn’t believe him. Though his expression hadn’t altered, he was noticeably paler, his temples and upper lip glistening as sweat bloomed there. His knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests.
“I’ll fetch someone.” Sorrow half rose, but the vice chancellor waved her down.
“No,” he said, then again in a stronger voice. “No. I’m all right. Just an odd moment. No doubt from travelling so far without a real rest. I’m fine. What were you saying?” he asked. “Something about missing children?”
“Let
me get you some water, or maybe something to eat?”
“I’m fine, Sorrow. Please, carry on.”
She sat back slowly, pausing before she answered. “We think it’s probable that Mael doesn’t know he’s an imposter. In which case he would have been taken from Rhannon as a very little boy. Luvian thinks we might be able to find him. So we’re looking for a child who went missing from the North Marches, in the two years after the accident.”
Charon sat back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. “How will it prove anything?”
“We’ll know where he came from,” Sorrow said. “We’ll know who his parents are and who he really is.”
I’ll know who he really is, Sorrow thought. I’ll know.
His eyes moved again to her reports. “And then what? What if you find a child in there, right place, right time? What will you do? Go to the parents and tell them you believe their son is alive but thinks he’s the son of the chancellor?”
Sorrow couldn’t understand why he seemed so angry. “Yes, of course. It might help us prove he’s an imposter. If he looks like one of them, or they recognize him…”
“Your father recognized him,” Charon said sharply. “Your father was convinced he was his child. What parent wouldn’t want to believe it? They’ll see what they want to, as Harun did. And you’ll be accused of trying to sabotage his attempts to win the election.”
“I’m doing this for the election. If I can find him—”
“You should be focusing on winning it,” Charon snapped.
They were Luvian’s words too, the same old message, but right now they sounded like an attack. An accusation. Sorrow couldn’t think of a response.
“Perhaps I should go,” Charon said.
Sorrow’s jaw dropped. “You’re leaving?”
“I’m tired, from the journey, and in some pain.” He nodded to his legs. “It’s making me ill-tempered.” He tried for a smile, but Sorrow couldn’t return it.
He snapped the brakes off and turned the chair. “I’ll rest for an hour or two and see you at the Naming this afternoon.”
Sorrow scrambled to stand, to walk him out, but he shook his head.
“No, you stay there. But I’d advise you to give up that foolishness.” He nodded to the abandoned reports. “And I’ll be having a word with Luvian Fen about it too. Focus on your campaign.”
With that he gripped the wheels of his chair and propelled himself out, leaving Sorrow staring after him.
She’d never seen him that flustered before, never seen him falter; not when her grandmother died, not when Alyssa overdosed. Not when Mael appeared, or even when Harun had passed. For the first time in her life, she doubted her mentor, the man who’d truly been a father to her, who’d raised her and taught her and protected her.
Because she didn’t believe him. He wasn’t in pain, or tired. Or if he was, that wasn’t what was behind his behaviour.
Sorrow wasn’t proud that she was an accomplished liar, but it had left her with the ability to know when others were being dishonest too.
In that moment, Sorrow was certain Charon was hiding something from her. And that he was afraid.
Blessings and Curses
But Sorrow had no time to try to understand why. Within moments of Charon leaving, Fain Darcia and Lady Skae returned, ruddy-cheeked and beaming from the morning’s ride.
Darcia sat beside Sorrow, who barely managed to get the papers out of the way as she did.
“Ah, Sorrow… It was magnificent.” Darcia took her drink from the butler’s hands and sat back. “Almost as good as the hunts back home.”
“Not quite, though,” Lady Skae agreed.
“No. Horses are not as good as alces for riding,” Darcia said.
“Alces?” Sorrow asked.
“Like a deer, but bigger. Much bigger. Faster,” Darcia said. “We use them to hunt wild rangifer, pinnipeds, alba bears, you name it.”
Sorrow allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about how the northern women hunted, happy to let the two tell her about their traditions, the beasts they killed for food and skins and bones, trying to distract herself from what had happened with Charon. She didn’t want to doubt him, didn’t want to think of him as someone calculating, or with secrets. There were too many secrets going around these days, and too few people she could trust.
The distraction worked, though Sorrow only realized how well when Irris rushed into the room, apologizing for taking her time.
Sorrow squealed when she saw her – she’d missed her, despite last seeing her three days ago. Irris held her tightly, and the two hugged each other.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sorrow said fiercely in her friend’s ear. “Are you all right? Charon said there was a break-in at the house, and you were there.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine. What about you? What news do you have?”
Sorrow knew Irris was not just asking about the Sons of Rhannon, and what had happened at the bridge, but about Rasmus too, and what she and Luvian had found in Ceridog.
“I’ll tell you everything. And you can tell me more about—”
Darcia cleared her throat in amusement.
“Sorry,” Sorrow said, releasing Irris, muttering, “Later,” again in her ear as she did.
Sorrow introduced her friend to the foreign women, and all three began to tell Irris what she’d missed, only stopping when Luvian appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a peacock-blue frock coat, frantically reminding them all they had to be ready to leave in half an hour for the Naming ceremony.
The Naming was being held on the outskirts of the complex, in a building that to Sorrow’s eye could have used a little cleaning, hypocritical as that made her. It looked like the wild and disobedient sister of every other building she’d seen in Rhylla, the grey stone worn and crumbling, ivy running rampant over it, instead of falling in manicured curtains. Parts of it were clearly falling down, roped off to keep people from climbing on them. It was only when they got closer that she realized what it was, and why it was significant.
“Adavere’s castle,” she murmured, more to herself than to Irris or Luvian as they’d stepped out of their carriage.
It was the ruins of the first king’s home, the place he’d shared with his Rhannish wife, until she ran away. All that remained now of the massive former castle was the keep, and even that was missing part of the roof.
“Why don’t they try to repair it?” Sorrow asked Luvian.
“All things must crumble,” a voice remarked, and Sorrow turned to see the red-haired Rhyllian man who’d been drinking Starwater with Rasmus and Eirlys at the welcome feast. “It’s natural. And good to remember it, sometimes. Harcel Argus.” He held out a hand. “Or Baron Argus, if you want to be formal. Which I don’t. I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself to you yet. You’re Sorrow Ventaxis, are you not?”
“I am,” Sorrow replied, taking his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He turned to Irris. “I don’t believe I saw you at either dinner – am I wrong? Or just a drunk?”
“No, I arrived this morning.” She smiled. “I’m Irris Day. I used to sit on the Jedenvat for the East Marches.”
“Of course. You must call me Harcel, Miss Day.”
“Then you must call me Irris,” she smiled, and Harcel raised her hand, as though to his lips.
Irris was having none of it, though, and gently but firmly twisted her wrist, forcing him to shake her hand instead.
The baron, to his credit, easily went along with it. He greeted Luvian then, and Sorrow decided to leave them to it, linking her arm through Irris’s.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s find somewhere good.”
“Actually, I’d better wait for my father,” Irris said apologetically. “He was a bit strange when he got back from visiting you and Mael. Was he all right when you saw him?”
She didn’t know what made her do it, but Sorrow nodded, and Irris shrugged.
“Maybe it was the travel. It was a horribly long way; he’s stuck at the mercy of helpers to get in and out of the carriages. I’ll come find you afterwards. Oh, and we should get ready for tonight together,” Irris promised, and Sorrow left her, hurrying to catch up with Luvian and Harcel, who were still talking.
Sorrow expected Harcel to go and sit with his own people. But he seemed quite happy to remain with her and Luvian. She saw Mael and Arta sitting on the right-hand side, and Fain Darcia and Lady Skae two rows behind them, so she turned the same way, sitting behind a man with skin a few shades darker than her own: the Duke of Meridea.
He turned the moment she was seated and offered a hand. “Miss Ventaxis, how nice to finally meet you.”
His Rhannish was flawless, and again she was ashamed of her own lacking language skills, even more so when Luvian smiled easily and said, “Dirnisha sula rallia meter. So good to meet you.”
He turned to Sorrow, smiling pointedly, and she repeated the phrase he’d said, much to the delight of the Duke of Meridea.
“Ah, you speak Merish,” he beamed.
“Sadly not,” Sorrow said. “I’m afraid I copied what my friend said. But I’m hoping to learn much more soon.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Luvian give a small, satisfied nod.
The woman beside the duke, her close-cropped hair not unlike Dain’s, and elaborate jadis earrings cuffing her ears, turned then, and Sorrow greeted her the same way, earning herself a large grin from the Merish woman.
“My consort, the Lady Iola,” the duke introduced his companion. “This is Miss Ventaxis.”
“Please, call me Sorrow.”
“Of course, Sorrow. I’m hopeful I’ll have the chance to talk more to you at the feast tonight,” she said, before turning back to her husband and lapsing into rapid Merish.
Relations between Rhannon and Meridea had been tense since Meridea’s refusal to side with their nearest neighbours during the Eternal War. Sorrow knew from her grandmother that Reuben had blasted them for it, and of course Harun had made no attempt to heal any wounds. But it seemed the duke and his consort had no interest in maintaining grudges, and Sorrow made a note to definitely seek them out that night.
State of Sorrow Page 26