State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(23)
There was a fleeting moment where, for the first time in her life, she sympathized with Harun. The bridge was so much steeper than she’d thought possible, and even with the gum anchoring her, every step felt treacherous, her body straining forward to try to steady itself. She was all too aware of the lack of barrier on both sides, and her insides turned to liquid, her bones brittle as kindling, as she tried to tamp down the wild fear that she would trip, and hurtle into the water just as her brother had.
She stopped midway to the apex, sweat soaking the back of her gown, and turned slowly to face the crowd.
“I stand here before you on behalf of my father.” She raised her voice so it would carry, fixing her gaze on the solid ground behind them. “Eighteen years ago we gathered here to celebrate the end of a war. It should have been the brightest day in our history, and yet, it became our darkest. Not one day has gone by where we haven’t felt the loss of our beloved Mael. Today, on the anniversary of his death, we remember him. We—”
A murmur went through the crowd and she lost focus at the unexpected interruption, stumbling over her words.
“We honour—”
The murmuring grew louder.
Peering through the lace to see what disturbed them, Sorrow saw the crowd looking beyond her, looking up at the bridge. A few were even pointing, pushing their veils back from their eyes. Her gaze lit on Rasmus, further back in the crowd, frowning at something behind her, his expression both joyous and fearful.
Sorrow turned. And froze.
Behind her, a small group of Rhyllians had appeared at the peak of the bridge, right where she would stand to release the doll.
She knew some Rhyllians came to watch the ceremony – that was expected; they were a curious folk – but they never actually climbed the bridge. Never looked down into Rhannon. Now she could see three of them up there, spanning the bridge with none of the fear that gripped her. She didn’t recognize the two on the outer edges, so alike they had to be twins: both slender, tall and dark-skinned, their hair braided into neat rows that fell to their shoulders, the female wearing a voluminous dress the same shade of ochre as her brother’s tunic and trousers.
But she did know Lord Vespus, Rasmus’s father, who stood between them, shining in his green coat. He looked like his son: their hair the same shade of buttery moonlight, violet eyes, bladed cheekbones. Rhyllians aged slowly, the gradual whitening of their hair the only real way to tell they were aging, and Vespus could have been anywhere between thirty and eighty. It was only the hardness of his eyes that made him look old enough to be Rasmus’s father.
He’d been kind enough to her when he’d been in Rhannon, always generous when packages arrived from Rhylla, saving some kind of sweet or treat for her, delivered with a sly wink and never mentioned again. But today his mouth was a grim line as he searched the crowd behind her, his eyes clearly seeking someone. It took every ounce of self-control to not turn, but she didn’t. She kept her focus on Vespus, so she saw when his gaze stilled and a smirk played about his lips, saw the small nod he gave to the Rhyllian woman beside him. Then she did look around, following the line of his sight until she saw Rasmus, somehow paler than usual as he watched his father.
Panic flooded her, as Charon’s words about the obviousness of Rasmus’s feelings rushed to the front of her mind. Was that why they were here? Had someone told them they thought Rasmus’s behaviour was questionable? Had they come to take him away?
No. It wasn’t fair. It was all about to end anyway. It was over, last night was the last time…
She looked at Charon, silently begging for help, and he gripped the wheels of his chair as though to go to her. But he couldn’t, and he gazed back helplessly, his eyes imploring her, to do what, she didn’t know.
Sorrow was on the verge of descending when she noticed a young woman with an infant in her arms, standing at the front of the crowd. The woman was watching her carefully, though her gaze kept flickering back to the Rhyllians on the bridge. She pulled the child she held a little closer, and looked again at Sorrow. Waiting to see what she’d do, Sorrow realized. They were all watching her, waiting for her response. She wanted to run. Every instinct inside was insisting she run. But she couldn’t. Not if she was going to become their chancellor.
She turned her back fully on the Rhyllians, her heart ricocheting inside her chest, and took a deep breath.
“We honour him,” Sorrow said. Movement near the carriages caught her attention and her fear grew as Rasmus excused himself, edging closer. With the veil over her eyes she couldn’t make it clear to him that he should go. “And we remember him, today, and always,” Sorrow finished.
On cue, Irris stepped forward, spilling a little of the gum over the sides of the tray in her haste to climb up to Sorrow. She moved with much more surety than Sorrow had.
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.