She fussed around, lifting the veil from Sorrow’s face, buying herself time to whisper. “Are you all right? What should we do?”
“Keep Ras back,” Sorrow breathed. “I’m going on.”
Irris gave the faintest of nods, and then Sorrow turned and began to climb the bridge.
Vespus and the two other Rhyllians watched her progress, slow but sure-footed as their own people, thanks to the imported gum. She gripped the doll tightly to her chest, where her heart thudded against it, her damp palms threatening to end the ceremony much earlier than planned. Each step felt as though it took a lifetime, until finally she was at the top.
Vespus was mere feet away, watching her, his companions standing sentry either side of him. He smiled at her, the sight familiar and startling as she caught a fleeting glimpse of Rasmus in his face. Then he turned, looking back towards Rhylla, and as Sorrow followed his gaze, her fear exploded into horror.
Hundreds of Rhyllians had come out today, far more than the few she’d seen at the top of the bridge. They crowded the road leading up to the bridge, and it knocked Sorrow dizzy to see so many of them, so many colours, so many faces, smiling, laughing, quietly talking to each other. They turned as one to her, the motion rippling through them like silk in a breeze, until every eye there was on her.
Sorrow gripped the doll as though it was a real child and looked back at Vespus.
“Hello, Miss Ventaxis,” he said in Rhannish, his accent more pronounced than it had been when he’d lived in Rhannon. His eyes flickered over her, as though assessing her for market.
“Lord Vespus,” Sorrow replied, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you. It’s been – how long – two years since I left Rhannon? You’ve become a young woman.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
Vespus laughed and the sound was obscene to Sorrow, given where they stood, and why.
“Is the chancellor not with you?” He craned to see past her, the exaggerated motion causing her to grit her teeth.
“He’s unwell.”
Vespus’s expression was serene. “How terrible. Today of all days…”
“Is Ambassador Mira here?” Sorrow asked.
“She too is unwell. Hopefully not suffering the same ailment as the chancellor,” Vespus said.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, as though her body was warning her. She looked at the former ambassador, a man she’d thought of as, if not a friend, then certainly not an enemy. But in that moment, he felt like a threat. Sorrow swallowed her worry. “I think not. My father’s ailment has much to do with grief, I feel. After all, he lost his mother four months ago.”
Vespus nodded. “Of course. My condolences again to you and yours. I’m sure the chancellor will be back on his feet in no time. And it seems you have plenty of support.” He nodded behind her.
Sorrow turned to see Rasmus, now standing with Charon and Irris. Irris looked furious, trying her best to shoulder Rasmus behind her, though Rasmus’s attention was fixed on Sorrow. As she watched, Lincel joined them, saying something to Rasmus that made him try harder to move past Irris.
“I see my son still insists on being by your side, like a faithful puppy.”
Sorrow turned back to Vespus. “He’s been a good friend to me,” she said carefully.
“A good friend,” Vespus repeated. “A friend? Surely more to you, after all this time?”
“Of course. Better than a brother.” Fear forced the words from Sorrow, as if that lie might save him.
Vespus’s mouth twitched, and she knew then that it was too late. Vespus knew about her and Rasmus. Somehow he knew it all. “Better than a brother?” he echoed. “How interesting.”
As though he had timed it, the clocks in the towers began to ring out the hour, but Sorrow was frozen, rooted to the spot. She wanted to turn, to race from the bridge, away from Lord Vespus and the rising fear inside her. His sly gaze held her in place even as his two companions descended the bridge, returning to head the throng of Rhyllians on their side. Each toll of the bells felt like a blow, and Sorrow could do nothing but take it, trying to keep her spine from bending.
Then, at the tenth bell, Vespus turned to look down at his companions, nodding, and at some synchronized word from them the rest of the Rhyllians parted down the middle. They moved as one, their brightly coloured clothes flashing, swirling together and confusing Sorrow. The eleventh chime sounded, and she caught sight of movement at the bottom of the bridge. Something not as bright as the Rhyllians but that drew the eye anyway.
As the final peal rang across the river, Sorrow dropped the doll.
It smashed against the diamond-hard surface of the Humpback Bridge and shattered, showering pieces everywhere.
Behind her she heard Rasmus shout her name, heard screams from the crowd, as the echoing ring faded away.
But they couldn’t see what she saw.
A boy, standing there, dressed like a Rhyllian in a long coat of kingfisher blue. But bronze-skinned as she was, brown-eyed as she was. Tall. Lean. Smiling.
She knew that face so well. Had seen it staring down at her that morning, as she’d dealt with Harun. Sorrow had watched him grow up on canvas. The whole country had. No one could mistake him for anyone else. Here he was, no longer paint but flesh, and blood, and bone.
“Not better than your real brother, though, surely?” Vespus said, his smile all teeth.
An Unwanted Miracle
The fragments of the doll glittered at her feet, crunching beneath her shoes as she took a step back. At the sight of the shattered relic, and the now-motionless Sorrow atop the bridge, the Rhannish people moved like a tide, first surging forward, then ebbing away, crying out, the cries becoming fearful and pained as the Decorum Ward pushed against them with force, barking at them to stay back.
But Sorrow only had eyes for the young man looking up at her from the Rhyllian side of the bridge.
In that moment there was no one else in the world but them. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him: his wide lips, slender shoulders, long, lean body. His build was more Rhyllian than Rhannish, more delicate than he’d been painted.
She flinched when he took a step towards her and tried to tell him to stop, to wait, but she still couldn’t speak, shock paralysing her. Behind her she heard movement, heard the wet sound of gummed footsteps mounting the bridge, voices calling her name, muted calls and shouts, the orders of guards for people to step back, but still she remained frozen, eyes fixed on the boy before her.
Mael.
For one wild, terrible moment, she smiled, her back to the crowd. He’d returned. Finally everything would be as it should have been all along. She wouldn’t have to depose Harun; he’d be fine now his son was home. And Mael was the heir, he’d be the next chancellor, and his return would be what healed Rhannon, and made things change… She wouldn’t have to do it any more…
Her smile faded, the feeling of elation vanishing as quickly as it had come.
She had no time to think about why, as the boy took another step up the bridge and the crowd behind her surged again. Sorrow realized if she didn’t do something, they’d see him. And if that happened, all hell would break loose. If they tried to climb the bridge… There was no parapet. People would die. Dozens of them.
“You stay back,” she said, finding her voice. “Stay there.”
He recoiled as though she’d struck him, stilling at once. Sorrow turned away, facing Irris and the guards who were slowly trying to reach her.
“Stop,” she commanded. “I’m fine.”
Irris looked stunned but did as Sorrow said. The soldiers, however, kept moving.
“Miss Ventaxis—”
“I said I’m fine,” she snapped. “Go back down. That’s an order.”
“Sorrow?” the boy called. His accent was Rhyllian, his voice clear as it rang out. “Are you her?”
Irris and the guards looked beyond her, seeking the sou
rce of the voice. They’d heard him.
Sorrow turned, head spinning, hands shaking with fear, and spoke to Irris.
“Keep everyone away from the bridge. No one is allowed anywhere near the bridge. Irris, give orders to Vine to keep his people calm, but make everyone go home. Now.”
“Go home? But that’s…”
“Irris, please?” Sorrow begged.
Irris paused, glancing at Vespus and the two other Rhyllians, who’d been watching the exchange in silence. Finally, she nodded, and motioned the guards to follow. Sorrow waited until they’d reached the bottom before she looked back to where the boy remained, watching her with hungry eyes.
“You don’t think you can stop them from seeing him, do you?” Vespus asked softly.
“Lord Vespus, you have to understand. It’s too dangerous—”
Before Sorrow could finish she heard Charon command someone to stay back, followed by Rasmus snapping, “She needs me.”
“Let him come,” Sorrow called suddenly. Maybe Vespus would listen to his son.
He was at her side within a heartbeat, standing so close his shoulder pressed into Sorrow’s. He swore vehemently when his gaze found the seemingly Rhannish young man surrounded by Rhyllians below.
“Rasmus,” Vespus said, drawing his son’s attention from the boy.
“What is this?” he snapped at his father in Rhannish.
“How good to see you too, son,” Vespus said. “I trust you’re well?”
“I asked you a question, Father. What is the meaning of this? Who is that?”
This time Vespus replied in Rhyllian, too fast for Sorrow to catch the words.
“Impossible,” Rasmus said.
Vespus held out a hand and gestured at the boy. “And yet…” He returned to Rhannish, looking to Sorrow as he did. “Won’t you acknowledge your true brother, Sorrow?”
Sorrow’s heart felt as though it was fighting its way out of her chest as she locked eyes with the boy, and a single thought lit up her mind.
This will change everything.
“Come here, Mael,” Vespus said.
“No, he stays there.” Sorrow snapped out of her trance. “You have to stay there.”
The boy hesitated, but at a nod from Vespus continued, climbing the bridge with the ease of a Rhyllian.
“Stop,” she pleaded. “You don’t understand.”
He paused, his expression full of regret, but shook his head and kept walking.
Behind her Sorrow could hear the crowd getting louder, the people of Rhannon dormant and downtrodden for so long now awake and desperate. They were ignoring Charon and Irris, pushing back against the guards, demanding to know what was going on, their need to know greater than their fear.
The Decorum Ward did not like being ignored, and at Meeren’s order they began to lash out with their clubs and the hilts of their knives, slamming into the heads and bodies of the citizens closest to them, regardless of sex or age. Sorrow screamed at them to stop, torn between trying to keep Mael back and helping her people. She watched as one of the Ward smashed his club into the face of an old man, blood cascading from his nose, as the crowd roared and pressed against them, their own makeshift weapons in hand. The woman who’d been holding the child was struck and went down, swallowed by the crowd.
“No!” Sorrow screamed again. “I command you to stop.”
At first she thought the silence that fell over the crowd was because of her cry, that the people had finally heard and obeyed. Stillness rippled through them as though a spell had been cast; one by one they stopped pushing and shouting, Decorum Ward and citizens alike, staring. But their eyes were fixed on something behind her, and she knew that the boy Vespus claimed was her brother had reached the top of the bridge and was standing there, visible to all.
The sun was behind him, picking out the lighter strands of his hair, creating a halo around him as he held his hands out towards Rhannon. He looked down at the people who were motionless, unable to believe their eyes.
Sorrow was as transfixed as they were, even as horror curdled in her stomach. It was too late. She’d failed. There was a rushing sound as they gasped as one, and then one thousand voices whispered, “Mael?”
The volume rose, and it became a chant, half of the Decorum Ward joining in, the Jedenvat and the nobles climbing back out of their carriages, all turned towards the boy like flowers to the sun.
Sorrow sought Charon, desperate for his help. But the vice chancellor was staring at the boy too, his face ashen. Irris was standing at the base of the bridge, her mouth open.
Beside the boy, Vespus was smiling.
Sorrow turned to Vespus. “Lord Vespus, you have to get him out of here.”
“Father…” Rasmus began, but Vespus snapped something at him in Rhyllian, and he closed his mouth mutinously.
“Miss Ventaxis, we need to take him to the chancellor.” Vespus’s voice softened once more.
Bright white fear gripped Sorrow again as she remembered the state she’d left her father in. The state the Winter Palace was in…
Then she realized it was an unnecessary worry, because they couldn’t go there, they’d never make it. She had a vision of them trying to travel through Rhannon towards Istevar, the crowd following them, growing and swelling, engulfing the carriage. The Decorum Ward trying to keep order…
They’d all be torn to pieces by a people desperate for the miracle of Mael.
“Please,” she begged Vespus. “It’s too dangerous. The crowd… Surely you can see how it will go?”
She turned to where the people were screaming once more. So many hands reaching forward, towards where the boy stood, his wonder now turned to alarm at the sight of the straining crowd.
“She’s right,” he said, eyes wide. “People will get hurt. Look at them… I didn’t know…” He looked at Sorrow. “I didn’t think… I’m sorry.”
Sorrow shook her head tersely, and looked to Vespus.
“There is an inn, on our side of the bridge, with a garden that overlooks the river.” Vespus gestured to his left. “It’s called Melisia’s, for my half-sister. We can go there for an hour or two to give the crowd time to disperse. Bring Lincel, if you’d be so kind,” he added.
Sorrow nodded. “Thank you.”
Vespus looked thoughtfully at the crowd. “I’ll position a guard on the Rhyllian side of the bridge too,” he said. “Deal with your people. We’ll wait out of sight. Come.” Vespus turned from her, cupping Mael’s elbow in his hand.
Halfway down the bridge the boy looked back at Sorrow, apology written across his features.
Sorrow turned away.
Rhylla
As a child, Sorrow had spent hours hiding in some corner of the palace with Rasmus, asking questions about Rhylla, building it in her mind. She’d filed every single word and description away: where the castle was, the roads to get there, where his family’s estate was, where the meeting places were. She’d memorized the colours, the scents, the flavours, until his memories of his home were almost her own.
She’d never imagined her first time crossing the border would be like this: her head bowed, heart beating a frantic tattoo against her ribs, hysteria scratching at the edges of her mind like a monster, demanding to be let in, as she fled a crowd that was in serious danger of becoming a mob. The Rhyllians had followed Vespus after he’d left, and she didn’t know where they were now; the road was empty of everyone, save her, Charon, Rasmus, Lincel, and the guard Vespus had promised to leave by the bridge. She could hear the Archior rushing somewhere to her right, drowning out the noise from the people, but she saw only the ground as they moved swiftly towards the place Vespus had chosen for their meeting.
In the end, she’d left a pale but determined Irris and the rest of the Jedenvat in charge of keeping the Decorum Ward in order and making sure the crowd were cleared.
“And send a bird to my father’s valet to bring him to the Summer Palace,” Sorrow said. “The Jedenvat and you need to go ther
e too, as soon as it’s safe.”
“The Summer Palace?” Irris was confused.
“We can’t go to Istevar. Word would spread along the way, and the crowds would be too much, we’d never get there. Besides, the Winter Palace isn’t exactly ready for guests.”
Irris nodded grimly.
“Tell the steward they’re to travel in a plain carriage and keep the curtains drawn. They’re not to speak to anyone and no one must know who’s inside. I want to be the one to tell my father.”
“What about guards with you?”
“I don’t want any.”
“Sorrow—”
“We’ll be fine,” Sorrow said firmly, nodding to the crowd down in Rhannon. “It’s not the Rhyllian side of the bridge I’m worried about. You need all of them here. Trust me, Rasmus will be there.”
She turned to go, but Irris gripped her wrist.
“Is it… It’s not him, is it?” Irris stared at Sorrow. “It can’t be.”
Sorrow was numb. She didn’t know if he was the lost boy. Her thoughts from the night before came back to haunt her; she’d wished he was alive. That he’d stood where she stood, to take her place.
It was as though her wish had brought him back, at the exact moment she needed him. And the thought sent a chill down her spine that she didn’t understand. All she knew was that now she wished she could undo the thought, have never had it.
The only practical thing she could think of was getting him away from the bridge, away from the people.
Sorrow stared at her friend. “I expect we’ll find out,” she said blankly.
They hugged briefly, and Sorrow left her, descending the bridge into Rhylla with Charon’s wheeled chair on her back, Charon himself being carried by Rasmus. Sorrow didn’t know which of them looked more uncomfortable with the arrangement. Lincel followed behind, appearing to Sorrow as though she wished she were anywhere else.
To Sorrow’s surprise, Vespus really had waited for her, standing with the boy and the two Rhyllians who’d first been with him on the bridge, at the beginning of a track that led away from the main road.
State of Sorrow Page 8
