State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(38)
Sorrow crossed to the drapes and pulled them aside to find a huge window behind them. She peered through the glass and found the room faced a garden she’d never seen before. Lush palms, thick grass, broad waxy leaves, all lit by the last of the sunlight.
A rush of vertigo hit her, and she drew back, taking a sharp breath. Looking down into the garden, even through the glass, reminded her uncomfortably of what had happened in Rhylla by the river.
“Are you all right, miss?” the girl asked, and Sorrow nodded, allowing the drapes to fall into place again.
She examined the rest of the room. There was a pair of cream couches, and Sorrow marvelled at them – the material looked so new, so clean. No holes or patches, no stains. The legs ended with the paws of lions, a table between them containing a platter of fruit, and a carafe studded with condensation. As Sorrow moved further in she saw two open doors, the one to the left revealing a bed furnished in white bedding – white! – so soft it looked to Sorrow like a cloud, and to the right a bathroom, the feet of the bath clawed to match the sofas.
The girl hovered nervously in the doorway. “Is everything to your satisfaction?” she said.
“It’s lovely,” Sorrow said. “Are we – where are we?”
“In the palace?” the girl asked, and Sorrow nodded. “We’re in the chancellor’s wing – also called the Goldcrest wing, but there was no bedroom assigned for you in the plans. This is one of the most important guest rooms, though.”
“It’s lovely,” Sorrow said again. “I’ve only seen the staterooms before.”
“Would you like a tour?” the girl asked shyly.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Sorrow said.
The girl nodded. “Can I do anything else?”
“No, except tell me your name?” Sorrow said.
“Shenai, if it pleases you, miss. My sister is Shevela.”
“Have you always worked here?”
“Yes, miss. Our father is the steward. We were born here.”
They had been lucky. To have grown up somewhere where they had the chance to live like this. “I’d like some fresh clothes,” Sorrow said. “But that will be all. Thank you.”
Shenai curtsied again, and then left Sorrow alone.
She wandered around the room, touching everything she came across: the brocade rope between the silk of the sofa and the wood of its frame, the cool eggshell-blue walls with their stucco detail. In the bathroom she lifted the unmarked jars that lined a small shelf and smelled them, one by one, unable to name most of the scents but a little bit in love with them all. The soft towels, the chill of the enamel on the bath. She ran the taps, cold, then hot, and marvelled at the smoothness of the plumbing, much less temperamental than in Istevar.
A knock at the door announced Shenai or Shevela’s return, and Sorrow called for them to enter. She was surprised and pleased to find it was Irris instead, carrying a black gown.
The two girls embraced without speaking, holding each other tightly.
“Are you OK?” Irris asked, pulling back and holding her friend by the arms as her eyes roved her face.
The moment she released her, Sorrow slumped, suddenly drained, as though she’d been saving the last of her energy for this. “I don’t know. I can’t think. It’s all happening too fast. And the moment I think I have something straight in my head, something else happens.”
“You don’t think he’s really Mael?”
Irris’s tone told Sorrow that, like Charon, she didn’t believe it was possible. Sorrow wished she had their conviction. How were they so sure?
“He looks like the portraits, there’s no denying it, and he does have the mark on his neck, though I suppose it could be a tattoo.” Sorrow pulled her old gown over her head and took the new one from Irris, holding it tightly, her fingers twisting the fabric. “And there are some old clothes that Vespus says were what he was found in. But how could a little boy survive that fall? I looked down into the water. It’s so high, and the Archior is so fast. He couldn’t swim. And, as your father pointed out, the timing is one hell of a coincidence. My father being as he is. The Jedenvat’s vote. Mael said he only found out they were coming last night. But, really, what is the likelihood of this all happening now by pure chance?” Her words were a stream of consciousness, tumbling from her mouth, and she wasn’t sure if any of what she’d said made sense.
But Irris had understood. “Impossible,” she agreed.
“He saved me,” Sorrow blurted, apparently not finished.
“Who?”
“The boy. Mael. He saved my life. We went for a walk – I needed to get away – and he came with me. We were by the river, and I slipped. He could have let me fall. But he didn’t.”
Irris stared at her, and Sorrow shrugged. It was the only thing she couldn’t fit into Vespus’s alleged plan. The way Mael had stepped forward to protect her, not once but twice. The way he’d saved her. The sincerity in his voice when he’d told her he wouldn’t let her fall. His overwhelming niceness. He didn’t need to be nice to her. So why was he?
Irris shook her head. “That doesn’t mean anything. He had to save you. If you’d fallen, everyone would have assumed he’d pushed you. To get rid of you.”
“I suppose.” But it didn’t feel right. And it didn’t explain why he’d moved to stand between her and Vespus. Unless – a new thought dawned on her – it was part of his plan to wheedle his way in. For all she knew, he and Vespus had planned those moments, so Mael could seem like a hero. After all, hadn’t she thought their words in Rhylla had sounded rehearsed?