“Is that wise?” Vespus said. “Mael will go with you. You should have a chance to speak to one another privately. I imagine the next few days will present demands on both of your time.”
“I’m not sure…” Charon began, but Sorrow shook her head, impatient to be gone.
“It’s fine. We won’t go far.”
She didn’t give him a chance to say anything more, instead marching from the table. Footsteps behind her told her Mael had followed, but she didn’t slow for him, or acknowledge him at all.
The door to the inn opened, as though Melakis, still stationed outside, had expected her to leave. The sunlight was harsh after the dimness of the inn, and she had to stop to blink, and allow her eyes to adjust.
“We’ll go and check the bridge.”
Aphora’s voice startled her. Sorrow hadn’t heard her – or Lincel – who stood silently behind her, follow. Aphora nodded to Sorrow, then left them, Lincel following her.
Sorrow didn’t say a word, walking the opposite direction to the one Aphora and Lincel had taken.
“We should stay where Melakis can see us,” Mael said, but Sorrow ignored him, taking a narrow path towards the rushing sound of the river, hoping he wouldn’t follow.
Her gown kept snagging on branches, and she tugged it free, hitching it up into her arms, walking until she emerged into a small clearing, high above the roaring water. She moved forward and peered down at it, the surface angry and alive. The ferocity of the river matched the churning inside her, and she watched it crashing against the rocky sides, leaving thick reams of foam behind.
“It’s hard to believe I survived that,” Mael said, beside her.
Sorrow didn’t like how close he stood to her. It was too familiar, an easy invasion of her space, as though they hadn’t met mere hours before. She took a step forward, standing on the edge of the cliff. Her annoyance spiked when he joined her.
“I wish I could remember something,” he said. “Something definitive, that would prove it beyond doubt. Lord Vespus thought the birthmark, Beliss’s testimony, and the outfit would be enough. And I hoped it would be, too. But Lord Day isn’t convinced, I can see that. Neither are you, are you?”
Sorrow shrugged. She honestly didn’t know what to think. Her mind swung like a pendulum between yes, she believed him, and no, how could she? Both possibilities left her feeling hollow. So she said nothing, staring down at the river.
“It’s all right. I understand. I don’t think I’d believe it either. Not at first, anyway.”
She wished he’d go, leave her to unpick the knot of thoughts wound around her mind. If he was hoping to convince her now, he was mistaken.
“I’m sorry again, about the bridge. I didn’t think about what it might mean for the people to see me.” He paused. “Lord Vespus thought it would be a good thing. He told me what things have been like in Rhannon, because of what happened to me. He thought if the people saw me it might make them happy, especially given it was the anniversary of the fall.”
Sorrow bit the inside of her cheek. Lord Vespus hadn’t planned it because it would make the people happy; how naive was this boy? And yet something stopped her from snapping at him. It would be like kicking a puppy.
“I didn’t know we were coming today, until late last night,” Mael continued. “Perhaps we should have waited. I’m glad I finally got to meet you, though.”
Mael raised his hand, as though he might touch her, and without thinking Sorrow jerked away from him.
And lost her balance.
Her left foot slid over the edge of the cliff, the mud giving way, and she locked eyes with Mael as her arms windmilled, a scream trapped in her throat. For a split second she was frozen, caught halfway between the ground and the river, and as her body arched backwards, pulled by gravity and momentum, she saw his intentions as clearly as if he’d announced them.
She’d been an idiot to go there with him, to fall for his sweet, innocent act. To allow him to herd her to the edge.
He was going to let her fall.
Then his hand gripped her wrist, and he yanked her back, away from the edge. She crashed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground, into a mess of leaves and dirt.
They landed awkwardly, Sorrow sprawled half on top of him, her knee hitting the ground with a painful thud, his hand still holding her with a force that would leave a ring of bruises like amethysts around her wrist later. The moment he let go she scrambled up, ignoring the throb from her knee, clutching her wrist in her right hand, staring at him. Mael watched warily from the ground, then slowly rose.
“I think one Ventaxis child ending up in the Archior is enough for five lifetimes,” he said, a tremor in his voice.
Sorrow swallowed.
“I wouldn’t have let you fall,” he said softly.
She nodded, unsure if she believed him, her breath coming hard and fast as though she’d been running.
A noise behind her made her turn, in time to see Vespus and Melakis arrive in the small clearing. Sorrow’s heart leapt into her throat once more, until Rasmus appeared after them.
All three Rhyllians looked at Sorrow and Mael’s ashen faces, the leaves and twigs clinging to them, questions in their eyes. Vespus frowned.
As he opened his mouth, Mael stepped forward, standing between him and Sorrow. Blocking her from him, Sorrow realized. He was protecting her. He’d saved her, and now he was shielding her. Her stomach gave a little jolt at the knowledge.
“What news?” Mael demanded before Vespus could speak.
“The crowd is gone,” the Rhyllian lord said, his gaze moving between Sorrow and Mael, full of questions.
Sorrow didn’t wait for him to voice them, walking past them all, for the first time in her life anxious to be back in Rhannon.
Charon didn’t say a word as they made their way back to the bridge. None of them did. Melakis carried Charon, and Aphora took the chair. Sorrow followed them, Rasmus silent at her side, with Mael and Vespus bringing up the rear.
Though Vespus had been right, and the Decorum Ward had dispersed the crowd, Sorrow still felt as if there were eyes on her as they descended the bridge into Rhannon. She kept to the very middle, moving slowly, mindful of the jade-green water far below her. But even that couldn’t stop her thoughts turning to the Rhannish boy behind her, aware of his every step.
Say he was Mael Ventaxis, returned from the dead. He was right, the birthmark and the outfit were convincing proof. Not to mention how much he resembled the portraits. So, then, he’d come home, Harun would heal, and she wouldn’t have to be the chancellor any more. Or ever.
Something inside her stomach tightened, and she stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Rasmus asked, but she shook her head and began walking again.
She didn’t want to be chancellor. So why did the idea of him taking over, taking her place, make her feel strange?
“Is there only one carriage?” Vespus’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Charon waited until the twins had placed him inside that carriage before he replied.
“Why, yes, the others will have gone on to the Summer Palace. You understand, we had no warning of guests. But we’ll send one back for you, the moment we arrive.”
Vespus went statue-still and Sorrow had to fight to suppress a smile. In spite of everything else, it was good to finally have the upper hand over Vespus.
Vespus turned to her, his eyes flashing, and once again Mael placed himself in between them.
“You’re good – I mean, thank you,” Mael said, correcting himself. “We’ll wait in the tower on the Rhyllian side for its arrival, won’t we, Lord Vespus?”
“How long?” Vespus said, and though his voice was measured, the icy rage in his gaze betrayed him.
Sorrow let Charon answer. “Four hours? Two for us to get there, two for a carriage to reach you.”
“And another two for us to join you. By which time the chancellor will have long since arrived.”
Charo
n’s nod was beatific.
“We could take a boat,” Vespus said, turning to Aphora, who nodded.
“We’ll wait.” Mael spoke directly to Sorrow. “That’s fine.”
Vespus glared at him, but Mael merely smiled at Sorrow.
Sorrow knew she should offer something in return for the way he’d stepped in, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, still reeling from what had happened by the river, in the inn, on the bridge, all of it. She finally managed another awkward nod, and watched the coachman fold Charon’s chair and place it on the back of the carriage, before she climbed in, moving over to make room for Rasmus.
Vespus reached forward and put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Rasmus will travel with us,” he said.
“But he’s the ambassador to Rhannon,” Sorrow said, as the coachman slammed the door shut and mounted the cab. Rasmus’s eyes met hers through the window, a plea in them.
“Let attaché Corrigan have a chance to spend some time with his father,” Charon said. “He’ll join us at the Summer Palace. Drive on.” He knocked the top of the carriage and Sorrow heard the crack of a whip.
“Charon, what—?”
“We need to talk about state matters and we can’t do that with a Rhyllian present, even an apparently friendly one.” Charon kept his voice low, barely speaking over the rumble of the wheels. “What happened when you were alone?” He nodded to where leaves still clung to her gown, and Sorrow picked them off as she replied.
“He said he wished the proof they’d offered was enough, but in our position he’d be sceptical too. And he…” She’d been about to say that he’d saved her, but the determined, sharp look on Charon’s face made her change her mind. Charon didn’t need to know about that. Nor that the whole morning had left her so confused that if someone told her black was white, in that moment, she might believe them.
“I don’t know who that boy is, but he’s not Mael Ventaxis. It’s impossible. Mael is dead and has been for eighteen years. We have to maintain that truth. We mustn’t lose sight of it.”
Sorrow stared at him blankly.
“You can’t think it’s him?” He leant forward, his eyes locked on hers.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. “He has the birthmark. Right there, on his neck. The outfit – Charon, they had the outfit. And he looks like the portraits…”
“For the Graces’ sake,” Charon snapped. “Anyone would think you wanted it to be him.”
“Would it be so wrong if I did? To discover my brother, the reason the whole of Rhannon is broken, the reason my father is an addict, was alive?” Sorrow’s reply was just as harsh.
“And the timing, Sorrow? That it was today, of all days.”
“It’s the anniversary of the fall.”
“It’s also the morning after I told you that you would have to depose your father. After a woman died in front of everyone of note in Rhannon. The same day we voted to make you chancellor presumpt.”
Sorrow sat back in her seat. It was an unlikely coincidence. She knew she hadn’t truly wished him back to life at the right moment to save her from it, but it was odd that of all the times he would reappear, it was today. A day or two later and he would have been coming back to a very different Rhannon.
“Many would kill for the kind of power you’re trying to avoid,” Charon continued. “People have. Your family have. And I’m sure Vespus would very much like Mael to be the chancellor.”
Sorrow didn’t understand. “Why would Vespus care who the chancellor of Rhannon was?”
Charon leant forward. “Do you know why Harun banished him?”
“No.” Sorrow didn’t. If she was honest, once she realized Rasmus could stay after his father left, she hadn’t cared. She’d asked Rasmus, of course, but he hadn’t known either. They’d decided it must have been because of Lamentia. They assumed he’d argued with Harun over it, as Arran Day and Coram Mellwood had, and, like those men, had been sent away for it.
“He’d been petitioning Harun for land, here in Rhannon.”
“What?” Sorrow’s eyes widened. She didn’t understand. “Why would he want land here?”
“For his Alvus trees. Vespus has been attempting to build a thriving forest of them on his estate for decades, with weak results.”
Sorrow nodded; she knew that. Rasmus had told her the wood, the sap, even the leaves were valuable. But they were rare, because they were hard to cultivate, Rasmus said. If it hadn’t been for his father’s ability with plants, he could never have made them grow at all.
“So he thinks the land here is better?” Sorrow said.
“It is. In the north of Rhylla there’s not enough sunlight, few natural pollinators, nutrient-low soil… He asked Melisia time and again to grant him lands in the south, where it would be easier for him, but she refused to take it from people who already owned it.”
“I take it Father refused him too?”
“On the contrary, he considered it,” Charon said, surprising Sorrow again. “Until the Jedenvat reminded him of the rumour that Vespus had opposed the peace treaty because he believed Rhylla could win the war once Harun presided. He’d urged Melisia to fight on for decisive victory, hoping to claim the North Marches as his own – land which he could use to farm.”
Sorrow’s mouth formed an “O” of understanding. “So you think this is him trying for that land again? That he’d go as far as to put an imposter in power, all for what? A few miles of land?”
“With his puppet in office it wouldn’t be a few miles of land, Sorrow. Why on Laethea would he be content with just that? It would be all of Rhannon. A chance to rule, like his half-sister. Don’t forget, they have different fathers. Melisia’s father was a king. Vespus’s was only a minor lord. She goes on to be queen and rule a country, and he… He gets his father’s estate in the north. From what you know of Vespus, do you think that fulfils him?”
Sorrow shook her head.
“But this… Well, after what Harun has done, who’s going to complain when the firstborn son returns from the grave and restores the land, even if he does have a Rhyllian as his right hand?”
“If this is true, then he’s been planning this for… How long? Since he left Rhannon, if what they said about finding Mael two years ago is true.”
“And does that not strike you as more than a coincidence too? He leaves, and almost immediately finds the lost heir? Now do you understand my scepticism?”
Sorrow nodded. She should have seen it before. Why would the half-brother of the Rhyllian queen be content to be the ambassador to a place like Rhannon? Someone raised in luxury that he couldn’t inherit, and ambitious enough to encourage his half-sister to continue a war everyone knew she didn’t want, so he could get some land. Would a man like that really give it up to live in Rhannon for eight years for nothing? So he’d changed tactics, intending to wheedle the land from Harun. And when that failed…
“We need to write to Queen Melisia. She should know what her half-brother is planning.” Sorrow spoke decisively.
Charon’s eyes were full of pity. “Sorrow, that boy has been living in her castle for the last two years. And at no point did she write to us. I’m not saying I believe she’s working with Vespus on this,” he added carefully, “but it’s imperative we don’t do anything that might alert him to our suspicions, until we know more. Which also means you can say nothing to attaché Corrigan when he returns, either. We can’t be sure how much he really knows.”
Sorrow opened her mouth to defend Rasmus. Then paused. Given Harun’s parenting, she’d never questioned why Vespus would have been so happy to let his only child remain in a land far from home.
“Rasmus would have told me,” she said aloud, speaking without meaning to. “If he’d known about Mael. He would have written. That’s why Vespus let him stay. Because he’d already set this in motion. Found some boy he could use.” Goosebumps broke out along her arms as she had a sudden sense of foreboding.
“Wait.” Sorrow re
membered the rest of what Mael had said. “He said he didn’t know they were coming today, until late last night. They hadn’t planned to come today but last night … something changed Vespus’s mind.”
Charon was right. Lincel must have written to Vespus straight away and told him what had happened with Alyssa. And Vespus had been at the Rhannish palace for eight years, long enough to predict how Charon would respond, the motions Charon would begin. He’d decided to reveal Mael today to thwart them.
And, she realized, he had. They wouldn’t be going back to Istevar to depose Harun. Instead Harun was travelling to the Summer Palace, to determine if the boy Sorrow had just met was his long-lost son.
The Summer Palace
The Summer Palace had been called the Jewel of Rhannon; the former royal family and their entire court had moved there during the relentless summer months, bathing and enjoying the gardens, plucking dates and figs from the trees and splitting them open with their bare hands where they stood. It was a tradition the Ventaxis chancellors had maintained, inviting the ambassadors, the Jedenvat and their families to join them for a week or two.
The curlicue-patterned gates of the Summer Palace gleamed copper in the sunlight as they were pulled aside for them to enter, and both Sorrow and Charon fell silent as the carriage travelled the long path to the main palace building, preparing themselves for whoever would meet them.
Sorrow peered through the window at the palace, a three-storey building made of soft blue stone, though there were more windows than wall, at least on the facade. A sweeping staircase led up from the path to a set of azure-painted doors that always shocked Sorrow with their vibrancy. There was a large balcony above them, and higher still, a flagpole where the Ventaxis flag – now the Rhannish flag – sat permanently at half mast, the black heart surrounded by thorns, crowned with flames. Today it lay limp in the breezeless air.
They drew to a halt outside the stair, part of it covered with a smooth ramp for Charon’s chair, and as they did a smaller door set inside the large ones opened. A short man with thinning dark hair and a kind face hurried down the steps. The warden – Sorrow recognized him from previous years, though it seemed he had trouble placing her, doing a double take before bowing to her.
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