They watched her through the flickering flames, their eyes red beneath their hoods in the reflected firelight.
Then they moved. Towards the stage.
In shock, Sorrow searched for Meeren Vine. She spotted him by the wall, where he’d been all night. He was watching her. Sorrow was aghast. Surely he wasn’t waiting for a signal? Why wasn’t he—? She half raised her hand, and stopped.
She understood as he met her gaze with those merciless shark eyes that he wasn’t going to help. This was his revenge for her behaviour in the Winter Palace, all those weeks ago.
The last of her courage seeped from her as panic took over. Her knees locked, her body froze, the Sons of Rhannon getting closer every moment, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything except stare at the man who’d betrayed her.
“We have to go.” Mael tugged on her arm, as she stared at the captain of the Decorum Ward in horror. “Sorrow…”
The hooded men turned to the left, making their way to a small set of stairs at the base of the stage. There was something in their hands, something long and glinting.
Curved swords, she saw, as the leader pointed his at her and it flashed.
“Sorrow…” Mael pleaded.
A gout of flame licked the edge of her shoe, and she grabbed Mael’s hand, instinct finally kicking in, and dragged him from the stage.
She led blindly, listening for footsteps chasing them. Her heart beat triple time, her body screaming at her to get away.
They found themselves in a dead-end passage, four closed doors along one side. Sorrow turned, pulling Mael back the way they’d come, freezing when she heard voices shouting.
Mael opened the nearest door and pushed Sorrow through it, following her and closing it behind them. Sorrow backed away until she reached the far wall, hand pressed to her chest, eyes fixed on the door. They were in some kind of empty closet or storage room, the walls bare save for scuffs and chipped paint, a small, dirty window high up allowing a little light into the room. There was no lock on the door, and so Mael braced himself against it, pushing the handle up and pressing a finger to his lips. After a moment, Sorrow moved to his side, leaning against it too.
“The door won’t hold them if they find us.” Mael spoke in a low voice.
“We have to find a way out. The fire…”
“You’ll fit through the window. I’ll help you.”
Sorrow looked again at the window. She might get through it, but he wouldn’t. “And what about you?”
He didn’t reply.
She hesitated, debating furiously whether she should go.
Leaving him to face them alone...
No, she decided. Two against three were better odds. Even if they did have swords.
“Do you think they actually want to kill us?” Sorrow asked. “Or is this all to scare us?”
Deep down she knew it was a stupid question – people didn’t throw fire and point swords unless they meant it – but she was desperate for some kind of reassurance.
Mael was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”
They both fell quiet then, and Sorrow realized that they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time she didn’t want to recoil from his touch. He might not be her brother, but right then she was grateful not to be alone. Because she’d loathed her father, she had no difficulty understanding that the people would. Stars, if they’d risen up against him while he was alive she might have been tempted to join them.
But she’d never imagined it might have transferred to her. She’d spent so long crafting a speech she’d thought would please them, reassure them. She didn’t know them at all. And now she might die here. Murdered by masked men, who despised her because of her name.
She leant harder against Mael, comforted when he pressed back.
Minutes passed, with no sound from outside, and Sorrow shifted her weight. Beside her, Mael did the same.
“Maybe we should go?” Sorrow said.
Mael shook his head. “We’re safer in here for now. It’s us they want.”
She suppressed a shiver. Maybe it was the Sons of Rhannon who’d sent the dead kitten. It seemed likely.
“Have you heard of these people before?” she asked haltingly. “Or has anything happened to you?”
“No. Nothing.”
Sorrow blew out a long breath. “It sounds quiet. I’m going to—” she began, but no sooner had she said it than they heard footsteps and shouts. Someone rattled the door and Mael pushed Sorrow back, covering her as he gripped the handle.
“The window…” Mael hissed. “Go…”
“Sorrow?” Luvian’s voice was tight with panic. “Sorrow?”
“In here!” she cried, forcing Mael out of the way and throwing the door open.
Luvian was alone.
“Where’s Irris?” Sorrow asked, looking around for her friend.
“Safe. Don’t worry,” Luvian said. “Are you all right?” He moved as though to embrace her, stilling when Mael stepped out of the room.
Before Sorrow could explain, an older man, tall and reed thin, with thick sideburns, rounded the corner and stopped when he saw them.
“You’re all right?” he asked Mael, who nodded, then moved to the man’s side, a slight tremor to his hands the only sign he was still shaken. Sorrow’s own heart was still fluttering away inside her chest like a trapped bird, her knees locked to keep her from collapsing or running, her body torn between both.
“Captain Vine said he’d send someone to fetch us when it was safe to do so,” the man announced to the group. “The fire is mostly contained, but we can’t leave via the main hall. I’m Arta Boniface, Mael’s advisor. Glad to finally have the pleasure. I’m only sorry it’s under such strained circumstances.”
Sorrow took a halting step forward and gripped the hand Arta Boniface offered. “Sorrow Ventaxis,” she said. “This is Luvian Fen, my advisor.”
“I know Luvian,” Arta Boniface said. “In fact, I taught him at the East Marches Institute.”
Luvian’s face was carefully blank as he shook his former tutor’s hand. “Arta was the only professor to grade me less than ninety-five per cent on my final exams,” Luvian said. “Have you left the faculty now?” he asked the older man.
“A sabbatical.”
“Until after the election?”
Arta inclined his head. “Unless I’m needed afterwards.” His tone implied he didn’t expect to return to his old role.
They lapsed into silence. Sorrow wanted to ask Luvian what had happened after she’d run, wanted to tell him that Meeren Vine had stood by and watched it happen, but she didn’t want to say anything in front of Mael or his advisor, didn’t want them to think her weak. So instead they waited, until finally Meeren Vine himself and two other members of the Decorum Ward appeared. Sorrow’s fury mounted as she saw his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She might have mistaken them for signs of exertion, if she didn’t know better.
He was excited.
“All clear,” he said, inclining his head towards Sorrow in a way that made her blood boil. How dare he pretend to care?
“And the men?” Luvian asked, before she could say anything. “The Sons of Rhannon? Did you catch them?”
“Got away,” Vine replied. He looked at Sorrow, and she could have sworn she saw his lip twitch, as though he was trying to master the urge to smile, or smirk.
She decided not to give him the satisfaction of her anger. He knew, and he knew she knew what he’d done. Let him wonder when her vengeance would come. Because it would.
“What about the people?” Sorrow asked, keeping her tone as pleasant as she was able. “Was anyone hurt?”
She knew she’d scored a point when he blinked rapidly before replying. “There was a crush, to escape.”
“Did anyone…? Is anyone…?” Mael asked.
“No one died,” Vine said.
Sorrow was careful to keep her own expression neutral as she replied. “Thank you for your service. I d
on’t know what we’d have done without you.”
Again, that satisfying double blink of confusion, before he said, “Any time, Miss Ventaxis. I’ll send some people back with you to the North Marches –” he nodded to the man and woman with him “– in case any of them are still around. They’ll keep a close eye on you.”
Sorrow heard the threat in the words, but understood too late what it meant.
Meeren Vine didn’t like to lose.
“In fact,” Vine continued, “you ought to keep a guard with you at all times, seeing as the Sons of Rhannon have it in for you. Commander Dain, you wouldn’t mind sticking near Miss Ventaxis, would you?”
The female Decorum Ward shook her head wordlessly as Sorrow’s heart sank.
Sorrow looked at the female guard. She was tall, two heads taller than Sorrow, and broad, her muscular frame obvious even beneath her black tunic. Her dark hair was shorn close to her head, like all of the Ward, and her expression was theirs too: chin raised and jutted, eyes unforgiving.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sorrow said.
“Oh, after what happened tonight, I think it is. And Commander Dain is one of my finest lieutenants,” Vine replied with a smile. “You’ll be in very safe hands.”
Clever bastard. The last thing she wanted after his display inside was to have one of his people with her, and he knew it. This was a warning not to say anything about what he’d done. And to remind her that he and his men were her only real protectors.
“What about Mael?” Sorrow said desperately. “He’ll need someone too.”
“It’s in hand,” Arta Boniface said, and Vine gave him a courteous nod.
Sorrow looked at Luvian, imploring him to do something, but he shrugged, an apology in his eyes. Traitor. “Let’s go,” she said tersely.
Vine inclined his head and turned, leading her, Luvian, Mael and Arta through the warren of corridors, Dain and the other Ward bringing up the rear. They finally arrived at a door leading out to a small side lane, where Irris was waiting with two more members of the Decorum Ward.
She moved to Sorrow’s side and hugged her before taking her by the hand and saying, “The carriage is this way, come on.”
Sorrow allowed herself to be led as the last of her adrenaline seeped away, leaving her shaking and cold.
“Sorrow,” Mael called.
She turned to see him standing in the light of a gas lamp on the wall.
He looked small, sad, and very tired. She was lucky to be going back to the North Marches with Irris and Luvian. Arta didn’t seem like much of a friend, and Vespus was in Rhylla. She didn’t know if he had anyone else. And she was surprised to find she hoped he did. Hoped he wasn’t alone. Not tonight, at least. She waited for him to say something more, but then Arta Boniface took his arm and guided him away.
Meeren Vine stepped forward then, standing in the light Mael had just left. And unlike Mael, he didn’t look sad or lost. He raised a hand to Sorrow, as though bidding her farewell. It was only once she was safely in her carriage, Luvian and Irris either side of her, that she realized his fist had been closed. Not a wave, but a gesture of victory.
To Ask, Not Answer
Dain sat with them in the carriage as they returned to the North Marches, preventing Sorrow from telling Luvian and Irris about Vine’s actions – or lack thereof – during the attack. She didn’t want the Decorum Ward commander reporting back to her boss; she wanted Vine to think she’d let him win, that she’d learned her lesson.
But inside she smouldered, her anger red coals that burned the whole way back. She kept replaying, it, over and over, fury and shame taking turns to assault her: how he’d turned away. How he’d smirked at her through the flames, while the Sons of Rhannon advanced. How, in that moment, he’d taken all of her power and made her beg for his help, and still done nothing. She’d been a fool to think he’d be so easily got rid of. And now he had someone watching her. Without meaning to, she shot Dain a filthy look, which the Decorum Ward missed as she stared out of the window into the night.
Irris noticed, though, and glanced at her questioningly.
“This is Commander Dain, my new bodyguard,” Sorrow told her. “Captain Vine assigned her to me.”
“I see,” Irris said, offering Sorrow a sympathetic smile.
Sorrow supposed she was lucky to have got this far without having a personal guard assigned to her, but then the hooded man had been right too – she’d barely left the palace before, and when she had, there had been a battalion of Decorum Ward between her and the people.
And the people had never tried to attack a Ventaxis before.
Nevertheless, the presence of the guard annoyed her, and, still shaken from the events at the hall, Sorrow pretended to doze on the journey home. There would be repercussions from this, she thought, as she leant against the carriage side with her eyes closed. More than being assigned a bodyguard. Twice she’d been targeted now. Would there be more? Or would Mael be next? She found she didn’t like the idea of that, either.
Mael… Another thought was demanding room in her head, one she didn’t want to give any credit to. But it wouldn’t leave her: the way he kept defending her, even against Vespus. The way he was always so nice. The way he’d grieved when Harun had died…
The way he acted persistently like a big brother.
Even though he couldn’t be.
By the time they arrived back at their headquarters, Sorrow’s pretend sleepiness had become real, her body and mind utterly exhausted; she didn’t think she could talk if she’d tried.
Luvian gestured for her to follow him into the library, but she shook her head, barely able to put one foot in front of the other.
“Tomorrow,” she said finally, her voice soft and slurred, and he’d paused, about to speak, and then nodded.
The last of her energy was spent shooting a dark look at Dain as she took up a station outside her room. She made sure to turn the lock loudly, and then, quietly, she placed a chair under the doorknob. The idea of Dain out there didn’t make Sorrow feel secure.
Sorrow climbed into bed fully clothed, not even bothering to kick off her boots as she pulled the sheets up to her chin, for once wanting the weight and warmth of them. When she closed her eyes she saw the three men again, staring up at her. The fire blazing across the stage as they’d flung their missiles at her. She sat up, heart pounding, reaching into her drawer for the remainder of the sleeping draught she’d taken the night before. Three large sips saw her sinking into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
She woke earlier than she’d expected, the sun barely warming the room. The manse felt quiet and still as she sat up. Her feet hurt from being confined inside her boots all night, and she pulled them off, dropping them to the floor with a thud. She followed them out of the bed, crossing to where her trunks were packed and waiting to be loaded on to the carriage for the journey to Rhylla later that morning.
Would they still go? she wondered. After what had happened, was it too dangerous?
If only Mael hadn’t appeared that day on the bridge, she would have returned to Rhannon after the memorial and signed the papers deposing Harun. She’d already be chancellor, or as near as. Last night would never have happened. Though the Sons of Rhannon had made it clear they were against all Ventaxises, so perhaps it might have done… Vine had said there was a crush. No one had died, but that didn’t mean people hadn’t been hurt. More pain at the hands of a Ventaxis.
Again she thought about how much she’d underestimated the work ahead of her. Luvian had been right to call her list naive. It was nowhere near enough to simply open curtains and bring back colour. She had to make them trust her – despite her name.
There was a kind of karmic resonance to the Sons of Rhannon, she realized, crossing the room to check the balcony door was locked. Her family had been a little like them, once. They’d been the ones trying to overthrow their supposed evil overlords, gathering allies and spreading the word across Rhannon. And they�
��d succeeded. The kings and queens who’d once ruled Rhannon had been destroyed, and replaced, by the Ventaxises.
So she had to learn from this. Or else be the bad guy on two fronts: former usurper, and present dictator. She needed to be better than her ancestors – more than them. But how?
She was the first to arrive at breakfast, and she dismissed the servants and told Dain to remain outside the room, closing the door on the large woman. On her way to the table she pulled the list from the wall, pouring herself coffee while she read through it, tearing a roll into small pieces, waiting for the others to join her.
Irris came first.
“I thought you’d still be in bed,” she said as she sat opposite Sorrow. “I went to your rooms. Did you sleep at all?”
Sorrow shrugged. “I used the last of the sleeping draught and got a few hours. But I woke early anyway.”
Irris looked at the pile of shredded bread on Sorrow’s plate. “I take it that’s representative of your thoughts on the Sons of Rhannon?”
Sorrow popped one of the pieces into her mouth theatrically, only to spit it straight back out into a napkin when it turned to mush, offering Irris an apologetic smile.
“How are you feeling?” Irris asked.
“Aside from the attempt on my life, and the knowledge my future people hate me?”
“The people don’t hate you. The Sons of Rhannon do.” Irris pulled the coffee pot towards her.
“The people agreed with them. They hate what I am. A Ventaxis,” Sorrow replied. “And I’m not sure I blame them. Not after what my father and grandfather did.”
“They’ll see you’re not like them.”
“Only if I show them I’m not.”
“And you will, when you win.” Irris poured herself some coffee, and topped off Sorrow’s cup. “I saw your bodyguard outside.”
Sorrow grunted as she sipped her drink.
“I hate to say it, but I’m glad the Decorum Ward were there last night.”
“I’m not – Meeren Vine ignored me during the attack.” Sorrow cut across her.
Irris paused in the act of lifting her cup to her mouth. “What?”
“I didn’t want to use the Ward, because I know the people hate them. I thought it would look better if I tried to handle it myself. But when the Sons of Rhannon threw those things, I raised my hand to call for him. He hesitated. He smirked, Irri. He did it on purpose. To prove a point.”
State of Sorrow Page 20
