State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(48)

The servant approached Sorrow, and she saw it was Shenai, eyes wide with concern. She’d seen everything.

“Are you all right, Miss Ventaxis?” she asked.

“Fine,” Sorrow lied, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. She took a glass from the tray and drained it, before saying, “Did you see where Lord Day went?”

“He left after the music started, miss.”

“Thank you,” Sorrow said.

“Can I… Do you need anything?” Shenai asked.

Sorrow shook her head, not trusting herself to speak again.

The music stopped then, and Shenai slipped away, ready to replenish glasses. Melakis and Aphora exchanged a glance, and then Aphora offered the violin out to Mael as Melakis offered his to Vespus. Mael smiled, and released Irris with a bow.

His fingers curled around the neck with ease as he tucked the body between his chest and jaw, and drew the bow across it. His song was softer, still happy, but a purer kind than the hedonistic glee Melakis and Aphora played with. Vespus matched him, carving out a melody to complement the song, and it was clear they’d played together before, often. The people gathered around them, no longer dancing or raucous, watching the two men play.

Irris came to join Sorrow, her cheeks flushed, a light sheen of sweat at her brow. “Where is my father?” she asked.

Sorrow gathered the final dregs of her composure together. “He left, apparently. When the music started.”

There was still an edge to her voice, and Irris frowned. “Are you all right?”

Sorrow didn’t want to tell her what had happened with Balthasar while she’d been dancing, nor how it had left her feeling dirty somehow. Tainted. Instead she tried for sarcasm, but the words sounded sour instead of wry. “How could I not be? My brother is returned from the dead, and my father is sober for the first time in almost two years. I’m overflowing with joy.”

“Row…”

“Look at them all.” She nodded to where everyone, even Bayrum and Tuva, stood watching the boy play violin. “This time yesterday they were at each other’s throats. And now they’re dancing, and I’m over here, watching them.”

Whatever Irris was about to say was lost as the chancellor approached them and Sorrow froze. It had been years since she’d spoken to a sober Harun, and she had no idea how much of their other encounters he remembered. Whether he knew she’d drugged him. Shouted at him. Threatened him.

“Miss Day. Daughter.”

Irris bowed, as Sorrow said, “Father,” mimicking his tone.

Not that he noticed.

“I’d like to speak to my daughter, if I may,” he addressed Irris.

“Of course, Your Excellency.” She dipped her head respectfully and left them, Sorrow watching her as she made her way out of the dining room, probably to find Charon.

Harun moved to stand beside Sorrow, a hand span between them, watching Mael and Vespus play. He said nothing, keeping his attention on the boy, and as the silence stretched Sorrow’s pulse began to race as she waited for him to say something, anything.

“Mael said I should speak to you,” he said finally. “He seems to think I owe you an…” He paused. “Explanation,” he said. “For how things have been.”

How things have been? Rasmus’s voice was back, and outraged, but Sorrow shushed him, and forced herself to focus on her father’s words.

“He said you, along with Charon and the Jedenvat, had been doing your best to keep things together, especially since my mother died.”

He turned to her then and she nodded, though she couldn’t meet his eye.

“Well, you don’t need to concern yourself with it any more,” he said. “Mael is here now.”

He walked away, leaving her standing there, braced against the wall for support as his words stabbed into her, over and over.

That was it? Was that her thanks? she wondered. After eighteen years of neglect, of living under the cloud he created, of growing up in a country that was a living graveyard. Less than forty-eight hours ago he’d been face down in a pile of drugs, out of his mind on them, and this was her thanks? For keeping the country going, and covering for him, hiding his addiction, this was all she deserved?

He hadn’t even called her by her name, she realized. He’d called her “daughter”.

She only knew her hands were curled into fists when the pain from her nails against the flesh of her palms broke through the haze of hurt and rage. She was shaking, her breathing shallow, sweat dripping down her back from the effort it was taking to not hurl herself after him. Sorrow focused on the pain, trying to centre herself. Bayrum, now talking to Melakis, shot her a concerned glance, but she shook her head, not trusting herself to stay in control if anything broke the fragile hold she had over her temper. She watched as Harun stepped forward to embrace his son again. It was as though he couldn’t touch the boy enough. She hated him. She hated him.

“I wish you’d died,” she whispered to herself as the song ended and Harun stepped forward to embrace his son. “I wish you were dead.” In the moment she wasn’t sure which of them she meant.

Somewhere beyond the room a clock began to chime, and she counted the bells, using them to bring her breathing back to normal. At the twelfth bell, she released a long sigh. A new day.

Sorrow realized with a start that it was her birthday. She’d been born two days after the accident. She was eighteen. She looked over to what was left of her family – her father and so-called brother, standing arm in arm, accepting congratulations and joy from everyone.