State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(51)

“I’m sorry,” Mael said immediately, like a child.

“I, too, am sorry for your loss,” Vespus said before Sorrow could reply. “For both of your losses.”

“I don’t understand.” Mael’s voice was raw. “He said he’d never do it again; he sent orders to Istevar saying every trace of it was to be removed from the palace. He signed papers that said taking it – even having it on you – would land you in prison. I saw it! I saw him sign and seal them.”

Mael pushed his hands through his hair again, and Charon shot Sorrow an urgent look she couldn’t read. To cover her confusion she pulled a stool out and sat next to the bed.

“That’s the nature of addiction,” Vespus said softly, sounding in that moment so much like his son that Sorrow shivered. “It makes you a liar. I’m sure in that moment Harun believed he could stop taking it. Then later, back here…”

They all fell silent, their eyes moving to the dead chancellor.

“I know this is a terrible shock,” Charon said, his voice kind but firm as he turned to Sorrow. “But I’m afraid we have some decisions to make.”

“Decisions?” Mael asked, his voice bewildered. “Oh, I suppose – the funeral.”

Charon cleared his throat. “Well, yes. But, and I appreciate that it’s not a pleasant topic, the fact remains that we now have no sitting chancellor. The priority has to be our security during the transitional period, while we arrange an election.”

“Can’t that wait—” Mael began, but Vespus spoke over him.

“An election? And whose name will be on the ballot paper?”

“I would have thought that was patently obvious. Sorrow’s, of course.”

“Sorrow’s?” Vespus barked, looking her up and down. “Mael is the heir. Harun recognized him as his son. You were there. We all heard him say it.”

“You said you weren’t interested in the chancellorship.” Sorrow spoke directly to Mael, who was watching them all with startled eyes. “In Rhylla. You said you wanted to get to know your family.”

“That was then,” Vespus said coldly. “Things have changed since.”

“So now you want to govern?” Sorrow ignored him, still focusing on Mael. Her chest felt tight, her pulse hammering as though she’d run a great distance. “Do you?”

Mael opened his mouth as though to speak, but Vespus held up a hand, silencing him, before he continued. “Obviously nothing has been decided yet. No one could have known Harun was going to die. But you can’t suppose to deny what Harun said – the entire Jedenvat was there – so the fact remains he is the heir and if he wants to run for election, he may.”

“There is no doubt what Harun believed,” Charon said pointedly, as two red spots appeared high on Vespus’s pale cheeks. “But regardless of who he is – or isn’t – this boy doesn’t know anything about the practicalities of governing. He knows nothing of the intricacy of government, has no relationship with the Jedenvat or the wardens, and the people know nothing about him.”

“What do they need to know? He’s the eldest child of the most recent chancellor.”

“This isn’t Rhylla, Lord Vespus. We’re a democracy.”

“A democracy? Where there’s only ever one name on—”

The tightness in Sorrow’s chest had become a band that was burning her now, and she lashed out, snapping, “Stop arguing over the still-warm corpse of my father. We can wait a day before we decide anything. We have other things to think of.”

“She’s right.” Mael moved to stand behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Sorrow fought the sudden urge to shrug it off. “Surely this can wait?”

“It can,” Sorrow said without looking at him. “There is much to do. Notices need to be sent to all of the wardens, from their governing senator, to announce the death through their districts and counties. Today will be a national day of mourning.” She paused, realizing it already was, as the anniversary of Cerena’s death. “Full mourning. Schools and non-essential businesses should close and remain so until the day after tomorrow. Black armbands will need to be made; grant working dispensation to any tailors.”

She reeled off the list of commands she’d had to give four months earlier, when her grandmother had died. Back then Charon had coached her on them, forcing her through her grief to stand up and do what needed to be done. He’d been proud of her, though he’d not said it aloud, and she could see the same look in his eyes now as he watched her take charge.

Vespus, on the other hand, did not look pleased.

Sorrow didn’t care whether Vespus was pleased or not, and continued regardless. “The deacon of the North Marches will need to be summoned to bless my father’s body and dedicate it to the Grace of Death and Rebirth before we can move him – ask Bayrum Mizil to send for her. The body will lie in state in the temple here. I think that’s right – it’s where my mother was taken?” She looked to Charon for confirmation and he nodded. “Then I think it’s right he lies there too. Afterwards we’ll have him taken back to Istevar and interred in the family crypt.”

“And what do you plan to tell people was the cause of death?” Vespus asked, his voice quiet and dangerous.