State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(44)

Sorrow couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They must know what Vespus had done in the past. What he’d hoped to achieve. How could they trust his word now? Didn’t they care what that might mean for Rhannon if Charon was right, and this was all part of a new scheme?

There was a firm knock at the door.

“Enter,” Harun called, in a voice that shook Sorrow with its strength.





The Prodigal Son

Balthasar entered first, his complexion ashen, taking a spot beside the bureau where the portrait sat.

Then the boy followed, and it was as if the painting had been brought to life. He was dressed in black, in the Rhannish style of tunic and trousers, as if he’d just sat for the picture. The darkness of his clothes only served to highlight the brightness of his hair. He looked nervous today. The curiosity and confidence of the day before were gone: his shoulders were rounded, his eyes darting as he took in the room, moving from person to person. His gaze lingered longest on Sorrow; his expression brightened, his mouth beginning to curve, as though he was happy to see her. Before she had time to dwell on it, Harun stood, drawing the room’s attention.

The almost-smile faded as Mael took in the sunken figure of the chancellor of Rhannon.

He turned to the doorway, where Vespus now stood, Aphora and Melakis with him, a faint sneer marring his lips. Vespus nodded at Mael, as though to urge him forward.

Harun did not need the same encouragement. His eyes were shining with tears, his mouth open in an “O” that showed his decayed teeth. He took a step forward, arms outstretched, flinching when the boy recoiled, too slow to mask his disgust.

“Mael?” Harun said.

After a beat, Mael replied, “Father.”

His voice sounded flat, and Sorrow watched him swallow, saw him gird himself as he stepped forward to be embraced, looking more like a man approaching a gallows than his long-lost father. After all his pretty words yesterday about wanting to come home, she would have bet on him throwing himself into Harun’s arms. She shot a quick glance at Charon, who returned it with his own grim look.

On the other side of the table, Samad and Kaspira were nodding, hands clasped before them. Neither of them seemed to notice Mael’s reluctance. When Sorrow looked at Vespus, though, she saw he clearly had. His jaw was tight with emotion, his neck corded, and Sorrow had the strangest feeling he was trying to stop himself from pulling Mael back.

Mael was a little taller than Harun, and the chancellor reached up to take his face in his hands, pulling him down so their eyes were level. Sorrow saw the effort it took for Mael to allow this, to permit those thin, stained fingers to press against his skin, and she shuddered, grateful she wasn’t in his place. Harun’s expression was hungry; his gaze roamed all over the taut face of the boy before him. He stroked the birthmark on Mael’s neck, and she pitied him then.

“Do you remember me, son?” Harun said. “Do you remember your mother and me?”

“I… I…” Mael tried to turn to Vespus, but Harun held him still, keeping them face-to-face. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Harun staggered back as though the boy had struck him.

“I’m sorry!” Mael said again. He looked away from Harun then, not to Vespus but to Sorrow, as though she could help him. She shook her head and his face fell, turning to Vespus, his expression pleading.

“You remember nothing?” Harun repeated, staring down at his hands as though they were dirty.

“He was an infant,” Vespus said smoothly from the doorway. “Is there anyone here who can remember something from when they were so young?”

Harun turned with painful slowness towards the former Rhyllian ambassador, frowning.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Did I not tell you if you ever set foot in my country again I’d see your head removed?”

“He’s with me,” Mael said swiftly. “Lord Vespus has taken care of me. I owe him a great deal. I owe all of Rhylla a great deal. I would be dead – truly dead – without them.”

Harun stiffened, at his sides his hands curled into fists, and Sorrow saw the war raging in her father as he tried to decide whether his hatred for Vespus was greater than his need for this boy to be his lost son.

“You sound Rhyllian,” Harun said.

“Yes.” The boy didn’t deny it. “But Lord Vespus made sure I was taught Rhannish, so I wouldn’t shame you.”

There was a long silence before Harun spoke again. “Leave us,” he said finally, his voice trembling. “I wish to speak alone with … this young man.”

He hadn’t used his name. Or called him his son. That was interesting. So Harun wasn’t quite convinced yet. And when Sorrow’s gaze once again shifted to meet Charon’s, the quirk of his brow told her he’d noticed too.

Balthasar took a step forward. “Your Excellency, perhaps I—”

“I said leave.” The hint of iron was back in Harun’s voice, and Balthasar lowered his head at once. “All of you.” He turned to look at them then, though his eyes glanced past his daughter. Sorrow ignored the sting beneath her ribs at the dismissal.

“I’m not sure—” Vespus began

“It’s all right,” Mael said. He nodded at the Rhyllian, until Vespus took a step back. Then he looked at Harun. “Why don’t you and I break our fast together? We can eat, and talk, just the two of us. I’d … I’d like that.”