State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(110)

Irris’s lips twitched as she fought not to grin. “It’s like you want my father to be angry with you.”

“Nonsense. I simply want to be with my people. You go and get the guards. I’ll write a note.”


The palace kitchen servants had cheerfully loaded them up with fruits and pies and cheeses once the girls told them their plans, some even recommending houses to go to, where their friends and family lived. The guards, by now used to Sorrow and Irris’s particular brand of strange requests, escorted the girls down into Istevar proper, not even questioning why they’d been asked to leave a feast to do so.

“Hello, I’m Sorrow Ventaxis, and this is Irris Day,” Sorrow announced when the puzzled-looking citizens opened their doors. “We’ve come to wish you a fruitful Gathering, and offer you a gift, from our hearth to yours.”

She held out the basket, and waited until they took something. Then she bid them farewell and moved on, leaving them standing in their doorways, watching after her.

After ten houses, people started to come out and follow her.

At the twelfth, a small, wizened old man stared at her, then walked back into his house. Sorrow and Irris exchanged puzzled looks, and the guards’ hands casually drifted to their weapons, when he returned with a large lionfruit in his hands. He held the yellow, spiked fruit out to Sorrow, taking a bunch of grapes from the basket.

“Thank you,” Sorrow said, surprised.

“Bless you,” the man replied.

After that, not a single person took without giving something back, and when the guards finally urged the girls to return, warning them they’d miss the ceremony, fifty or so citizens walked behind them, waving and bursting into applause as Sorrow passed through the gates and turned to give a final wave.

“That went well,” she beamed at Irris.


They arrived back in time for the ceremony, still bearing the basket of food they’d been given by the people, joining the procession of people trailing out of the palace and down into the grounds. As they all gathered in the grotto of the Grace of Hearth and Plenty, Charon spotted Sorrow and shot her the darkest look, not even attempting to hide his fury, but she was too happy to care. Happier still when Vespus, standing opposite her with Aphora, gave her a look to rival Charon’s.

Mael, beside him, met her eyes, and his mouth moved as though he might smile, but at the last second he stopped himself and nodded. Something about the gesture sobered Sorrow, and guilt prickled at her. It wasn’t his fault he was in this position, any more than she was to blame for hers. She offered a smile, feeling better when he returned it.

Then Vespus turned his gaze on Mael, and even Sorrow reeled from the venom in it. Vespus didn’t appear to speak, but Mael’s smile dropped at once, and he lowered his head. Sorrow had no time to ask Irris if she’d seen, as Charon moved his chair forward, and the ceremony began.

The Ventaxis family had never been devout, especially not in Sorrow’s lifetime, so this was the first time she’d been to a traditional ceremony in honour of one. The icon of the genderless Grace of Hearth and Plenty was set into the west wall of the palace, guarding both the inside and out. It was the traditional placement for the Grace, and the crowd gathered beneath it, all of them with an offering in hand.

Charon placed a bowl of honey atop a plinth beneath the statue, then touched three fingers to his stomach before moving away. The rest of the Jedenvat followed.

Arran Day had become handsome since she’d last seen him two years ago, tall and statesmanlike, though still with the wicked twinkle to his dark eyes that Sorrow recognized from childhood. He was a full ten years older than her, and had gone away to university the year Rasmus had come to Rhannon. But it seemed he hadn’t changed much, as he passed Sorrow and winked at her, before presenting a bushel of fresh silver fish from the east to the statue, and making the same gesture Charon had.

Tuva Marchant, too, grinned at Sorrow before she laid down her offering of dates and figs from the west, until every councillor had left something that represented their people’s finest produce as an offering. Bayrum Mizil paused to kiss her cheek as he passed with bunches of grapes and a jug of wine. Samad and Balthasar ignored her, but to her surprise Kaspira gave her a curt nod.

Once the Jedenvat were finished, then went the other guests, one by one, adding their offerings to the Grace.

Across the country the scene would be the same – for the first time in eighteen years the temples would be filled with people celebrating the Gathering, thanking the Graces for a plentiful year, and hoping to bribe them into another one to come with gifts and offerings.

“Hello, stranger,” a voice said, and Sorrow turned to find Arran Day had slipped in beside her.

He held out his arms for a hug, and Sorrow stepped into them. “Long time no see. You’ve grown up.”

“People keep saying that as if it’s unusual.”

“You look well,” he said, holding her at arm’s length as he examined her. “Very chancellor-ish.”

“Chancellor-ish isn’t—” she began, only to fall abruptly silent when her heart pitched at the memory of Luvian telling her off for saying “scheme-ish”. He would have loved this, she thought sadly. He would have been in his element.

“Row?” Arran was staring at her. “You OK?”

“Yes. Thank you. Sorry, I’m fine,” she smiled sheepishly.