State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(39)
She wished she knew. She wished for a fact, something solid, instead of stories and speculation.
Though she was more confused than ever, Sorrow stopped wringing the gown in her hands and smoothed it. “Thanks for this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. The Jedenvat are waiting for you.”
Something in her tone made Sorrow stop in the act of pulling the new gown over her head. “What am I about to walk into?” she asked.
“Chaos,” Irris said simply.
Irris kept a reassuring hand on Sorrow’s back as she guided her to a seat in the hastily opened council room of the Summer Palace, but after that Sorrow was on her own.
The moment she sat down, the room erupted.
“Is it him?” Lord Samad was halfway standing, seemingly seconds from climbing over the table to grasp her. “Is it Mael?”
“Of course it’s not,” Bayrum Mizil scoffed at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If everyone could please remain calm…” Sorrow tried.
“How could a child survive that fall?” Tuva Marchant ignored her. “Ten men lost their lives diving in after him. Ten strong men who knew how to swim.”
“He survived!” Samad roared, gesturing at Charon, as the vice chancellor’s cheeks darkened with either embarrassment or rage.
“My lords and ladies, please…” Sorrow tried again to interrupt, but Samad and Tuva, who had never seen eye to eye, were too deep into their argument.
“If Sorrow had been born a son, would you be so keen to cling to this pipe dream of a dead child returning to life? No! This very morning, all of you –” Tuva paused to point a finger at everyone in the room “– voted to invest Sorrow. And now? Tell me, have you changed your minds?”
“How can we invest her now?” Kaspira said. “We have to know for sure whether the boy is or isn’t Mael.”
“He isn’t Mael,” Tuva shouted. “Mael is dead.”
Sorrow finally sat back, watching the Jedenvat argue among themselves. The frequent angry glances Charon shot her way demanded she should do something, but she could see there was little point. They wouldn’t listen. Not to her, not to each other. Not now. Better to let them get it out, before Harun came, before the Rhyllians arrived.
Besides, she didn’t know what she believed, and she hadn’t had a moment to herself to even think about it. So she stayed quiet, her thoughts turning again to how Mael had protected her. Smiled at her. She tried not to glance at the clock as Samad, Tuva, Kaspira and Bayrum continued to bicker; soon they might not be her problem at all. They might be his. All of Rhannon might be his.
And once again that sinuous flash of something acid green burned inside her, making her sit upright, the suddenness of the movement silencing the Jedenvat.
It was at that moment that the steward knocked on the door, appearing terrified, as he announced that Vespus’s party, and the boy, had arrived.
“Bring him here,” Lord Samad demanded.
“Yes, I’ll take a look at him,” Tuva said.
The steward shot a desperate glance at Charon. “Lord Vespus asked if they could go straight to their rooms, seeing as the chancellor isn’t here.”
“How did he know the chancellor wasn’t here?” Sorrow asked.
The steward swallowed. “He asked… And I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to say.”
Charon took a deep breath. “Perhaps all of us would do better to get some rest and meet again in the morning. When we can control ourselves.”
He shot a pointed look at Tuva and Samad, who both sat back in their chairs, still scowling at each other.
The steward left, and everyone turned to Charon, waiting.
“We need to present a united front tomorrow,” Charon said. “Put aside your personal beliefs and feelings, and think about what’s best for Rhannon.”
It seemed to Sorrow that this last was directed at her.
Sorrow went straight back to her rooms after the meeting, her body aching and her eyelids heavy. But for the second night in a row, the moment she climbed beneath the sheets, she was wide awake again. She tried, for a while, to trick herself into falling asleep, counting her breaths, in and out, telling herself stories. Sleep wouldn’t come, and so she sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed, reaching for the robe that had been left for her.
She padded silently first to the table, pouring herself a glass of water, before crossing to the balcony. She’d left the doors open, and a cool breeze was blowing in, the scent of the river on it. She stepped out on to the cool marble structure and looked down, the garden shrouded in shadow, and silent. Above her thousands of stars glittered, and something close to peace, despite everything, settled over her. The night air cleansed her, stripping away her worries and fears, and the world was so still she might have been the only person in it. She found she liked that idea.
No more worry about her and Rasmus, no more rage at her father. No more frustrated empathy for her people. No Mael. Again that dangerous thought: Would it be so bad if the boy really was Mael?
She stepped back inside and put the glass down, belting the robe around her waist. She was restless suddenly, and full of energy, as though the moon had charged her. She looked at the double doors, and wondered if anyone was outside them, guarding her. Before she could really consider it, she’d opened them, finding the corridor beyond mercifully empty, save for two guards stationed at the end. She walked towards them, raising a finger to her lips. And then her feet were taking her out of her wing, her hand pulling the door gently to behind her, and she was ghosting through the halls of the Summer Palace.