State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(24)

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.