State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(26)

The sun was behind him, picking out the lighter strands of his hair, creating a halo around him as he held his hands out towards Rhannon. He looked down at the people who were motionless, unable to believe their eyes.

Sorrow was as transfixed as they were, even as horror curdled in her stomach. It was too late. She’d failed. There was a rushing sound as they gasped as one, and then one thousand voices whispered, “Mael?”

The volume rose, and it became a chant, half of the Decorum Ward joining in, the Jedenvat and the nobles climbing back out of their carriages, all turned towards the boy like flowers to the sun.

Sorrow sought Charon, desperate for his help. But the vice chancellor was staring at the boy too, his face ashen. Irris was standing at the base of the bridge, her mouth open.

Beside the boy, Vespus was smiling.

Sorrow turned to Vespus. “Lord Vespus, you have to get him out of here.”

“Father…” Rasmus began, but Vespus snapped something at him in Rhyllian, and he closed his mouth mutinously.

“Miss Ventaxis, we need to take him to the chancellor.” Vespus’s voice softened once more.

Bright white fear gripped Sorrow again as she remembered the state she’d left her father in. The state the Winter Palace was in…

Then she realized it was an unnecessary worry, because they couldn’t go there, they’d never make it. She had a vision of them trying to travel through Rhannon towards Istevar, the crowd following them, growing and swelling, engulfing the carriage. The Decorum Ward trying to keep order…

They’d all be torn to pieces by a people desperate for the miracle of Mael.

“Please,” she begged Vespus. “It’s too dangerous. The crowd… Surely you can see how it will go?”

She turned to where the people were screaming once more. So many hands reaching forward, towards where the boy stood, his wonder now turned to alarm at the sight of the straining crowd.

“She’s right,” he said, eyes wide. “People will get hurt. Look at them… I didn’t know…” He looked at Sorrow. “I didn’t think… I’m sorry.”

Sorrow shook her head tersely, and looked to Vespus.

“There is an inn, on our side of the bridge, with a garden that overlooks the river.” Vespus gestured to his left. “It’s called Melisia’s, for my half-sister. We can go there for an hour or two to give the crowd time to disperse. Bring Lincel, if you’d be so kind,” he added.

Sorrow nodded. “Thank you.”

Vespus looked thoughtfully at the crowd. “I’ll position a guard on the Rhyllian side of the bridge too,” he said. “Deal with your people. We’ll wait out of sight. Come.” Vespus turned from her, cupping Mael’s elbow in his hand.

Halfway down the bridge the boy looked back at Sorrow, apology written across his features.

Sorrow turned away.





Rhylla

As a child, Sorrow had spent hours hiding in some corner of the palace with Rasmus, asking questions about Rhylla, building it in her mind. She’d filed every single word and description away: where the castle was, the roads to get there, where his family’s estate was, where the meeting places were. She’d memorized the colours, the scents, the flavours, until his memories of his home were almost her own.

She’d never imagined her first time crossing the border would be like this: her head bowed, heart beating a frantic tattoo against her ribs, hysteria scratching at the edges of her mind like a monster, demanding to be let in, as she fled a crowd that was in serious danger of becoming a mob. The Rhyllians had followed Vespus after he’d left, and she didn’t know where they were now; the road was empty of everyone, save her, Charon, Rasmus, Lincel, and the guard Vespus had promised to leave by the bridge. She could hear the Archior rushing somewhere to her right, drowning out the noise from the people, but she saw only the ground as they moved swiftly towards the place Vespus had chosen for their meeting.

In the end, she’d left a pale but determined Irris and the rest of the Jedenvat in charge of keeping the Decorum Ward in order and making sure the crowd were cleared.

“And send a bird to my father’s valet to bring him to the Summer Palace,” Sorrow said. “The Jedenvat and you need to go there too, as soon as it’s safe.”

“The Summer Palace?” Irris was confused.

“We can’t go to Istevar. Word would spread along the way, and the crowds would be too much, we’d never get there. Besides, the Winter Palace isn’t exactly ready for guests.”

Irris nodded grimly.

“Tell the steward they’re to travel in a plain carriage and keep the curtains drawn. They’re not to speak to anyone and no one must know who’s inside. I want to be the one to tell my father.”

“What about guards with you?”

“I don’t want any.”

“Sorrow—”

“We’ll be fine,” Sorrow said firmly, nodding to the crowd down in Rhannon. “It’s not the Rhyllian side of the bridge I’m worried about. You need all of them here. Trust me, Rasmus will be there.”

She turned to go, but Irris gripped her wrist.

“Is it… It’s not him, is it?” Irris stared at Sorrow. “It can’t be.”

Sorrow was numb. She didn’t know if he was the lost boy. Her thoughts from the night before came back to haunt her; she’d wished he was alive. That he’d stood where she stood, to take her place.