State of Sorrow

by Melinda Salisbury

  “Miss Waters will be accorded every respect,” Caspar said. “I’ll come back myself when the carriage is ready.”

  Sorrow nodded, lowering her head. Dain had died because of Sorrow. And Sorrow had liked her, despite her being from the Decorum Ward. She’d liked learning that Dain loved to read, that the taste of sugar made her eyes sparkle. That she was more than a brute. Sorrow had liked being wrong about her.

  “We need to write to her mother. We’ll tell her mother she can be proud of her,” Irris said, patting Sorrow’s hand.

  Sorrow’s head snapped up, her eyes on Luvian. Now she remembered what the man had said.

  Mother would be proud.

  Luvian shook his head, his eyes pleading, begging with her not to say anything.

  “Miss Ventaxis?” Caspar said.

  Sorrow tore her gaze away from Luvian and made a decision, praying it was the right one. Praying she was wrong. She didn’t think she could stand to lose anything else that day.

  “Forgive me,” she said to the prince consort. “What did you say?”

  “I’ll leave guards outside for you,” Caspar repeated, his eyes kind.

  “I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll go and tell my father we’re leaving,” Irris said to Sorrow. “Then I’ll come straight back. Will you be all right?” Sorrow nodded.

  Irris gave her hands one final squeeze as she followed the Rhyllians from the room.

  She listened to their footsteps receding as she finished the last of her drink, borrowing strength from it. Though she didn’t think Luvian would hurt her himself – he had saved her, and had ample opportunity to hurt her if he’d wanted to – she was glad to know there were guards within shouting distance if she needed them. She hoped she wouldn’t. She hoped she was wrong.

  Luvian barely waited for the door at the end of the corridor to close before he said, “Sorrow…”

  “You know him, don’t you? That Son of Rhannon. You know each other.”

  The fact he didn’t immediately deny it damned him.

  “He said, ‘Mother would be proud’. Your mother.”

  “It’s not what you think… It’s not my life any more. I left it…” Luvian held up his hands.

  “What life? Who are you? We looked you up. We investigated you and we found nothing.”

  “Sorrow, please trust me—”

  “No! Stars, I wish people would stop saying that to me. Tell me who you are.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then tell me who he is. Tell me how you know the Sons of Rhannon.”

  “Sorrow, I can’t. I’m begging you to trust me.”

  Sorrow looked at him. She had trusted him. With everything. Trusted him as much as she’d ever trusted Irris, and Rasmus, and Charon. And look where that had got her. Charon had lied to her for her whole life. She’d lied to herself about Rasmus, and she was lying to Irris now. It was all lies and all secrets and she’d had enough.

  “Dain is dead,” Sorrow said. “And you know who killed her. You’re protecting them, working with them, for all I know.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Shut up, Luvian. You’re hiding the person who has now tried, at least four times, to kill me. One of the Sons of Rhannon. So, I’m asking you for the last time, who is it?”

  Luvian shook his head, his mouth moving silently for a moment before he looked at her with large, pleading eyes.

  “Fine. But remember, I gave you a chance to come clean. I gave you that chance and you refused it.”

  “Sorrow, don’t…”

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  Luvian turned, and ran.

  The guards burst into the room a moment later, swords in their hands.

  “What is it?”

  “Didn’t you stop him?” She stared at them.

  “Who? Mr Fen?”

  Sorrow covered her face with her hands.

  “He told us to get to you,” one of the men said. “We assumed he was going to fetch aid.”

  “He knows the man who attacked me,” Sorrow said.

  Without saying a word, one of the guards sprinted from the room, the other remaining with Sorrow.

  She wasn’t surprised when a body of guards returned, their leader telling her Luvian hadn’t been found.

  The journey back to Rhannon was long, but Charon wouldn’t allow them to stop for longer than it took to change horses and use the bathroom.

  “I want you where you’re safe,” he said. “Until Fen is caught, and we know who he is and what his connection is to the Sons of Rhannon.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to argue, couldn’t bring herself to do anything but slump in the corner of the carriage, pretending to sleep, all the while going over what had happened. She’d lost it all, she realized. Rasmus, Luvian. The possibility of a brother. Herself. As they moved through the North Marches she sat up, staring at every face they passed, looking for herself.

  From the expression on Charon’s face he knew what she was doing, and it wounded him, but Sorrow couldn’t let that stop her. They headed to the port district of the East Marches, the seat of Arran Day, Charon’s son and Irris’s brother. They were to stay in the Days’ ancestral home until the election.

  Looking back, she realized all the clues were there that she should never have trusted Luvian as much as she had. His desperation for the job, writing to beg for an interview. The casual way he spoke of breaking into official places, the way he stole information and the painting. The way he never talked about himself, or his family, or his past.

  And he’d stayed very quiet about his connection to the Sons of Rhannon. Dain was dead because of it.

  Over and over she regretted screaming for the guards instead of trying to coax the truth from him. Now she knew nothing, and was a mere five weeks from an election she had no business even running for.

  “We’re here,” Charon said as the gates to the Days’ estate swung open.

  And as they closed behind them, the iron ringing with finality, Sorrow gave in to the darkness that had been threatening to consume her.

  PART THREE

  All warfare is based on deception

  Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable;

  When using our forces, we must seem inactive;

  When we are near, we must make the

  enemy believe we are far away;

  When far away, we must make him

  believe we are near.

  —Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  After the Storm

  “Nothing,” Irris said as she put down the letters that had arrived earlier that morning. “It’s like he appeared from nowhere three years ago. How does no one know who this man is? It’s impossible.”

  Irris had taken Luvian’s treachery very personally, and had dedicated herself to uncovering who he really was. She wrote again and again to his tutors and classmates, the same people she’d asked for references when they were interviewing him. And they all said exactly what they’d said in the first place: that he was arrogant and undoubtedly cunning – admirable qualities in a politician, some might say – but he was an undeniably hard worker, and guaranteed to see a task through, come what may. While he wasn’t considered unpopular, he hadn’t had any friends at university, had remained on campus during breaks, joined no clubs, and kept to himself. The staff who worked in the student housing said his rooms were always neat and tidy, and he never returned drunk, or tried to sneak anyone into his bed. He was a model tenant, a model student. Too good to be true, many of them commented.

  They had no idea…

  “We don’t even know what part of Rhannon he’s from,” Irris said. “If we did, we could go there and ask around. Maybe even offer some kind of incentive for information.”

  “If that was going to work, someone would have already come forward to claim the official reward,” Sorrow said.

  A statement had been released, saying Luvian was wanted in connection with the murder of a Decorum Ward commander
by one of the Sons of Rhannon. Both the Rhannish and the Rhyllians had put up a significant amount of reward money, and Melisia had written to Sorrow directly to apologize for what had happened, offering any aid Sorrow might want in finding him.

  But Sorrow was finding it harder and harder to care that he was still out there. Or about anything at all. The hollow feeling that had begun to consume her after Charon told her the truth about who she was had returned, and there was no sign of it fading or leaving. Save for the brief moments of respite when she’d been with Rasmus, it was there all the time, like a shadow, but inside her.

  To avoid it she went to bed earlier, and slept later, sometimes managing as many as sixteen hours of blissful, ignorant sleep before Irris bullied her from her bed. When she did get up, all she did was lie on the fainting couch, staring at the ceiling, while Irris pored over the correspondence with as much rigour as Luvian had given to the reports of missing children. And every time Sorrow thought of those, she remembered who she was – or rather, wasn’t – and the darkness inside her deepened.

  Irris had given up trying to entice Sorrow to help her, after Sorrow said she was still recovering from the attack.

  It was a lie, another one. All she had was lies.

  She ached for Rasmus, for his touch, knowing it would take the pain away, however temporarily. And she hated herself for it, for wanting him, and for using him, and for being weak. For being like Harun.

  The only other person who might have been able to chivvy, or more likely annoy, her out of the black hole she found herself in had been a lie too. And that’s what hurt the most. For the first time in her life, she’d felt released from the curse of her name – if ambitious, bright, brilliant Luvian Fen thought she was something special, then maybe she was. His respect for her, his faith in her, gave her something she’d never had before, not from Rasmus, Charon, her grandmother, or even Irris. He hadn’t known her his whole life, hadn’t loved her or been her best friend. He was a stranger, and because of it his belief in her made her believe in herself.

  But he must have had an agenda all along, she realized. Something more than launching his own career, or helping the people of Rhannon. Something so important to him it was worth trying to conceal the fact he knew who’d tried to kill her, and who’d killed Dain. He’d used her.

  It had been easy to talk to Irris about losing Rasmus. But Sorrow couldn’t stand to hear Luvian’s name said aloud; every time Irris said it Sorrow felt ill, as misery and loss claimed her.

  “We’re plagued by imposters,” Irris said, and Sorrow choked on thin air. “Mael, now Luvian. No wonder Luvian was so keen to be the one to look into Mael – he must have known all the tricks from his own dealings.”

  Sorrow hummed noncommittally.

  “I don’t suppose you want to do anything on finding out who Mael is?” Irris asked tentatively. “What about Luvian’s lists? Or perhaps we could hire someone to find Beliss.”

  “No,” Sorrow said forcefully. She’d lost the taste for proving Mael wasn’t who he claimed to be since her own past had emerged. It didn’t matter who he was; he wasn’t her brother. She knew that for sure.

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  When Sorrow didn’t reply, Irris picked up a stack of papers and began to go through them, turning each one over violently.

  The reports that used to come to Luvian now came to Irris, who’d taken over running the tattered remains of Sorrow’s campaign. Irris has issued a statement, saying Sorrow was taking a few days to recover from the attack, but then planned to return to campaigning. That was two weeks ago, and Sorrow hadn’t so much as got dressed in that time, let alone done any work.

  By contrast Mael had returned from Rhylla with a new-found zeal, vowing to find and arrest the Sons of Rhannon, to make them pay for Dain’s murder and the attack on Sorrow. He wrote to her daily, and released a new statement almost as often. Irris read it out in the morning, while Sorrow ignored her breakfast and counted down the hours until she could go back to sleep.

  “He’s suggesting the Decorum Ward be converted into something called Peacekeepers,” Irris had said that morning. “It sounds very much like your idea for Lawkeepers. Suspiciously so, don’t you think?”

  Sorrow had shrugged, and Irris had put her cup down with more force than she needed to.

  She was getting irritated with her, Sorrow knew that. But again, the knowledge had no impact. It was a fact, like the sky was blue, the ocean was salt water, and the Humpback Bridge was deadly. Irris was disappointed in her. So what?

  Outside a storm raged, and Sorrow watched it, transfixed by the aggression of it. Storms were common in Rhannon during the late summer, but she’d never seen any like those that ravaged the coastal district of the East Marches. They came without warning, lasting only minutes, but during that time it was hard to imagine the weather being any other way. The thunder boomed relentlessly; the rain poured down in thick sheets that obscured everything outside the windows. Sorrow liked them, liked that the lightning scorched her eyes, so when she closed them she could see the forks in red against her eyelids.

  As the storm died away, a shadow appeared in the distance, eventually revealing itself to be a hawk, slightly sodden from the dregs of the rain. Irris rose to let it in, carrying it to a perch where it shook itself as she retrieved the scroll it carried. Irris waited until it was finished, before reaching into a bag hanging from the perch and tossing a dead mouse to the bird, her other hand already busy unfurling the letter.

  “Shit,” she said.

  Irris wasn’t given to swearing, and it was enough to rouse Sorrow from her inertia briefly.

  “What?”

  “Rhylla have appointed a new ambassador to Rhannon. It’s Vespus.”

  Sorrow sat up. “Vespus? Vespus Corrigan?”

  Irris nodded, and held the letter out to Sorrow.

  She scanned it briefly and then read it aloud. “We are delighted to welcome Lord Vespus Corrigan, half-brother of the queen of Rhylla, back to his post of ambassador to Rhannon. Lord Corrigan looks forward to a long-lasting relationship with the new chancellor, building on the foundations of trust, respect and admiration that already exist.” Sorrow paused. “Wow. They might as well come out and say he means Mael. Because it’s clear this isn’t about me. They’ve obviously decided I’m out of the running.”

  Irris remained silent.

  “Don’t you have anything to say about it?” Sorrow demanded.

  Irris’s eyes blazed for a moment, then cooled. “Row, you’ve spent the last two weeks lying exactly where you are right now, in your pyjamas. You’ve decided you’re out of the running. They’re simply saying it out loud. Maybe it’s time someone did, so we can all move on.”

  “I…” Sorrow blinked at her. It wasn’t the rallying comment she’d expected.

  Irris offered a small smile. “I’m going to fetch tea. Do you want some?”

  Sorrow nodded.

  She looked again at the letter from Istevar. This was it, then. With three weeks until the election, Vespus was moving himself into position, establishing himself back in Rhannon. Once Mael was elected – and Sorrow understood that he probably would be, now – Vespus would already be there, waiting for him in Istevar. Whispering in his ear. And Mael would listen, at least at first, because Vespus had been like a father to him. Vespus was kind to him, when no one else had been.

  She saw it all then, as though it was a game of Malice: where every piece would move to, and where it would be eliminated. Charon would be fired, Sorrow realized. Vespus wouldn’t allow him to keep his role. Bayrum Mizil, Tuva Marchant, Arran Day … they’d go too. Balthasar would go where the power was; he probably wouldn’t even care that Vespus was Rhyllian as long as he kept his seat on the Jedenvat and the perks that went with it. Samad would be happy a man was in charge – the sexist values of the Astrians who bordered with the district of Asha had clearly rubbed off on him – and Kaspira… She didn’t like Sorrow, but she did like her distri
ct, for all her grumbling about its crime-loving people. She’d likely go with the flow to keep her seat too.

  There would be no one to oppose Vespus, save Mael. And while she believed Mael’s intentions towards the Rhannish people, the Jedenvat under him would be made up of lackeys who Vespus would choose because he could buy their loyalty.

  Once Vespus had got rid of Bayrum he could take the land he’d long wanted in the North Marches. Take the whole of Rhannon, turn it all into a farm if he chose to. Mael alone wouldn’t be able to stop him, especially not against a Jedenvat Vespus had assembled. It would be easy for them to do what they’d done to Harun, and vote to depose him, leaving Vespus free to manoeuvre another puppet into place.

  And now there was no one to stop him. It was too late.

  Or was it? A cocky, traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind. There were still three weeks until the election. If used correctly, there might be time to stop him. If an imposter was going to govern – surely it was better for it to be one who wasn’t under Vespus’s control? For her friends, and for her people. For her real family, who might still be out there. And for Dain, who’d wanted more. She could help them. Charon was right, she might never be able to go back, but she might be able to make their lives easier. Bring them some joy. She might be able to make something good out of the hideous situation she found herself in. She couldn’t bring back the dead Ventaxis child, but she could take her place. She alone could stop Vespus’s relentless march to the top of Rhannon. That was something, wasn’t it?

  For the first time since her night with Rasmus, the darkness inside her receded as a spark inside her heart took hold. They were her people. She was one of them.

  She stood up as Irris returned with a tea tray.

  Irris paused in the doorway, frowning, as though the changes inside Sorrow were already manifest on her face. “Sorrow?”

  “You’re off the hook. I did my own pep talk,” Sorrow said.

  Irris looked around the room as though she expected to see someone else there. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re right. Enough is enough. I have a job to do, and I know exactly where to start. I need to go out and meet the people. Forget what the Jedenvat said. I need to see where they live, and work. Get to know them, and what they need. What they want.”